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“That’s not true,” Rowan said. “Look around you, man. There is a myriad of dryads for you to choose from if you want some companionship. They’re all down for a good fuck, let me tell you that.”
I glanced at the water’s edge, where the dryads lay sprawled on the mulch, drinking in the sun. Their pale, curved bodies were appetizing, their breasts firm and beautiful, their skin begging to be touched, kissed, tasted.
I could walk up to any of the female tree spirits, take her to my cabin, and fuck her.
I’d done that countless times, too. Seducing them was easy. I just didn’t get anything out of it. It was fine to take the edge off, but once I was satiated and my mind started spinning again… no release would erase that.
“Yeah, I’m not in the mood,” I said.
Rowan snorted. “Since when aren’t you in the mood to get some? With your gift of seduction, I would think you’re in the mood all the time. I’d give my left testicle to have your gift.”
I chuckled. “You have gifts, too.”
“Sure, the power to grow entire orchards at will is so sexually attractive, the dryads see me popping up lemon trees and they jump my bones.”
I burst out laughing. “You could have complained if you didn’t get laid these past few decades, but I know you were busy while I was asleep.”
Rowan shrugged. “I might not have the gift of seduction, my friend, but I’ve got game.”
“Good for you,” I laughed.
“Seriously, have some fun with it, Ash. Find some girls, find a release. Do it again and again if you want. The world is your oyster. If you won’t love, then fuck.”
I only shrugged, and we sat together in silence for a moment.
“What about you?” I asked, changing topics. “You’re on me about finding someone to love?—”
“Or getting laid.”
“—but have you found someone these last few decades?”
Rowan shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You have, haven’t you?”
“It’s Clea,” he said, jerking his head toward where Clea stood.
“Since when are you that close to her?”
“Hey, sleep for three hundred years, and the world passes you by,” Rowan pointed out.
Clea stood with two other dryads. She had long, greenish hair and a body that would make any drus sit up and beg. She was hot. She oozed sex appeal, but she was sweet, too. I’d known her for a long, long time. If there ever was a good dryad woman, it was Clea.
She did nothing for me.
“I’m happy for you,” I said.
“Are you?”
I shrugged. “If this is what you want, then yeah, of course. Just because I don’t believe in love anymore doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
“You can’t say it doesn’t exist,” Rowan said.
“Not for me. It only takes one bitch to break your heart, and then you’re stuck with this mess for the rest of your life.”
Rowan snorted. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It doesn’t look good on you.”
I burst out laughing. “I don’t feel sorry for myself, man. I’m just over it. It’s been a long couple of centuries… I guess I’m tired.”
