Page 17 of Faun Over Me

“Claustrophobic?” Avery asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Avery looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s alri—”

Avery stopped abruptly, spitting and swiping at her face with both hands. Cricket bumped into her, something wispy tickled her ears, and Avery screamed. Every hair rose along Cricket’s neck and shoulders, the sensation of that scream like that of metal tips scaling down the strings on a guitar. Avery darted down the breezeway, spinning in a circle once she had the space to do so. Her hands flew down her front, batting at her skirt, then returning to her face as she chanted, “Ew. Ew. Ew.”

Cricket hobbled out of the breezeway and into a small backyard. A soft yellow glow spilled onto the lawn from the light on a wrap-around porch, illuminating a small grill, two lounge chairs, and a picket fence. Flowers she recognized from growing up in Green Bank hugged the fence, and in the far corner of the yard, beneath a Mountain Ash already blooming with berries, was a hammock and a soft, welcoming bed of pine straw, grass, and all-weather pillows.

A small breeze wafted through the yard, tickling across the back of Cricket’s neck.

Wait.

Was it the wind or a …

“Oh, Gods.” She copied Avery’s awkward dance, dragging spiderweb away from the back of her neck and out of her hair. A swipe at her throat brought away something with structure, and Cricket shot her hand out, whimpering at the sight of an orb-weaver spider scurrying up her arm.

“Oh, gosh, are there more?” Avery shrieked and pulled at her hair, loosening the long, frizzy ponytail. A cascade of fire poured down her back, tiny curls crowning her brow as she shoved her hands into the mass and shook it out. Cricket stood transfixed by all of that hair. Porchlight danced in the strands, illuminating golds and oranges. Just as quickly, it was whisked away, pulled into a messy bun on top of Avery’s head. “I swear that web wasn’t there yesterday.”

“You have beautiful hair,” Cricket replied. Avery stared at her, eyes wide, lips parted. Oh, Gods. Cricket scrunched her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I mean, I believe you.”

She opened her eyes to find Avery staring at her, lips now pursed as if she were about to speak. Instead, she coughed into her fist and faced the stairs. “This way.”

The back porch was cluttered in the way of frequent use. A basket of shoes sat by the door, and two rocking chairs flanked a small wood-burning stove and a metal barrel of logs. Flannel blankets covered a wicker loveseat, and she caught the undeniable scent of her cousin woven in with the fibers.

Avery tested the knob on the backdoor, nodding when it proved to be unlocked and facing Cricket. Again, she noticed the human’s height—the perfect height for Avery to rest her head on Cricket’s shoulder.

Her ears twitched, and she tucked her chin.

Where in the hells did that come from?

The gentle brush of Avery’s fingers startled her from the thought. They plucked at her sleeve and the soft down on her shoulder before lifting away, flicking something from the tips. “You’ve got some …” Avery looked up, brows bunching together as her eyes darted over Cricket’s face, her hair, like the faun was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out.

Her tongue darted out, moistening her lower lip and drawing every iota of Cricket’s attention to her mouth.

Oh. Oh no.

She knew herself well enough. Had known for years where her interest lay, and it always started like this: noticing the little things like the strands of gold woven into fox-fur hair and how that tiny line appeared when Avery was considering something.

I need to go inside. I need to get away from her. This is a terrible idea. She doesn’t even like me. I’m not even sure she likes girls or females or …

Her hooves wouldn’t move, and Avery’s eyes were impossibly large in the low light, her upturned nose giving her a fae, otherworldly appearance, like one of the fair folk from her mother’s books but far shorter and with more curves and—oh, Gods.

“You have something …” Avery reached up. The movement startled Cricket enough that her instincts took over. Rooted in place, eyes pinned on Avery, her ears shot straight, intent on every sound on the porch and in the woods beyond. Trapped by the glowing reflection of the porchlight in Avery’s eyes. “Here.”

Her fingers lightly brushed the tip of an ear, and a thrill of pleasure shot straight down Cricket’s spine. She bit her lip, barely halting the whimper that a single touch elicited.

She wouldn’t know. She couldn’t know. She said there’s no one here like me, and she’s clearly never been around inhumans before this summer. There’s no way she could know.

Still, she screwed her eyes closed, forcing slow breaths through her nose as Avery’s fingers continued their soft, teasing touch. Gods, the light pinches were beyond teasing. This was torture.

Her nipples pebbled all the way down her torso, and she thanked the Gods she’d worn a shirt that covered her body, even as a low, heated throb began in her core.

Avery’s fingers scaled the inner curve of Cricket’s ear, and a sound rose in her throat. She darted her hand up, grabbing the human’s wrist. “Please,” she managed. “Please stop.”

“I’m sorry. I—” Muscles flexed beneath Cricket’s palm, and she let go, finally zeroing in on what Avery held pinched in her fingers. “Spiderweb.” She smiled sheepishly. “It was caught in your hair and your ears.”

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