Page 17 of The Orc That Got Away

“I appreciate that,” he says. “But no, I’m single. Have been for almost a year, in fact.”

I nod and refill both of our glasses. “Haven’t found the right guy?”

“Not yet,” he says, looking at me so intensely I feel like he’s staring into my soul. “But I’d like to give it a try with you.”

I almost spill my wine on the table. “Really? Even after what I just said?”

“Really,” Bradford nods. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I won’t be kept a secret again,” Bradford tells me. “If anyone asks you if you’re in a relationship, I want you to answer honestly. Can you do that?”

I take another breath, this one deeper than the one before. He’s not saying that this is an ultimatum, but I know that it is. Do I like Bradford enough to do this? Can I finally try to reconcile my private and public selves?

I remember how it felt to be with Bradford before. How he could both excite and understand me like no one else in my life. Not even Kroth and Gorlag. And how wonderful it felt to be so known, so seen.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes, I can do that. I will do that.”

Bradford raises his glass towards mine. I lift mine and ask, “What are we toasting to?”

“To new beginnings,” he says. “And to second chances.”

I clink my glass against his. “Well said.”

Bradford takes a drink, then looks at me and smiles. “I have one more question for you, Ragnar.”

“Sure,” I say, draining my glass. “Fire away.”

“Can you still handle my appetite?”

“What do you mean? I was already planning on paying for dinner. I asked you out, after all.”

“No,” says Bradford, with a grin that sends a delicious shiver up my spine. “I mean, perhaps this date will end at breakfast, just like old times.”

I grin as my cock hardens under the table. “Well, I sure fucking hope so.”

10

BRADFORD

Imeet Ragnar’s gaze, and for a moment I want nothing more than to throw some money down, grab his hand, and drag him back to my hotel room. But I also want to build the anticipation for how I’m now almost sure the night will end.

“Are you hungry?” Ragnar asks, picking up one of the leather-bound menus.

“Starving,” I say. No need to tell him that the idea of this meeting – I wasn’t sure whether to call it a date – had me so nervous, I’ve barely eaten all day.

Even though Ragnar’s been more open and sincere with me than I expected, I’m not completely ready to believe that he’s capable of this much change. I want to believe it, though, and I don’t know whether that makes me a complete fool or a generous optimist.

But over dinner, our conversation flows easily. We catch each other up on the highlights of our lives since school. He cracks me up with his imitations of some of the more insufferable egomaniacs he’s come across on his rise to the top. And I soak up his open admiration of the various countries that my work as both a photographer and model have taken me.

“I wish I’d traveled more,” Ragnar sighs over coffee. Our dinner dishes have been cleared away and Ragnar has already paid for our meal. I tried to pay, but he insisted.

I chuckle. “You’re not some decrepit orc on your deathbed,” I remind him. “You have plenty of time to get out and see the world.”

“You say that, but somehow, whenever I plan a vacation, work gets in the way.”

“Or maybe you let it,” I suggest, gazing at him over the rim of my coffee cup.

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