Page 37 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

Nix discharged.

The shock cracked through both of us, sharp enough to make my hair stand on end and my arm tingle from fingertips to shoulder.

Traig’s grip tightened.

We froze.

His hand was warm, his palm rough against my skin. His thumb rested against my pulse point, which was currently leaping around more than it should.

I could feel my heartbeat everywhere.

Nix chirped, landed on the table, and snatched up a cookie. Another chirp and he zipped back out the door.

“Sorry,” Traig said, his voice one big rasp.

“It’s okay.”

He released my wrist slowly, his fingertips dragging across my skin as he pulled away.

The tingling didn’t stop.

I sat back down a little too quickly and picked up my notebook like I’d been planning to write something in it. My hand was shaking.

Traig remained standing, staring at the door Nix had escaped through, his shoulders rigid, his tablet held against his chest with both hands.

He grunted. “I should⁠—”

“Do you think—” I said at the same time.

We both stopped.

“You first,” I said.

“No. Please. You were saying…”

I had no idea what I’d been about to say.

“Should fizzlings eat cookies?” I asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” His shoulders dropped. “Everyone loves cookies.”

“You especially.”

He looked at the plate, at the evidence of his cookie consumption, and his expression softened into embarrassment. “I ate most of them. This is… I should’ve shown more restraint.”

“Are you kidding? I love that you love cookies. There’s no shame in that.”

His gaze snapped to mine.

“No shame,” he repeated quietly.

“It’s something we share.”

“Share.”

The conference room seemed smaller suddenly. Warmer.

He sat back down and ate another cookie in one bite. A deliberate choice, not to let the moment get bigger. And laid his tablet on the table.