Page 71 of The Minotaur's Valentine

I swallow. All the flags I’ve been mentally sorting through, the red, the green, and the warnings... They vanish. All I can see is him.

“I love you, too, Milo. See you in a few hours.”

Chapter Fifty-Four: Milo

Libby loves me. She said it. She said it in a different way than she ever said it before.

Don’t ask me to explain. All I know is that it’s the best thing ever. It’s the bestest-best thing ever, better than sex, better than kittens, better than front row at a Black Sabbath concert with backstage passes.

I headbang my way through my “Get Shit Done” playlist, rocking out in time with the hefty blows my hammer makes on the anvil.

I gouge a small hole in the screen of the back porch door with my horns.

Who cares? I’m in love!

I’m in love with my naughty sex goddess, petite, perfect hardcore princess of a girlfriend.

Once she called herself a stray. I’ve been reading up on cats, especially strays and feral cat colonies.

A lot of them stay in one area where they can find safety. Security. Do I want to be Libby’s boring, secure man?

You bet your left buttock I do.

That’s why I’m making something special to give to her tonight. It’s not a ring, but it’s something that I hope shows her that I’m serious.

I lift the glowing sheet of metal with tongs and carry it to the workbench where I do the fine work with tiny tweezers, snippers, and pliers.

First, a long silvery neck, no longer than her delicate little pinkies. A twist, a tuck, a pull, a squeeze. One pointed arrow-tipped horn. Then another.

It’s got to cool, but that’s okay because I’m sweating into my eyes as I squint, trying to make a braid out of silver that needs to be finished with black accents. A chain to wrap around the slender stretch of silver. I can imagine it against her throat. I can imagine it dangling between her breasts.

Concentrate, idiot. Don’t mess this up.

But it’s too late. I can imagine putting it as a charm on a long, thin chain that loops around her waist and dangles down her thigh, or just under her navel, pointing me where to go, a roadmap for my tongue to worship. Or my hands, my fingers lifting the chain and shifting my handmade charm to delve and dig into her smooth, soft flesh, to part her legs and spread her open, so pink and soft—under such a beautiful but hard shell.

She’s every metal worker’s dream. Smooth and silk, hard and sharp.

I wish I could write poetry for her, but when I do, it just turns into one long, long babble of everything I like about her and how lucky I am.

And I’m pretty sure it would scare her off.

Today I’m less scared.

But I’ll still let my hands do the talking.

With a hot metal and tiny tweezers winding, I hold my breath and drape the metallic braid just so.

I want to engrave it with the date we met or our initials in a heart, but my courage hasn’t swelled that much. I press a dainty script “L” on the back and blow it a kiss.

“Come on, boys. Let’s go see Mommy!” I whistle to Freddy and Felix, who are sleeping on an old soot-stained apron in the corner, shunning their recently-acquired fancy cat bed.

While Freddy and Felix claim their spots in the kitty carrier Libby got yesterday (so I can have my lunchbox back), I rummage through my supplies. I finally find the perfect box, black velvet and too big to be mistaken for a ring box, and fancy enough to stand out.

Gathering my courage, my cooler, my new stock, and of course, my kittens, I hurry to get in the truck. I want to be there when Libby gets home. I wasn’t kidding about teaching her a lesson for being a very naughty girl and making me have an explosive, totally unexpected phone-sex orgasm this morning while I was still half-asleep.

The lesson is... She should do it again—because I’ll be happy to return the favor.

Chapter Fifty-Five: Libby

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