the edge of the dance floor, envious of the people dancing upon it like they had no cares.
“Well, hello there,” said an achingly familiar British voice from behind me. I turned.
It was him! I’d almost physically run into him. It’d have been cosmically laughable if I’d seen it on TV. As it was, I exhaled in deep relief.
“You’re not a dragon!” Sure, I might have other STDs—bad Edie, impulsive Edie—but at least I could scratch were-syphilis off the list.
“Not last I checked, no.” His eyebrows rose. I looked past him at the glamorous woman standing behind him. I couldn’t tell if she’d come in with him or was just making time, but she seemed distinctly peeved.
“Um, anyhow, nice to see you again,” I said, waving from the hip. I tried to walk backward, but found myself trapped by the crowd.
“Hey—” He reached out and caught my hand again, and again seemed surprised by the skin-on-skin contact. I could almost see the emotions flicker over his face as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I still owe you.”
“What?” I pulled my hand back a little, but not much.
He took a step nearer to me, taller, the scent of vetiver strong between us, even here. He bent his head down to put his lips by my ear. “I owe you,” he enunciated, with his lovely accent, his breath warm against my skin.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I told him. The woman behind him, blond, lean, high-breasted—the look on her face said she was going to owe me an eye-gouging in a second, if I didn’t get the hell away.
He pulled his head away from my ear, and addressed me directly. “The other night. I owe you. And I don’t like having debts.”
“Oh? Oh!” Light finally dawned, and I flushed red, from my head to my toes, glad for the camouflage of the club’s surreal light show all around me. I’d never had a man try to cash in on an orgasm debt before.
“So, may I repay you?” he asked, a light smile playing on his lips. It became a wolfish leer that was not at all unattractive.
“Thanks, but—” I glanced over his shoulder.
He turned toward the woman. I didn’t hear what he said, or see what expression he’d said it with, but almost instantly she bowed her head and melted away into the crowd. The brief noninstant part was occupied with staring daggers at me.
“I’m Edie,” I said, putting out my other hand when he returned his attention to me. He released my hand and shook the other.
“I’m Asher.”
“Nice to meet you, Asher.” I smiled and gave a goofy curtsy. With his accent, it seemed appropriate, after all.
Asher returned with a slight bow and offered me his hand. “Dearest Edie,” he said with exaggerated formality, “it will be lovely to take you home.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I made sure I got some sleep before getting up for my employee health clinic appointment the next morning, sitting with others in the drab waiting room on a hard plastic chair. I was the only employee I recognized, and I hoped it stayed that way.
Obviously Asher hadn’t been the were-dragon, and obviously a lot of things that I might have gotten from him wouldn’t be testable yet, but I felt compelled to keep the appointment anyhow. It was always good to know your baseline. We’d used condoms the night before and Asher hadn’t questioned me about the change.
He’d also made sure I’d been repaid. With interest. Which was nice. But really, it was one thing to go home with a girl like me on a Wednesday, and something entirely other to choose me over that woman on a Friday night. It didn’t feel right. I hadn’t expressed this to him, as I did have some pride that even my occasionally scrupulous honesty could not cure me of, but I’d made it clear to him that I didn’t believe in an orgasm credit plan. Asher had foisted his phone number onto me regardless. The responsible nurse in me had felt compelled to take it, just in case anything came back positive today.
Trapped in the
“Well, hello there,” said an achingly familiar British voice from behind me. I turned.
It was him! I’d almost physically run into him. It’d have been cosmically laughable if I’d seen it on TV. As it was, I exhaled in deep relief.
“You’re not a dragon!” Sure, I might have other STDs—bad Edie, impulsive Edie—but at least I could scratch were-syphilis off the list.
“Not last I checked, no.” His eyebrows rose. I looked past him at the glamorous woman standing behind him. I couldn’t tell if she’d come in with him or was just making time, but she seemed distinctly peeved.
“Um, anyhow, nice to see you again,” I said, waving from the hip. I tried to walk backward, but found myself trapped by the crowd.
“Hey—” He reached out and caught my hand again, and again seemed surprised by the skin-on-skin contact. I could almost see the emotions flicker over his face as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I still owe you.”
“What?” I pulled my hand back a little, but not much.
He took a step nearer to me, taller, the scent of vetiver strong between us, even here. He bent his head down to put his lips by my ear. “I owe you,” he enunciated, with his lovely accent, his breath warm against my skin.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I told him. The woman behind him, blond, lean, high-breasted—the look on her face said she was going to owe me an eye-gouging in a second, if I didn’t get the hell away.
He pulled his head away from my ear, and addressed me directly. “The other night. I owe you. And I don’t like having debts.”
“Oh? Oh!” Light finally dawned, and I flushed red, from my head to my toes, glad for the camouflage of the club’s surreal light show all around me. I’d never had a man try to cash in on an orgasm debt before.
“So, may I repay you?” he asked, a light smile playing on his lips. It became a wolfish leer that was not at all unattractive.
“Thanks, but—” I glanced over his shoulder.
He turned toward the woman. I didn’t hear what he said, or see what expression he’d said it with, but almost instantly she bowed her head and melted away into the crowd. The brief noninstant part was occupied with staring daggers at me.
“I’m Edie,” I said, putting out my other hand when he returned his attention to me. He released my hand and shook the other.
“I’m Asher.”
“Nice to meet you, Asher.” I smiled and gave a goofy curtsy. With his accent, it seemed appropriate, after all.
Asher returned with a slight bow and offered me his hand. “Dearest Edie,” he said with exaggerated formality, “it will be lovely to take you home.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I made sure I got some sleep before getting up for my employee health clinic appointment the next morning, sitting with others in the drab waiting room on a hard plastic chair. I was the only employee I recognized, and I hoped it stayed that way.
Obviously Asher hadn’t been the were-dragon, and obviously a lot of things that I might have gotten from him wouldn’t be testable yet, but I felt compelled to keep the appointment anyhow. It was always good to know your baseline. We’d used condoms the night before and Asher hadn’t questioned me about the change.
He’d also made sure I’d been repaid. With interest. Which was nice. But really, it was one thing to go home with a girl like me on a Wednesday, and something entirely other to choose me over that woman on a Friday night. It didn’t feel right. I hadn’t expressed this to him, as I did have some pride that even my occasionally scrupulous honesty could not cure me of, but I’d made it clear to him that I didn’t believe in an orgasm credit plan. Asher had foisted his phone number onto me regardless. The responsible nurse in me had felt compelled to take it, just in case anything came back positive today.
Trapped in the
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