Page 66 of Faking with the Fae King

“Orcs do lots of things… bigger.” Skye waves a hand toward Thorvinn, who lifts a cask into place and pounds a tap into the top, his shoulders bulging.

“Is that a euphemism?” I ask. “I’m too tipsy to tell.”

“Yes.”

“God, would you look at him?” Autumn sighs, cheekresting on one hand as she gazes down the bar at Thorvinn. “Just look at the way he fills out his shirt!”

Rune frowns down at her. Then his eyes snap away as another group of people walk through the front door.

Opening night at The Thirsty Tusk is a hit, and there are quite a few humans mixed into the shadow fae, with some wood nymphs, pixies, and gnomes sprinkled around. The only orcs are the ones working the bar, though.

Jared, wearing non-cycling clothes for a change and looking good, chats up a wood nymph man with oak-leaf hair. When he comes over to the bar to order them another round, I ask, “Things going well?”

“He likes my legs.”

“They’re freaking tree trunks of muscle!” I grin. “Of course he likes them.”

Jared smiles back. “Thanks, Hannah. All these new people are great. The dating pool was kind of nonexistent before.”

I nod. There were almost no single men around our age in town before the fae arrived.

Jared heads back to his date, and a group of pixies fly over, ordering tiny thimbles of cider that they down with loud cheers.

I even spot Luke propping up one of the walls, his folded wings rising above his horned head.

“Hey, Skye,” I tap her arm with the back of my hand and point him out. “That’s the dragon with the huge library.”

“Isthata euphemism?” She squints toward him.

“Probably.” Naomi once told me something specific about dragon peen, but I can’t remember what it is. “But alsoliterally. Big scholar. Lots of books. Just your type.”

My friend turns pink and looks down at her drink. “Yeah, but I’m probably not his type.”

“What do you mean?” I wave my hand up and down, taking in her amazing pinup-girl dress from the 1950s that perfectly shows off all her curves.

“He’d be lucky to have you,” Autumn adds, flipping her long red hair back over her shoulder to keep it out of her tankard, her bangles jangling. “Super lucky.”

I catch Rune staring at her, a strange look on his face. She follows my gaze and squints at him. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Jason Momoa?”

“Who?” He frowns down at her and crosses his arms over his chest. Whether he means for it to happen or not, his biceps flex, straining the fabric of his Henley.

“It’s a compliment.” She pats his arm, her hand lingering. “Nice.”

“Very nice.” I take another sip, the malty ale smooth on my tongue. “Not as nice as Severin, though.”

As if called into being by my words, he appears out of the crowd, his hair flowing around his shoulders in utter perfection. How the heckity heck does he fly everywhere and have such great hair?

“Magic,” he says to me.

Oops! I break into giggles and slap a hand over my mouth. I said that out loud.

His eyes narrow, and he scowls all around. “This is far too crowded.”

“No.” I throw my arms wide. “This is a hit! Lots of business. Lots of customers. Lots of people having fun!”

“Lots of people far too close to you,” he growls. “Any one of whom could be Meloria wearing a glamour.”

“Oh.” Shit, this fae stuff is hard to keep track of.

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