Page 18 of Zodiac Beasts
I didn’t hate it, but it was still weird.
Chapter 8
“Do you play any sports?” A Beta woman, who surely was lovely and an absolute catch, asked me from across the table. I knew she was either an Asp or a Lioness shifter, as there weren’t many others who my family would approve for matchmaking. Though now that cross breeding science had proven that a fertile male was the only requirement for breeding with any species, be it an Omega or a Heryshaf demon, I was sure a few Basilisks and El Naddaha would make it into my dating pool in the near future.
As my twenty-fifth birthday was barely more than a month away, the demands that I find a suitable mate had become much more aggressive as of late. Omari would likely be assigned a mate soon, so I was sure Mother wanted me to beat him to the altar. I should have been thankful that I’d had more freedom than the true Arya heir, getting this wonderful opportunity to ‘date,’ but it hardly felt like it as I trudged through yet another emotionless sit down.
I also should be glad that the school picnic had pulled Lila away from the shop on weekends, considering how much more often Mother was casually stopping by to check on me. I’d need to come up with something to reassure Mother that she didn’t need to micromanage me, as I’d still prefer the two of them never, ever meet if it could be avoided. It might be inevitable at some point, but between both of our school obligations for the month of May, I could delay the inevitable at least a little longer.
The thought of summer break and increased work hours loomed in the back of my mind, and I did my best to push it back.
Why it mattered to me so much that Lila avoided my family, it was hard to explain. She wouldn’t understand if I tried, which was actually to her credit rather than her detriment. Being so far removed from our world may have been one of my favorite things about spending time with her.
But the more I thought on it, I couldn’t say I understood why I was being so protective.
“Any hobbies at all?” The woman’s voice penetrated my inner monologue, and I remembered I was supposed to be on a date.
“None.” I said, blandly.
Her nose scrunched. “Not even sewing? You work at Threads of the Magi, don’t you?”
“No hobbies.” I repeated for emphasis, not bothering to make further eye contact to acknowledge her reaction.
This was so boring. So pointless. I hated people. Why would I want to spend time with them? At least in the shop, I only had to perform surface level niceties. No one asked me stupid questions about my hobbies.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I wasted no time checking the message.
Not-Human Lila: What’s your club doing for the picnic?
An innocuous question. Small talk, I guess? How casual.
Me: The sewing club will be doing fittings. We’ll take measurements during the picnic, and then we’ll deliver a custom made jacket or dress later. Nothing terribly flashy, but it’s always a popular offering, I’m told.
Not-Human Lila: You’re told? Aren’t you a sophomore? You must have done it last year.
Me: I wasn’t in the sewing club last year.
Not-Human Lila: What club were you in?
Mmmm, no. That wasn’t a question I wanted to answer at all. I would happily forget my too-long stint in the Astrology Club. Or my too-long stint with any members thereof.
Me: Not the sewing club.
Not-Human Lila: Can I get measured? I want a Ceto original.
She was so good at accepting my nudges whenever I dodged a question. I appreciated her ability to take a hint. She really was such a pleasant person to talk to.
Me: I would love nothing more than to make you the most beautiful dress, Shifter Lila.
Not-Human Lila: Do I get a new nickname once we know what the other half of my bloodline is?
Me: The evolution of science requires that we accept new evidence when it’s presented.
Not-Human Lila: If this is how nerds flirt, keep doing it. It’s working for me.
She added textual indications of laughter, assuring I took that as a joke. It was cute in a way that almost made me want to flirt with her in earnest.
But flirting wasn’t something I did.
