Shilloh said the first thing that came to her mind, "You know that Scotty could be drowning in hook-ups if he made a change or two to his wardrobe and spent some time at a bar-cade or bookstore, right?"

  Wade's head rocked back a bit in shock, "You think so?'

  "Oh, for sure," she looked at Wade's comfortable shirt, practical pants, and the bare trace of stubble that was only visible when the lights struck his jaw just right. "Women love a man who is fun and makes them feel safe."

  Her fake boyfriend nodded, "Scotty is one of the best people I know. I always thought he would find someone amazing if it ever became a priority for him. Jasque, though, he's the one where I just can't understand why there aren't women beating down his door."

  Years of training and learning to navigate the subtle, treacherous waters of southern politeness came to the rescue. She was able to nod her head with perfect equanimity and poise.

  "Jesus, Shilloh. No need to look like someone just shat on your pillow."

  "I do not look like that!"

  "You absolutely do. Your expression was like someone had just handed you an erotic fanfic about you and Fraulein."

  "Okay, enough with the examples," she shook the image out of her head. "Jesus. No more drinks for you. Not if loosening up makes you descriptive like that."

  Wade laughed. "Whatever, Bi-loh, at least I can keep my hands to myself and maintain a straight face."

  Her cheeks flushed as she remembered what her drunk alter-ego had done while complaining about how hot it had been. At least this time she hadn't tried to take her clothes off. Much.

  Though not in a sexual way, mind you. Alcohol just made her overheat.

  "I was just going to say, very politely, I might add, that I don't think any women would like Jasque. Not unless they had very specific trauma or were trying to get back at their parents."

  "You may not like him, but the dude has an eight pack, vascularity like no one's business, and even knows how to use hair gel."

  She blinked, "Is that… Wade, do you think that's what women like?"

  "Isn't it?"

  Oh lord. There was so much to say and so little tact left in her body.

  She decided not to tell him that he was describing what men who spent all their time at the gym and not meeting women, told each other women liked. Those were the things that either they envied, that their repressed gay friends liked, or that cologne advertisements told them an imaginary woman liked because it would make them feel so shity that they would be willing to roll the dice on buying overpriced scents to 'fix the problem.' Because, while there was a market for that kind of thing, a particular style of hyper-masculine, five-percent body fat fitness could just as easily give the impression of self-obsession and a future of uncomfortably bony cuddling. Better to be a healthy-looking, goofy dancer who made people feel safe.

  Even a little buzzed, she knew that explanation would be summarily ignored if it didn't just start a fight. "Let's just say 'no' and leave it at that."

  He looked a little put out, but soldiered on.

  "You're right. Let's leave it at that," the big man sighed. Whatever tiny traces of a frown had appeared from her indirect censor of his battle-buddy left his face as he leaned back in his seat, eyes closed. "You know, I usually hate bars and this sort of thing. But tonight was fun. I think you, Scotty, and seeing Birch pointing her crazy at someone else made this really fun. Better by far to focus on savoring tonight as it is. I won't have many more nights like this. Not without Jasque tagging along."

  "Why?"

  He turned to her and gave a little wink, "Big bad bane assets like you and I need to stick together when we're far from home and hearth."

  Despite the grin on his face and subtle compliment, Shilloh found her spirits once again drooping.

  Maybe it was the lingering alcohol in her system, but she found herself unable to reconcile herself to that idea. Tonight wouldn't, couldn't, be the last. There was so much more to do. So many things that she wanted.

  Things like—

  With all the skill of one well-versed in the arts of hiding from her own thoughts, she flicked her fingernail against Wade's belt buckle.

  "Shilloh?"

  She leaned over so her shirt's neck fell open, and transgressed well into Wade's personal space. She met his eyes, letting all of the 'Not Thinking' she was doing to show in her face.

  The big, scary man froze, barely daring to let his Adam's apple bob as she tilted her head and gave him a very slow smile.

  "Pay up."

  It took him a try or two, but he eventually was able to speak through a suddenly dry mouth, "What do you mean?"

  The breath he let out as he spoke wasn't even. It wasn't overtly quaking, but this close, and after such comfortable relaxation, the contrast was impossible not to notice. The way his eyes darted told her that he knew too. That he was noticing her notice him.

  Her smile widened as she scooted herself forward, letting her eyes fall to his lips. "That was your quick-release charm. I just won our bet. You owe me."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He mumbled, but didn't lean away. His hands twitched towards her and then away, but his body never stopped straining forward.

  Even if she didn't want to think of this as the last night, some belligerent reservoir of resolve pushed her towards action and away from any further delay. She had been having an amazing night. There had been no need to keep an eye out for creeps or to worry that her personality was too much. She had laughed with him and wandered in and out of conversations without ever worrying she would run out of something to say. Hell, it had been more than a week since she had even prepared a random fact to use in case of conversational emergencies.

  That was unheard of for her.

  Tonight, with all of her friends, but particularly with Wade, had been effortless. And effortlessness was not something she was used to. She was the one trying not to get kidnapped and saying no to friends and relationships. Because those warm, wonderful, time-consuming, and vulnerable things were privileges she might have only after she had built a haven for the older dryads to come to after exiting The Vault.

  Until now, her relaxation had been switching the type of work she did. Her 'effortless' was being alone in nature.

  But this was a good night. A really fucking good night. She had regained faith in a new best friend, gotten closer to an amazingly stalwart person like Scotty, and even found a way to bring Agnes out without feeling like she was babysitting or being a stick in the mud.

