Page 17 of A Blue Ribbon Romance

“Being an adult,” he huffed again, relieved that they were finally making their way to the only business he had an interest in.

“Being an adult,” she mocked him in a gruff, affected voice. “My heart is a lone hunter. I live for my work, and chocolate is my only sustenance.”

“Are you done?”

She ignored his sardonic tone, already making herself laugh. He shook his head derisively as she once more schooled her face into a stern expression and forced her voice down several octaves.

“Inside me, there are two wolves. One is a bull. Both of them are assholes. Neither shares their ice cream. I’m the boss of everyone.”

“Lurielle, that doesn’t even make any sense.” Her composure had broken, and she hunched at the waist, laughing at his expense. “I don’t sound anything like that.”

“That’s exactly how you sound, actually,” she insisted, wiping tears from her eyes as her shoulders shook. “It’s the fact you think you don’t that’s so funny.” She reached up, sliding her arm through his with a brilliant smile. “You and Khash. I’m telling you. Like looking into a mirror. You know what he said when he left this morning? After I told him what my plans were for the day?” Lurielle cleared her throat, looking pleased with herself already, dropping her voice once more, this time into her version of her boyfriend’s lush, southern drawl. “I don’t know, Bluebell, you know how that bully boy next door is. Probably gonna be too busy polishing the nameplate on his desk to make time for lil’ old you. That is, if he can see it through all that hair hangin’ in his face, bless his heart.”

Rourke scowled as she laughed again, holding her sides as she wheezed. He was mollified by the fact that they had reached the scoop truck and had entered the queue.

“Peas in a pod, the two of you. Okay, who is this girl? Does she work in your office? Because yeah, I agree. That’s not good. Don’t go burying your bones in the garden when you still have roses to plant or something like that.”

“No, nothing like that. I, uh, I met her at her job. I see her there weekly. I actually have appointments; it’s not like I’m just hanging out like a creeper, distracting her from her job. But I’m very aware of the fact that sheisat work. I don’t want to misconstrue the friendly professional relationship we have and turn it into something more if she’s not feeling the same way. Can I get a sample of all six flavors on the bottom row?” he asked the rabbit eared girl behind the counter of the truck, their turn at the window at last.

He turned to Lurielle expectantly. She rolled her eyes, pursing her lips for a moment. “You’re lucky I like you,” she grumbled, before raising her face to the window, her voice brightening. “And can I get a sample of all six flavors on the top row? We’re also going to get a strawberry freeze and a triple scoop choco mocha parfait.”

Rourke hummed in satisfaction. This wasn’t the first time they had visited the scoop truck together, and she knew the drill. “Extra marshmallows and chocolate sauce on the parfait, please.”

The teenager behind the counter stared at them with an unamused expression; her mouth pressed a flat line. She clucked her tongue before punching in the order, but Rourke paid her no mind, swiping his card at the terminal with another satisfied hum. He was still full of despair, but ice cream and chocolate sauce made everything better.

“Okay, that’s not nearly as bad?! I get it. You’re being smart. I had to stop at the mobile place on the way home from work last week because I was having issues with my phone in the afternoon, and while I was waiting, I was watching one of the employees. It was this beautiful dryad, super upbeat and cheerful, and she was trying to help everyone, but you could tell she was trying to keep away from this troll guy who was just hanging out. I couldn’t tell if he was even there for a reason! So I’m one hundred percent with you; please let women who are working in service jobs just do their jobs. Nine times out of ten, they’re being nice to you because they’re being paid to be nice to you, and they really just want to go home.”

The weight of his horns felt too heavy for his head, his broad shoulders seemed to drag down his entire carriage, and his thin, swishing tail hung like a lead pipe. His entire existence felt heavy as if he might crash into the ground, burying himself in the dirt, never having to get up and face the reality that he had been one of those guys for months. Despair was not a strong enough word, Rourke decided.

“But,” Lurielle went on emphatically, jabbing him with her index finger, “there is always that tenth time when she is just as into the guy as he is into her. And that’s usually the guy who’s not being creepy. So, in this case, you.”

Their sample cups were placed on the pickup ledge, a tiny swallow of each flavor that he hoarded like a dragon. All around them, couples stolled hand-in-hand, a reminder of the empty house waiting for him.

“Come on, knock it off with all the doom and gloom. There has to be a way for you to talk to her outside of her job, right? I mean, you havetalkedto her, right? What did the two of you talk about?” The melodic tone of her phone interrupted the conversation, and she pulled a face at the screen. “This is work; hold on . . .”

