Page 57 of Right Next Door
“It’s sweet,” she said, picking up another bite. Her fingers were covered in grease and whatever sauce he had been using, but she didn't care. It felt right. “The leaves were supposed to be flower petals though.”
“Ah!” He dropped his head back in defeated frustration. “That makes so much more sense.”
“I actually like the black netting. Very goth.”
“Really?” He perked up. “I thought you’d like the black color. So, I did do that right.”
“Never said you did it wrong,” she snickered. “The cans… metal discs are supposed to be for after we’re already mated though.”
“And the arrows?”
“Entirely symbolic. I’m going to say that statistically zero first dates include arrows, and practically zero include weaponry. It’s based on a myth, so we don’t need actual, real arrows.”
“A myth?”
“Yeah. The arrows are meant to represent love, and they’re being shot into your heart, striking you with that desired and dreaded affliction.” She snickered. “No one has ever given me a bouquet of arrows before though. You definitely get bonus points for creativity.”
He perked up again, giving her a look. Seeming to notice for the first time that she was willingly touching him, leaning on him, as she picked at the food he cooked for her. Half naked. Over a fire. Out in nature. Like a beast after the hunt. Fuck, that was actually kind of sexy. Just a little bit.
Still mad at him, but it was getting harder to state that with actual feeling.
This was the most bizarre and still somehow the cutest thing anyone had done for her. There was a lot of work here. Setting up the leaves, then the nets over the leaves. The spit roast! That was an actual beast over an open flame – that took time and effort to pull off. Not to mention all the time that must have gone into the research for the strange touches. He may have misinterpreted what they meant and what they were supposed to be, but he had made a real effort.
That’s what she saw around her now. Effort. Intention. He may have messed it up, but she really adored the end result he pulled together. For as strange, messy, and odd as it all was, he had done this all forher.
And, really, the mistakes were harmless ones. Kind of sweet, even. The sparky mood lighting representing passion instead of intimate, romantic undertones had to be her favorite part. It was like there was a silent rave ongoing over her head, sparks and little bolts firing off randomly but quickly. She just needed some EDM and a pair of glowsticks and she’d be ready to party.
None of this was tonally appropriate.
But romantic…
It was actually doing pretty well at that.
“This is good,” she said, picking up a piece of the meat and holding it up to his lips. “Try.”
He looked at the food, then over to her. She smiled at the slightly confused expression on his face. Like he was worried this might be a trap – or he might be misunderstanding.
“You are not… disappointed?” He asked calmly.
“Not disappointed,” she promised, pressing the meat on him.
Slowly, cautiously, watching her expression, he opened his mouth and leaned forward. He was careful, ever so careful, as he took the bite from her. Muzzle pulling back, teeth grabbing only the smallest bite possible, pulling it from her gently. Like he was making all attempts not to touch her.
That’s exactly what he was doing. He had her permission to talk to her, he had not yet gotten permission to touch her. Even if she was being obvious in her invitation. It wasn’t obvious to him. This male couldn’t pick up hints because this entire game was a mystery to him.
And, somehow, that was both adorable and tempting. She wondered just how far she could tease him. Just how close to the edge she could push before he realized he had nonverbal permission or he broke and begged for mercy.
“Misty,” Tsok began as she shifted her weight. He went silent when she brought her legs up and around to curl beside herself on the seat, leaning more into his side. Using him as a spot to steady herself, surprising him with the action.
But his fur was soft. She was used to the texture of kreecharma fur. She knew the different fur types and how they felt under her fingers. There were regional differences. Those who came from the colder side of Kree had denser, softer fur, while the fur of those like Tsok, who were from a more temperate climate, was thinner and, naturally, just a bit coarser.
But his fur wasn’t coarse at all. It might have been thinner, but he was soft like a well-tended kitty in a loving home.
And he still had her braid on his arm. He hadn’t attempted to undo it. The strange design, definitely not one she would have showcased in her portfolio, was worn openly with no small amount of pride. She wanted to fix it. To give him something actually nice. A design that he could show off to others.
Yet, at the same time, she rather liked the braid already there. What it represented. Like the completely odd date with the metal mobile and spit roast, it just seemed to fit.
“Can I ask you some questions?” Tsok finally continued, his voice a bit rougher than before.
