“Get you?” the bartender asks, pulling Asmo’s attention away from me.
“Two beers.”
The bartender pours two tall glasses of the light ale and slides them over, not bothering to spare us another glance. Asmo leans back in his chair, his legs spreading until his knee is resting against mine. I don’t move my leg.
He pulls my chair closer to his and throws his arm around the back of it, fingertips brushing against my shoulder, every graze feeling like a burst of fire.
He dips his head, lowering his mouth to my ear. “What I feel for you. It’s always there.” His voice is rough, low. My stomach does that thing again where it twists. “Even if all we ever did was fight, it would still be there. So, it makes no difference.”
Every word is true, a caress against my net. From the moment I met him, all we’ve managed to do is clash against one other. Yet, that tug toward him remains, strengthens even. Even if it feels like a constant cycle of two beings colliding again and again, then trying to salvage whatever they can from the wreckage.
But right now, it doesn’t feel like a collision. It feels natural, and warm, and maybe a little bit like home.
His thumb strokes rhythmic patterns on my shoulder, and we people-watch for another beer. A couple sits together in the corner, hunched over a game of chess. A group of hybrids sit around a table exchanging raucous tales of debauchery. A mother and her teenage son share a basket of bread and cheese.
I wonder if Asmo sees the couple in the corner. I wonder if he wishes that might be us some day.
It’s beenmonthssince I’ve felt like a normal person, since I’ve even thought about sitting in a tavern. Since I’ve gone anywhere without a team of people looking after me. Since I’ve felt safe.
Asmo turns to me, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Ever played billiards?”
A grin spreads across my face.
He downs his beer and places it on the bar. He offers me his hand, and I accept. I can’t help but think about how this is the most our handshave ever touched. Asmo’s hands, even in this body, are nice. They’re big, his fingers strong, his palms rough and calloused.
He leads me to an empty billiards table, one hand on the small of my waist. As he meticulously racks the billiard balls, a sharp crack and raucous laughter come from our left. Two Canis males have just finished a game, and one of them toasts me with his beer when he catches me looking. Sometimes I forget how friendly Canis are, unlike the male beside me who’s currently wearing a rare grin as he circles the table, as if he’s already won.
Game on, Asmo.
We play two games, each of us winning one. He heads back to the bar for another round as I set up the next game, buzzing from the alcohol and the anticipation of kicking his ass.
“You know, you’re not bad at billiards, but you’d do a lot better if you put some power behind your shots,” Asmo says, returning with a frosted glass pitcher of the light ale.
I roll my eyes. “How badly were you beaten last game?”
His crooked smile is answer enough. “Mind if I show you?”
“By all means,” I say, gesturing to the table.
He grabs one of the polished sticks and hands it to me. He steps behind me, lining his body with mine before gently guiding me to the edge of the billiards table until the fronts of my thighs are pressed against it. He slides his hand down my arm, stopping just above my hand.
“Bend over,” Asmo whispers in my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine again.
My body instinctively reacts, my backside pressing into his crotch.
Oh.I’m not the only one who’s turned on. Heat rises to my cheeks.
His left hand guides the billiards stick up while his right hand guides my own into position.
“Now, bring this arm back and use some of your power to drive it forward,” he whispers against my neck, bringing my right arm back and firing it forward.
The black cue ball shoots forward, sending the target balls in every direction.
I turn in his arms, a smile on my face. “That was my best one yet!”
“If you win this one, you have to give me the credit,” he says, his voice husky and low.
“And if I don’t?” I tease, desperately trying to cling to any sense of control I have when I’m pressed this close to him. Even in different bodies, our chemistry is undeniable. As if our very souls pull toward one another.