Rourke took the opportunity of her distraction to think through what his actual answer might be.The size of my testicles. How good her hands feel. How hard she makes me come. The coffee shop.Heat moved up his neck. He knew rationally that it was the heightened intimacy of the situation that made it feel as if they had made some extraordinary connection. He had never made small talk with any of the other technicians other than her, and that, too, added to the clearly inaccurate impression of compatibility, despite knowing nothing about her. His lack of knowledge hadn’t kept him from wondering, though.

She had a graduate degree and lived in the city. He’d pondered endlessly over where she lived. His time as a denizen of Bridgeton might be behind him, but he had lived there long enough to know the different neighborhoods and had a sense of the type of person each one attracted.

He tried to imagine her in one of the sleek nightclubs his ex had been enamored with, dimly lit with jewel-toned up-lighting, replete with a social media backdrop for posing and posting online. He wasn’t sure why so many of them defaulted to fake greenery as if that were the height of influencer chicness — trussed up in heels and designer clothing, posing with their martini glasses in front of a wall of artificial shrubbery, bearing the club’s name in the loopy neon-lit scroll. He couldn’t picture her there at all.

Stop it.Rourke shook his head as if he might be able to shake away the errant thought like a cobweb.Don’t compare her to Veleena. That’s not healthy, and it’s not fair.It was also completely nonsensical, considering he really didn’t know the first thing about this girl. . . not that you knew anything about Veleena either, and that hadn’t stopped you from putting a ring through your nose.

She seemed . . . grounded. Laid-back and unpretentious.Could you possibly make her sound any less interesting? Or are you just hoping she’s a boring shut-in like you?She had said she was waiting for a job in her field, and he wondered what that field might be.It’s probably something sensible like accounting. You should mention it to Kenta and see if he has any openings.

The little voice in his head shifted as if there were two warring factions sitting on opposite shoulders.Wait a minute; you don’t want to do that! If she gets a job in her field, she’s going to quit the farm. She’s employed right now; let her worry about what it is she’s doing. Do you want her to be hunched over someone else’s taxes all day, or do you want her to be at the farm milking you every week?The miniature bull on the left sported the white chiton of the ancient forebears, while the bull on the left was naked, gesturing to his miniature engorged erection.If she’s doing taxes, who’s going to take care of this?!

Lurielle’s head had risen, giving him a skeptical look before she rolled her eyes at whoever was on the phone. He’d hastened to distract himself with another spoon, shaking off both miniature minotaurs.

She was unfamiliar with Cambric Creek. That in and of itself did not mean she was completely brand-new to the area, but Rourke had the impression that she was.She moved away from her family for school, settled in the city after she graduated. That was a story with which he was well familiar. He loved his family, but there hadn’t been enough miles to put between him and the stink of a stable when he had first left for university. He respected his grandfather, his father and uncle, and all of the generations that had come before them, giving him the opportunity to put everything that was familiar, all that he had grown up surrounded by, far behind him once he had come of age. He hadn’t looked back.

He knew he was probably just projecting, but if the milking tech was simply trying to carve out her own path in the world, far away from the one her family had set out for her, well, that was something he understood down in his bones.She said she can’t find a job in her field. She probably had a bunch of odd jobs just to keep a roof over her head; that’s how she wound up at the farm. Which meant her degree was likely not in something as practical and straightforward as accounting.

She was relatively new to the area and, at the very least, brand-new to Cambric Creek.Well, that will give you something to do. You can show her around, be her tour guide. Here’s the waterfall; here’s the gazebo. This is the historic Observatory, named for a socialite whose sister killed almost a dozen people. These are all statues named after werewolves. This is my bed, the most important landmark in town.

Rourke tried to imagine taking his mystery technician to the Makers Mart, stopping at the scoop truck on the way out. His tongue would be icy cold from the ice cream when he pressed it between her thighs, and she would gasp at the sensation, writhing beneath him. Another lick of ice cream to chill his tongue, swallowing it down, and then another long lick of her hot folds, coating his mouth in her slickness.

He had a sweet tooth, and his appetite for desserts was endless, paling only in comparison to his appetite for pussy. He wanted to bury his face against her, kissing the lips he found there as passionately as he would kiss her mouth. He would take an accounting for every single minute she had ever spent stroking his cock, paid back with his tongue between her thighs, licking her clit, making her flood his mouth, his new favorite dessert.

---