Page 41 of Slots & Sticks
I chuckle into my bacon. “If you want, we can stick around tomorrow. Check out the furry convention.”
“Camden!”
“Is this why your nose is always stuck in a book?”
She parts her fingers to glare at me. “Are you asking me if I’m a pervert?”
“What’s this book called?” I counter.
Dot shakes her head. “None of your business.”
Mira, ever helpful, replies, “Dot’s current book is titledThere are Two Wolves Inside Meby Eve Crispin.”
“Two?” I ask, feigning shock. “Is the main character stepping out on Rowan?”
“She’s fated totwomates!” Dot protests. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s a fantasy novel.”
I can’t help it. The words fated mates land in my chest with a thud. Part of me wants to laugh, the other part wants to ask if she ever pictured me in one of those roles. Idiot move. She’s embarrassed enough already, and I’m halfway to making it worse.
I focus on the bacon again, but every crackle of jazz, every soft sound she makes chewing, turns into background noise for something I shouldn’t be imagining—her, me, that same heat from earlier, only without the distance.
Chewing, I let out a little moan. I don’t know what kind of crack they put in this stuff, but I can’t help myself. “I’m not complaining. It makes me want to kiss you. And I’m not joking.”
Dot’s mouth forms a little ‘O.’
Mira cuts in. “If you kiss, at least it will be quiet and I can keep reading.”
“No more reading.” Dot shakes her head. “You could just play some music.”
“I’ve got you, girl. I’ll play an oldie but goodie to set the mood.” A few seconds later, the opening bars of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On”fill the room.
“How about an instrumental?” Dot asks.
Mira obliges. She hasn’t given up on her matchmaking plans, however, because she selects some smooth jazz.
Dot hides behind her coffee cup. I pretend to scroll my phone. The song hums low and slow, and all I can think is that the robot isn’t wrong. This room feels like a setup, and if I’m not careful, I’m the one who’s going to break first.
“Better,” Dot says. “Thank you, Mira.” She picks at her food.
I reach for one of the French toast containers. “I didn’t know that you were into reading those kinds of books.”
In truth, I don’t know a lot about her private life at all. I know her rhythms, her tells, the way she chews a straw when she’s thinking. But not who she dreams about at night, not who she wants. Sitting across from her now, in a hotel room that smells like syrup and pine and sex jokes, I realize how badly I want to know.
“I don’t strike you as the romantic type?” Dot’s reproof is mixed with what sounds like genuine curiosity.
“I’ve never heard you talk about crushes. Or ogle a movie star. I don’t know what you like.”Or what kind of guy you’re attracted to.
And if that guy could ever be me.
“You’re not exactly open about this stuff, either,” she retorts. She takes another bite of her food and chews for what feels like a very long time. Longer than necessary. When she finally swallows, she says, “It’s never been that important to me. Sex. Or, maybe… maybe sex by itself hasn’t…” She rotates her fork in the air. “People like Knova talk about sex so casually. And somuch. But even when I’m reading smut like this—” She nods toward Mira. “The parts I like best are the slow-burn romances. The mutual pining. Like, in this one, Hazel doesn’t jump Rowan’s bones on her first heat cycle. She savors the buildup. You know what I mean?”
Her voice is soft but sure, and it does something to me I don’t want to name. She’s sitting on one leg, fork moving in slow circles, and all I can think about is that she’s never looked more touchable and more untouchable at once. My body’s loud about it; my head’s trying to play defense.
My heart makes a valiant attempt to claw its way out of my throat and fling itself at Dot’s feet. “Yeah. I know.”
I do know. This is exactly how it feels to sit here and want her. Not a one-night thing, not a puck-bunny grab. Something that’s been building for years in quiet glances and unspoken jokes. I’ve been telling myself she’s off-limits so long it’s practically muscle memory, but tonight that muscle’s starting to tear.
“Like us,” Dot says in a low voice.
