“Good choice.”
“Never doubt my ability to find therapeutic things to watch.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Shayla was glad for it. Her brain finally started to slow down. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the show. She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter anyway.
Faye broke the silence. “I was thinking—”
“Hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” Shayla took a sip of her drink.
“Shut up.” Faye flipped her the bird. “I was thinking maybe this mystery guy isn’t such a bad idea.”
Shayla paused the show to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Say what?”
“Maybe this is your chance to cowgirl up and get over all the shit that’s happened to you. Move past this self-enforced celibacy. Live a little.”
All Shayla could do was gape at Faye. Was she really suggesting she crawl in bed with a complete stranger who could possibly be a stalker and a drug dealer? Her friend had said and done a lot of insane things in her life, but this newest idea took the crazy cake and the nut-job ice cream, and covered it all in bat-shit whipped cream.
“Please tell me you’re joking, Faye.”
A grin spread over the other woman’s lips. “You should see your face right now. If I didn’t think you’d smash my phone, I’d take a picture.”
“That’s not an answer, damn it.”
Faye rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to ride Mr. Mysterious until he begs for mercy, but please promise me you’ll at least start making some sort of progress in your personal life.”
“I can’t promise anything. Not after everything that’s happened in the last week.”
“I’ll take that.” The doorbell rang. Faye stood up to answer the door. “But we are going out for lunch next week. Don’t argue.”
Shayla sighed. Arguing with Faye was useless. Her friend did what she wanted, when she wanted. Sure, she had a good heart and only wanted to help. But what if Shayla didn’t need help? What if her destiny was to be alone?
The scent of Chinese food cut off the litany of depressing thoughts crowded together in Shayla’s mind. She hit play on the TV and cleared off the coffee table. They’d eat, laugh at the show, and if need be, Shayla would beat Faye’s head in if she mentioned the man--or any other man--for the duration of their night in.
Even a gym located in a small slice of lands occupied by the gods and other beings of legend smelled like stale sweat and soggy socks. No amount of cleaning by invisible butlers could erase the scent. Under the lemon-fresh cleaners, it lingered, trapped in the nooks and crannies after centuries of males working themselves to exhaustion.
Not that the sons of gods needed to pump iron to stay fit, but they needed a hobby aside from plowing females.
Deryck stood at the head of a weight bench, his mind only half focusing on his task. Other things occupied his mind. Things he knew better than to consider around anyone else, lest he accidentally say or do something to betray his thoughts. He shifted his feet closer to the bench to remind himself where he was. It didn’t work to banish her from his mind.
Below him on the bench, Wolfrik slowly raised and lowered about four hundred pounds of iron weights. The veins on his forearms bulged each time he pushed the steel bar above his chest. His arms wobbled. The bar clanked loudly against the brace.
“If you’re going to be as useless as men’s tits, you might as well step aside, Deryck,” Wolfrik grunted and tried to set the weight down on the braces again, with little luck.
“Shit.” Deryck grabbed the bar and jerked it onto the brace before it fell and crushed Wolfrik’s chest. The injury wouldn’t kill him, he healed too fast, but it would irritate his mentor.
Wolfrik sat up and stretched his left arm across his chest. “About time you came back.”
Deryck handed him a glass of water. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
Wolfrik shook his head. “Don’t try to fool me. You haven’t been
“Never doubt my ability to find therapeutic things to watch.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Shayla was glad for it. Her brain finally started to slow down. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the show. She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter anyway.
Faye broke the silence. “I was thinking—”
“Hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” Shayla took a sip of her drink.
“Shut up.” Faye flipped her the bird. “I was thinking maybe this mystery guy isn’t such a bad idea.”
Shayla paused the show to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Say what?”
“Maybe this is your chance to cowgirl up and get over all the shit that’s happened to you. Move past this self-enforced celibacy. Live a little.”
All Shayla could do was gape at Faye. Was she really suggesting she crawl in bed with a complete stranger who could possibly be a stalker and a drug dealer? Her friend had said and done a lot of insane things in her life, but this newest idea took the crazy cake and the nut-job ice cream, and covered it all in bat-shit whipped cream.
“Please tell me you’re joking, Faye.”
A grin spread over the other woman’s lips. “You should see your face right now. If I didn’t think you’d smash my phone, I’d take a picture.”
“That’s not an answer, damn it.”
Faye rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to ride Mr. Mysterious until he begs for mercy, but please promise me you’ll at least start making some sort of progress in your personal life.”
“I can’t promise anything. Not after everything that’s happened in the last week.”
“I’ll take that.” The doorbell rang. Faye stood up to answer the door. “But we are going out for lunch next week. Don’t argue.”
Shayla sighed. Arguing with Faye was useless. Her friend did what she wanted, when she wanted. Sure, she had a good heart and only wanted to help. But what if Shayla didn’t need help? What if her destiny was to be alone?
The scent of Chinese food cut off the litany of depressing thoughts crowded together in Shayla’s mind. She hit play on the TV and cleared off the coffee table. They’d eat, laugh at the show, and if need be, Shayla would beat Faye’s head in if she mentioned the man--or any other man--for the duration of their night in.
Even a gym located in a small slice of lands occupied by the gods and other beings of legend smelled like stale sweat and soggy socks. No amount of cleaning by invisible butlers could erase the scent. Under the lemon-fresh cleaners, it lingered, trapped in the nooks and crannies after centuries of males working themselves to exhaustion.
Not that the sons of gods needed to pump iron to stay fit, but they needed a hobby aside from plowing females.
Deryck stood at the head of a weight bench, his mind only half focusing on his task. Other things occupied his mind. Things he knew better than to consider around anyone else, lest he accidentally say or do something to betray his thoughts. He shifted his feet closer to the bench to remind himself where he was. It didn’t work to banish her from his mind.
Below him on the bench, Wolfrik slowly raised and lowered about four hundred pounds of iron weights. The veins on his forearms bulged each time he pushed the steel bar above his chest. His arms wobbled. The bar clanked loudly against the brace.
“If you’re going to be as useless as men’s tits, you might as well step aside, Deryck,” Wolfrik grunted and tried to set the weight down on the braces again, with little luck.
“Shit.” Deryck grabbed the bar and jerked it onto the brace before it fell and crushed Wolfrik’s chest. The injury wouldn’t kill him, he healed too fast, but it would irritate his mentor.
Wolfrik sat up and stretched his left arm across his chest. “About time you came back.”
Deryck handed him a glass of water. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
Wolfrik shook his head. “Don’t try to fool me. You haven’t been
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