Page 42 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“But he still stopped. You never started. You clearly don’t share your parents’ values. I mean, yours are better. No offense.”

“None taken. It’s true. They were horrible. I try not to be.”

I know I smell like burnt gasoline and look like the after picture of a “Don’t Let This Happen To You” ad campaign, but I move closer to Gordon, wincing as my blistered feet touch the scratchy carpet. “I think you’re wonderful. I know what you are. I know who you are. I want to keep learning more. But what I want most in the whole world is to be with you and to know that you genuinely want that, too. Okay? Like... I want a boyfriend who wants to be my boyfriend, who thinks enough of me to understand I wouldn’t judge him by anything other than his own character and heart. Not his skin color. Or his family’s past. Or what he’s called. I like Lieutenant Gordon Rockland more than I can—” I have to stop to swallow around the ball of tears that has suddenly taken my throat hostage. “I like you more than I can say. I never want to lose you, and I never want you to leave because of me. If you really aren’t comfortable being with me, then you can go. I can take care of myself,” I sniff in, wiping my leaky eyes with a forced, trying-to-be-brave smile. “But I really hope you stay,” I whisper.

Gordon’s face softened into shock, and then a slow, spreading joy. “You understand everything, Andrea? Eddie said you don’t have a concussion. Do you understand you’re not dreaming? Hallucinating?”

“Yep. It’s not like I’m not curious, Gordon,” I murmur, daring to place my burn-free hand on his chest, then swallow a little moan at how wonderful it is to touch his solid, comforting strength. “It’s just that if you don’t leave, we can learn about things together.” I have to swallow again. “But I’m not trying to force you to stay. I’m not like that.”

“I know you’re not!”

For the first time in our brief relationship, I hear a new tone in Gordon’s usually deep, somber voice. Even when he’s making conversation, his tone is... steady. This time, his voice is lifting. There’s happy disbelief written on his face, and he keeps shaking his head. Blinking. His hand finally comes to rest on my cheek. “It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“Nope. Someone else’s.”

“Your hair. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt, and now it’s burnt.”

“Still not your fault. Plus, it’ll grow back.”

He stops. Sucks in a deep breath. Points to the corners of his lower lip. “I have tusks.”

“I thought I felt something poking me when we kissed earlier.” I smile.

“I am very much bigger than a human.”

My eyes trail across his chest, and my head has to tip backward to look up at him fully. That ‘Mist’ he mentioned is a real thing. I realize afresh that my perception of Gordon’s appearance was skewed. Not only didn’t I notice his gray-green skin or tusks, but I also didn’t fully appreciate just how broad and tall he is.

“I’m very much smaller than a troll,” I counter.

Gordon bursts out laughing, and I laugh, too, in joy and relief, and slide into his arm. This time, they close around me and lift. “My Andrea,” he sighs into my hair.

“My Gordon,” I sigh back.

For a long second, all we do is rock and sway, embracing in the safety of whatever this is. Acceptance. Lack of fear. Choosing each other. “It’s late,” I whisper.

“I know. I’ll take care of you. It won’t take long, and I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Can you just... Can you just stay?” I whisper. “We can toss your clothes in the washer at the end of the hall.”

“I can stay?”

“If you want.”

Another chuckle that tickles me from the inside out. Gordon is a handsome person, but when he smiles for real? When he laughs?

Oh, my God. He’s beautiful. His laughter is like the ocean’s waves rolling and booming, and his smile is pure light. “I want that so much, but I cannot believe you want it, too.”

I nod excitedly. There are so many things I hope we both want, a new, longing sensation that I hope we share.

But later. Right now, my feet are killing me, and my mouth feels like an ashtray.

Gordon swoops me up in his arms, gentle but Herculean. There are no other words to describe it. I feel like the hottest hunk of bodybuilder is carrying me like an injured butterfly. “You don’t have to carry me!” I squeak.

“But what if I want to?”

He wants to. He wants to touch me. Maybe he always did. I cling to him. “Then call me your passenger princess. Or is this just while my feet are healing?”

Gordon smirks, and his lips press my smoke-smudged forehead. He takes me to the bathroom across from my bedroom and gently sets me on the edge of the sink. His body practically fills the room, and it towers over me, surrounds me.