Feeling only a little ill about that last point, I shrug off the rest—the hypocrite thing. Then I catch Inara by the elbow—she’d been grinning at her best pal, Stacy—and I spin her, and dip her, and kiss the hell out of her.
“You’re distracting,” I inform Inara. “But that was the best quiet time I’ve ever had.” I pop her affectionately on her ass.
Her tail swipes the air, surprised.
Grinning at her, I give the base of it a tug and enjoy her gasp.
Stacy watches us with no shame, like we’re her personal soap opera.
What we are is basically a pair of criminals. When you do damage to a classic Mustang like we did, you pretty much deserve to be looking at jail time, because it’s borderline animal cruelty and just as heinous.
“Have fun at work,” Inara purrs to me, her pretty alien eyes flashing because she knows how my body reacts to her making this sound
“You too,” I murmur to her, thumbing the nearly smooth scales of her cheekbone. “You are so damn pretty.”
She beams at me.
Then I let her go and stroll into my office, not an ounce of irritation left in me, not for anyone or anybody. I might not get tied up about anything ever again period. After a magical unscheduled break with Inara in which we damaged my car of all things, I’m just… chill.
“Where has Inara been all your life?” Stacy whispers to me from the doorway.
“Hmm?” I ask.
“She makes you so nice,” Stacy cries, waving her arm happily, indicating the direction of Inara’s game room. “You should have come as a set. Like from day one of your life. That way you’d never be mean or grumpy at all.”
“I’m not mean,” I sort of say but ask at the same time, a little concerned about Stacy’s answer. “Have I been mean?”
Stacy gives me a very ‘Are you seriously bothering to ask me that?’ look, and I feel a frown settle on my face. I turn my eyes to a wall calendar so that I’m not scowling at her though, mostly to avoid the mean label.
“It’s cool, Matt. You’re mostly nice. And now with Inara, you’re a new man! You have to keep her,” Stacy orders me sternly.
My head swings back around.
“Don’t let her go home,” Stacy warns me.
My eyes narrow on her. “It’s a free country, Stace.”
“You know what I mean,” Stacy whispers.
My chest stills. Or, I should say, the heart that normally beats in my chest holds a serious pause. “Stacy…”
“I’m not stupid, Matt. Everything is new to her—and don’t tell me the alien act is her job, nobody is that good an actress. She’s… she’s not faking anything, is she?”
When I don’t answer, she heaves a sigh and flips her hair. “Fine, don’t tell me, but I know.” She straightens and pins me with a very adult stare of warning. “Like I said: don’t mess this up. She’s good for you. She makes you happy. If you let her get away, you’re going to regret it.”
The door chime saves me from answering, a walk-in gamer coming to play a room, and with a last meaningful look, Stacy turns from me to send a smile at this new person, leaving me to my thoughts, her words and her order echoing in my head.
***
After work, Inara and I step into my apartment to the smell of a chuck roast that’s been simmering in the Instant Pot all day long. We eat in silence, and I realize she’s quiet because she’s sensitive to my somber mood. I want to talk to her; I don’t know what to say.
I don’t realize I’m doing it, but I’m squinting (it looks a lot like intensely staring) at Inara’s horns. Because I’m thinking that I don’t know jack about her people, but all the creatures I know with horns and tusks and antlers take a long, long time to grow them, longer than, say, fingernails. So they’re big deals. Yet… sometimes people saw off said horns for the safety of the animal.
“What is this expression for?” Inara asks when she catches me watching her.
“Can your horns be cut off?”
Yeah. This look she’s wearing means she thinks I’ve been body snatched. (Ha ha, body snatchers… Ironic movies for the extraterrestrial relationship in your life.) She bark-squeaks, “WHAT?”
“I’m just… hear me out,” I say, holding up my hands in supplication. “You seem to like it here,” with me, “and if you stay,” DAMMIT, I WANT YOU TO STAY, “I want you safe—” with me. Please, stay with me. Don’t go. “So I’m just thinking through ways…” At her continuous horror, I shake my head, giving up. “Forget I said anything. Come here.”
“I don’t know that I should,” she mutters, but she allows me to catch her by her dreads and drag her up to me for a kiss.
I fold my arms around her and squeeze her to me until she purrs. “I just... I don’t know how I’m going to let you go,” I admit.
Her tail wraps around our legs. “I’m relieved to learn that you don’t want to,” she says. “I don’t want to part from you either, Matt.” She squeezes me hard, making hope burst in me for the most wonderful moment—
“But,” she starts. And my heart plummets. So does my stomach and my guts and basically the whole life I’ve been dream-building us in my head.
Is it fair for me to be torn up about this when I knew what I was getting into when Inara propositioned me?
No. No, it’s not fair.
Suck it up, Matt.
I pull back and set my thumb over her lips. “Nope.” I stare deep into her eyes, struggling to tamp down on the depressed feelings that are fighting for dominance inside of me. “No, I’m not ready to hear it. I have a feeling I know what you have to say, and soon, I’m going to be ready to hear it, but right now I’m struggling to get there. Just give me time.” You’re going to have to knock me out in order for you to walk away from me. Make it a real good hit—I don’t want to wake up to you being gone. “Okay?”
Her eyes search mine.
I take my thumb away from her mouth and swoop in to replace the touch with my lips instead.
CHAPTER 18
Jason, one of my employees, is planted in the chair across from my desk, and he’s wearing an expression of nervousness—and resignation.
Four times he’s been late to punch in.
Three times, I’ve let it go.
Now here we are. “Talk to me. Tell me a really good story, and finish it by telling me we won’t be here again if I let this go,” I start. In front of me, my mug proclaims I drink this coffee so you all may live another day.
Jason closes his eyes, his shoulders set in a defeated but somehow still proud line. When he opens his eyes again, he meets my gaze without flinching. “I don’t have a ‘good’ story. I help my mom by picking up my brothers and sisters. You don’t know how much I wish I could tell you that this won’t happen again, but…” His eyes drop. “But I can’t.”
In every line of his body is a weary acceptance. He’s sitting in front of me after he profusely apologized when he came in and found me waiting for him at the time clock. He’s expecting to get fired. And he’s not making excuses or throwing himself on my mercy. He’s clearly ready to take punishment like a man.