Page 97 of Heimlock

She licks her lips again, and I hope it’s to savor my flavor. “That’s blasphemy, Trinte.”

Tugging her closer for another kiss, right before my lips are on hers again, I mutter, “Then call me a damned sinner because I have a new deity."

39

The next two days fly by in a blur of homemade meals, card games, and Trinte being the best caretaker in existence.

If you'd told me a man could take care of me, even help bathe me, without a single wandering eye moment … I would’ve laughed at you. Yet, Trinte accomplished it without breaking a sweat. After the first night, things became easier as the hours passed.

So on day four, when I can lift my arm with some vague tenderness and tightness, disappointment has me confused. I should feel smothered or annoyed at someone in the same space, but instead, I’m dreading the moment he leaves.

Without meaning to, we’ve become friends. More than friends.

The easiest thing would be to ask him out on a date. Throw out my rule about dating people from the gym.

But it’s not just about that, is it? It’s more than avoiding being labeled as a battle bunny. Trinte has so much that he needs to be addressing. The nightmares didn’t return, but it’s probably a fluke. On top of that, I still have three more questions. Each one needs to be meaningful. Not just so I have a more clear picture of who he is, but so he can also have a more clear picture of who I am.

Trinte’s cooking in the kitchen when I step out of the bedroom. Wearing a white tank top that shows off his muscles and gray sweatpants that show a little more than I bargained for … he looks delicious. Especially with the messy bun holding his hair. I roll my arm, testing its range of motion. My wing still feels weak, but I think a couple more days will do the trick.

He looks up, a light in his eyes I’ve never seen before. “Morning, Firefly. How’d you sleep?”

Wiping sleep from my eyes, I smile. “Look what I can do.”

When I raise my right arm, he grins. “Look at you, raising your arm like a big girl.”

I stick out my tongue, and he laughs, bringing a mug of steaming coffee over. “Coffee with one sugar and an obscene amount of hazelnut creamer.”

Smelling the delightful brew, I say, “If it’s one drop less than obscene, I’ll know.”

He returns to the stove, stirring my eggs. “And what, pray tell, will you do about it?”

My eyes rove his back, down to his taut ass, and further along his blue tail. This kitchen is too small for him, yet he looks right at home. “Spit it on you?”

Trinte casts me a wicked grin over his broad shoulder. “I really hope you spit in me.”

It’s the first time he’s flirted with me this entire time. Tension I hadn’t been aware of loosens around my heart. As if a small tender part of me was afraid he’d stopped being interested. Which is stupid, because he slept on the floor for three nights to take care of me. Of course he’s interested.

The idea of spitting on him is intriguing. I hop onto one of the counters, the cold tile biting into my bare thighs. I’m wearing a strapless bra and pajama shorts. It’s natural around him now, but as he turns to face me, it feels more exposing than ever before.

Emboldened by the way his eyes linger on the tops of my thighs, I say, “You want me to spit hazelnut coffee on you?”

Despite the egg-covered spatula in his hand, this blue Dragon looks menacing as he says, “On me? No, Firefly.” He points at his now-widening mouth. “In me.”

Despite having taken a sip of the coffee, my mouth goes dry. Three days of platonic conversation, and now my imagination is running wild.

I need to stave off the desire beginning to throb in my core. “Fairly certain that doctors aren’t supposed to say those things to their patients.”

Trinte turns back to the stove, pulling the pan off. “You can wash your own armpits now. Fairly certain that means you no longer need a caretaker.”

Ignoring how those words make my heart ache, I cannonball into this flirtation. “Well, then, what does that make you?”

Spooning my breakfast onto a plate, he says, “Whatever you want me to be, Firefly.”

I take another sip of the coffee. It’s delicious, but I’m not willing to let go of the visual of Trinte on his knees … “This coffee sucks.”

He freezes, then slowly turns around. An amused smile plays on his lips. “Does it now?”

Lifting the mug, I frown. “It’s at least two drops short of being enough.”