His gaze seems to sharpen on my face. “Well, I only had the very basic concepts of a plan. It was mostly bringing Calida to you.”
“We’ll need to talk about that, at some point.” I glanceover, to where she’s still sleeping quietly. “I don’t really know what I can possibly do with a dragon. Can’t she go back home?”
Flint drops his beer. “H– home?” he manages, righting the beer bottle on the floor.
I look at him, confused. What is his deal?
“Yeah. Goira, right? Could she go back there? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but this place isn’t all that big, and while I’m super happy to have both of you here, I feel like I’m not going to be able to give her the care, time or attention she is going to need once you find a place. Plus — don’t dragons get, like, massive?”
Flint concentrates on sopping up the small puddle of beer. “Not all dragons are massive, no. Calida has the ability to shift her size to suit her whims. Coming here and traveling with me, she’s made herself smaller than she would be at… home.”
“How can that possibly work?”
Flint is still kneeling on the floor and looks up at me.
In my mind, I see him kneeling before me. Instead of the Henley, he’s wearing black armor, shaped and fitted to his body. Another flash of him kneeling before me, while I’m on some sort of chair. He’s shirtless and his bronze skin is gleaming in the soft light. He has one hand braced on each of my naked, spread thighs…
“You ok?”
“Huh?” I manage, shaking my head, trying to dislodge the images. Where the fuck did that come from?
“I was telling you that we don’t know everything there is to know about dragon magic, but then your eyes sort of glazed over and your cheeks got red. Maybe you should sit down?”
Why can’t the insanely hot man who dropped into mylife randomly be like every other guy I’ve ever met and pay zero attention? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m kinda loving that he notices things about me — especially since every other man I’ve known notices next to nothing — but it would be great if he could notice just alittleless. Especially when I’m apparently having sexual fantasies, where he is the star, mid-conversation.
“I’m fine,” I finally manage to reply. “How about we watch a movie while your clothes are finishing up? You can tell me about your day?”
He seems unsure, still studying my face, but agrees. He’s probably just happy I’m not a hysterical crying female.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, intent on washing off my make up and changing into something comfortable. I choose a pair of old black yoga pants, a tank top, and a long sleeve tee from a concert, years ago. If we’re spending the rest of the night in — and we definitely seem to be — I might as well be comfortable.
When I come out, I realize Flint has opened the window to let Calida out. As I get comfortable on the couch, he goes to refill our drinks. I pull up the streaming apps on the TV and snuggle in with a number of throw pillows. Flint sets the drinks on the table, studies me, then goes to change.
I’m scrolling through my options when he comes out, dressed in a black tank top of his own and a pair of grey sweat pants. Upon seeing the grey sweats, I have a crystal clear flashback to Betsy “forgetting” underwear. Shit. Shit. Shit. Gee — I wonder why I’m having random sexual flashes?
Maybe because this man looks like a walking, talkingorgasm?
I realize I’m staring, so I blurt out “You look comfortable.”
He pauses, before taking a seat next to me. Much closer than last night when he sat at the other end. This time, he sits right next to me, so our thighs are brushing and I can feel the heat of his leg against mine. Oh, this issonot helping.
“Another odd compliment?”
I shrug. Play it cool. Come on. This is not the first time you’ve been attracted to a man.
“What would you like to watch?”
“I don’t know. What are my choices?”
I laugh. “No streaming in Goira?”
“Of course we have streams.” He sounds insulted.
It only serves to make my laugh harder. “No, stream-ing. Ah…” I search for how to explain it. “It’s like a collection of entertainment shows in one place, that we can access through the TV. So we can watch pretty much anything.”
He seems to consider this. “What do you usually watch?”
“It depends. Sometimes I want to laugh, sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes, if I’m trying to write about love, I’ll watch a rom-com and pay attention to the relationship. When I’m writing, I often have a comfort show on in the background. I mean, a show I’ve seen so many times that I don’t have to pay attention to it. It makes the apartment feel less empty.”
