Page 28 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

That’s only a couple of days away, but I don’t like it. Now that I know that it’s “safe” and the third date sexual encounter is optional, I’m suddenly feeling a forbidden sense of greed. I want Andrea with me every spare second of the day.

Don’t be greedy. You don’t deserve her at all. One day, Andrea will realize it. It’ll be on her terms, and in the meantime... In the meantime, you get to store up her smiles, and her laughter, and hear her play.

Saying no will make her sad.

That’s the bridge I cannot bear to cross. “Yes.”

“Oh, good. I—”

“No. No, damn. I have to supervise the 4th of July fireworks event at the high school. It’s my year. Captain Sunderland and I rotate.”

“Ah,” she says, face falling.

“Well. It is supposed to be a fun event with more than just fireworks. There are hot dogs and hamburgers. Face painting. Some carnival-type games.”

Andrea nods. “Awesome. Fireworks, food, fun—and a fireman? Sign me up.”

I love how she added me in as one of the benefits. “You could come with me, but leave early. I have to stay late, make sure everyone leaves safely, that no stray embers set things alight, etc.”

“I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t mind.”

The fortress just keeps crumbling.

Andrea shifts from foot to foot, drawing my eyes to her legs. I’m spoiled for beauty, with her smile at the top, and her slender legs at the bottom, and just all of her enticing me in between... I move to pat the cat goodbye. It’s not my fault her fingers end up under mine as she holds him.

Not my fault at all that I’m suddenly towering over her, and she seems to revel in it, sighing happily, close to me, so that her scent slams into me and unravels my brain.

“Is this okay?” she whispers.

Because she’s keeping you safe, you fool. She thinks you don’t like to be touched.

And it’s true, isn’t it? You’ve never had a “good touch”, never had one that didn’t come down with the force of a cleaver.

“Mmhm.” She makes me dizzy when she’s this close. Before I know it, I’m bending a little, leaning down. I just want to inhale the scent of her hair, mint and vanilla, I think.

My lips aren’t supposed to graze the top of Andrea’s head, softly and carefully so that my tusks don’t bump her scalp. She’s not supposed to gasp up at me with shining eyes, like a little accidental kiss on her lustrous brown-black waves is the same as a crown. Andrea bites her lip in a bashful smile, and I’m jealous. I want to taste those lips for myself.

“Is it going to be crowded on Saturday?”

“Hm? Definitely.” I try to bring my brain back into working order.

“Could we exchange numbers in case it’s hard to find you in a crowd?”

It’s tempting to point out that even in Pine Ridge, I stand out. I’m big, bulky, and have shoulders that seem to have been built with a tank in mind, not to mention the weathered gray-green skin that Andrea can’t see.

She wants your phone number, dummy. She wants to call you. Talk to you. Can you imagine the luxury of having her phone number in your pocket, able to call and hear her voice any time you want?

I whip out my cell phone so fast that my hand smacks into Andrea’s middle and sends her reeling. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay. All right,” she holds her phone out to me. “Put your number in.”

I look at the screen. My name is in her phone. Gordon, it says, with a little box waiting for my number.

It feels official, and scary, and wonderful.

We exchange numbers in silence, smiling to ourselves as Chopin’s purrs fill the air.

I owe that cat an entire yellowfin.