Page 45 of Heimlock

Trinte sits down, his shoulder bumping against mine.

“Do you have to take up so much space?” I mutter.

Trinte turns to look at me, Minga in hand. While his gaze pierces me, the glass hovers in front of his kissable lips. “You’re welcome to scoot over.”

“Don’t mind him,” Fynn says, probably unaware of how intimately I know his brother. “It still surprises me that his head can fit through doorways.”

The brothers exchange a playful glare. Orliana huffs out a laugh in agreement. Talia taps his forearm. “Your shoulders are rather broad.”

“The better to pummel faces with, Talia,” he says, grinning widely as he lifts an arm, flexing the muscles.

My mouth goes drier than the sands of Oasha. Looking away, I ask Orliana, “Can I get a drink?”

“Oh!” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Of course! So sorry, I’m still learning my way around this—”

“Don’t worry, I know what she likes,” Trinte says smoothly, winking at my friend. Orliana’s eyes narrow; at least she recognizes how much mischief this man is capable of causing. The blue Dragon looks down at me.

With a look that pools a dreadful thrill low in my belly, he says silkily, “Fynn, don’t you have some Heimlocks in the fridge?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Fynn checks the fridge. “Yep, six of them. Want one?”

“Two, please.”

“Gross,” Orliana blanches. “Those things are so cheap. Why do you have them?”

“They’re cheap and do the job,” Fynn says flippantly, not knowing what’s happening right now. The chaos occurring right here in this kitchen.

Trinte’s focus never wavers, even as Fynn places two bottles and glasses in front of us. We hold the stare as Trinte pops open each can with the crease of an elbow and skillfully pours into each glass without blinking.

Each second increases my heart rate. He’s taunting me, and I can’t decide whether I should be infuriated or aroused.

Scratch that. I’m instantly the latter, thighs squeezing at the memory of that night. When he hands me the glass, I take it, clenching my jaw.

Before I can fully take it out of his grasp, he pulls it back. “What? No, ‘thank you?’”

“Thank. You,” I grit out, holding back the urge to snatch it out of his hand.

He leans forward and mouths, “Good girl.”

Lifting my chin in defiance, I take the first sip. Instantly, I’m catapulted into the memory that has plagued me for months.

***

The Speed Dating Event

The conversation with Trinte is easy and I can’t stop smiling. We’re three Heimlocks in and the buzz under my skin has me giddy. Our knees thread together, brushing our thighs each time one of us swivels on our stools.

It’s maddening, wondering what it would be like for him to be between my legs in a different position.

So far, I’ve learned he’s a Dragxi, works with his brother, plays video games, and adores baking cookies. Smiles come easy for him, and he’s never one to miss a sexual innuendo.

I’m struggling to understand why he’s here at a speed dating event. At his age, shouldn’t he be locked down with a wife and kids?

Shouldn’t you?

I ignore the small voice. It’s a reminder that someone not fitting the normal life trajectory doesn’t indicate they’re broken. At least, I don’t think I’m broken.

“Kyrielle?” Trinte’s looking at me expectantly, like I zoned out and missed a question.