  The whole night, even without the alcohol, had been more than enough to make her feel drunk. And the magic in her only made that feeling louder. Bigger. The kind of feeling potent enough to keep life fresh for a dryad that might live for centuries, or even eons.

  It urged her to lean into the pleasant fuzz in her brain, the hazy warmth she had been cursing about each time she saw Wade during the trip.

  Everything came together in a rose-tinted implosion that helped her do even more Not Thinking as she leaned in towards storm grey eyes, ready to share any lingering burn of liquor left on her lips.

  Two warm, calloused hands closed with gentle firmness on her shoulders.

  "I can't, Shilloh."

  The rose-colored haze shattered. The ground dropped from her feet. Her emotions did a complete reversal. Every iota of intense happiness and comfort alchemizing itself into something embarrassed and agonizingly self-conscious. Her chest became a vacuum, trying to suck her into a tiny ball, and it felt like every eye in the room had turned to see her shrinking.

  A very young, very weak voice came out of her mouth as she stared at the man who had danced with her, given her piggyback rides, and talked about the CDs in her car. "Why?"

  "You're drunk. It's not right."

  She leaned back in her chair, arms wrapping around herself. "I'm not drunk. I'm barely buzzed."

  What he said had to be a lie. Something was wrong with her. He had been lying, acting all those tender moments. And she had been the lonely fucking idiot who decided a dance and picking ice cream for her sake changed the facts of life.

  Feelings, she thought, imagining a tiny screaming Paul Revere galloping into her ears, and through her empty fucking head, feelings were all coming. They had not yet arrived, but she could feel their massive looming shapes like leviathans in the distance: ruinous and inevitable.

  She found herself digging nails into her arms, trying to distract herself so that she could keep those dark shapes from reaching her.

  Shilloh was a half-second from grabbing her bag and walking out when Wade rested a hand on her arm and started talking.

  His voice was unsteady, even more so than before, like an anxious person in front of a crowd, "I'm so sorry, Shilloh. It's not you. I want— I mean, obviously I want to, you know… It's just that—"

  His hand closed and pulled back. His fist pulsed as he squeezed it as hard as he could, over and over, turning his knuckles white in the strobe light of anxious strength.

  "I'm sorry. This is dumb. I don't think there's even a 'This', but I don't want to mess This up if it exists anywhere outside of my imagination. I mean, it's not like I can— I mean, I'm not that smart, but even I know that."

  His panic grew, and with each semi-incoherent apology and panicked little shake of his head, she felt the malicious leviathans sink back into the depths.

  "I think I should—"

  This time, she was the one who grabbed him, gently but earnestly. "Wade, breathe. It's okay. What's wrong? Did I do something?"

  He looked at her. In the course of a second, his face flashed to confusion, then horror, and then anger that was clearly directed at himself.

  Firmly, he cupped both of her hands with his. "No, Shilloh. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you made this night the highlight of my last few years. I wasn't even worried about messing anything up because you made me feel so welcomed. I'm just—I don't know. I'm locked in, and unless it's about work, I can't seem to make quick choices anymore. Everyone else is so smart and so talented, and the only advantage I ever had was working harder and giving up more hours. That's my big skill. And to get where I am, I haven't let myself imagine anything like this, like you, for years. Becasue… I just couldn't, and it wouldn't be fair. Not for someone amazing like you, it's just—"

  She felt his hands start tensing again, desperately wanting to go back into convulsively pulsing fists.

  "It's just what Wade?"

  He stared at her. She looked back and nodded as gently as she could.

  "Please don't laugh."

  "I promise."

  The monster-killing badass searched her face with all the frightened vulnerability of a little boy lost in a crowd without his parents.

  But Wade Raslow, for all the reliance he had on Jasque, for all the stupid viewpoints he had slowly been tricked into taking up, was not a coward. He was earnest, and cared about worms, and was more brutally honest with himself than anyone she had ever met.

  She had faith in him, was willing to hold his hand, and lend him her conviction.

  "I don't do things casually," he said, looking her in the eyes with a desperate sort of directness," and you are quickly becoming one of my favorite people in the world. This, you and us, getting closer," he swallowed, "dating. It's something I didn't let myself think about. And now I'm afraid."

  "Afraid?"

  "Yes. I'm suddenly and overwhelmingly afraid I will mess up something I didn't let myself know I cared about until just now. Could I please, please, talk to you about this," he motioned between them, encapsulating their clasped hands and lips that had almost met, "tomorrow? I know it might make you uncomfortable or be insulting. I hate that. I don't ever want that for you. There is just so much going on in my head right now. Even if you're not drunk, you deserve for me to do this as well as I possibly can. Honestly, you deserve better than that, since I'm not even sure how good my best will be."

  She wanted to say it was just a kiss. Shit, some part of her wanted to say it was just a drunk kiss, though that would damage her standing. Instead, she just squeezed his hands.

  Wade squeezed back and tried his hardest to smile. "Even though it's really stupid and incredibly weird, I am too afraid to do anything tonight. I'll only get one chance, and I literally cannot stop myself from thinking that I will be thinking about that moment every day for the rest of my life. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry, but is waiting until tomorrow okay?"

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

  Piracy Notice: If you’re reading this anywhere other than Scribble Hub, Royal Road, or my Patreon then this is pirated. Please let me know by going to the Jeffrey Nix website’s contact area so I can get really annoyed, complain to my cat, have her tell me this never would have happened if I had just gone back for a Ph. D, send a takedown notice, and get back to writing.