Page 96 of Shroom for Improvement

That’d be the last thing I fucking needed.

“If I’m cramping your space, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I know it can’t be fun sharing a bed with a six-foot-seven fae like me.”

“I will. Let you know, that is.” Though I couldn’t imagine when that day would come. Also, he and I obviously had very different ideas of fun. “I wanted to ask you something, actually.”

Sonny took a bite of waffle. He made anI’m listeningkind of “Hmm?”

“There’s about a month until the solstice and...” I puffed out a breath, wiped my sweaty hands on my napkin. “I’ve been thinking—a lot—about what happened in the courtyard.”

Sonny maintained eye contact, but his cheeks grew pink, his pupils dilated. Or at least, I think they did. He swallowed.

“I was simply wondering if maybe...” Gods, why was it so difficult to communicate this? We were both adults, with the very adult ability to separate our adult emotions from our adult needs. “Just for the time you’re here, of course, but I was wondering if you might be open to... more encounters of a similar nature?”

He twitched, snorted, almost choked on his waffle. I tried not to let myself feel disappointed, at least until he’d given me a definitive no.

Besides, doing anything more with him would surely lead me down a dangerous path. One I wasn’t sure I’d find my way back from. Sonny saying no would be the best outcome. That way I could say I tried, but I wouldn’t end up caring for another person, only to have them walk out of my life again.

“You mean like a fling?” he said, after he slapped himself in the centre of the chest to ensure his airways were clear.

A fling. Could I have a fling with Sonny?

Could I survive one?

I’d had flings before, sure, but this felt different for some reason. It was Sonny. The man was...

Not perfect by any means. He stole from me and still hadn’t returned my possessions. He stole from Stinkhorn Manor. Oggy or Willow confessed they’d had to order a new crate of crystal salt and pepper cruets because of Sonny’s light fingers. And I’d watched his twitchy little hands every time we visited another room on our tour of the property. Pretty sure he’d pinched a butt plug from the butt-plug room and a shiny tassel from the butt-plug tassels and tails room, too.

He wore the worst clothing known to faekind. Today he was in a T-shirt that saidBe Gay, Grow Thyme,and denim shorts that were so frayed at the knee it looked like fringing. His trainers were scruffy and grotty. One rubber sole had been duct-taped to the fabric to stop it from running away. His hands were always dirty—mud underneath his nails, which were still painted with chipped forest-green varnish, his fingers covered in calluses and healed cuts.

And he talked. A lot. He disrupted my peace like nobody had ever done before.

But he also wasn’tnotperfect. And in all honesty, I couldn’t care less about the thievery. I’d even begun to feel as though his fashion choices were rather... endearing.

He was kind, empathetic, passionate. He cared about the planet. He collected his pee in a fucking big hay pee receptacle because he didn’t want to waste the nutrients. It was disgusting, but that was how much he cared.

Sure he was vociferous, and past Claude had hated him for it. But hadn’t I been encouraging his chatter every night? Hadn’t I asked him to tell me about growing sprouts and about mycelium and soil health and his scientific papers?

I was an enabler.

I wouldn’t survive a fling with him. But at the same time, how could I possibly spend the next month sleeping beside him, taking breakfast and dinner together every day, working intimately with him on the ritual, and not want more?

“I guess a fling. Uh, if you’re open to that, of course.”

Sonny swallowed slowly. Took his time to answer. “Yeah, I’m...” He cleared his throat again. “Very open to that.”

I hid my relieved and anxious smile behind my palm.

“Just so you’re aware, I’m vers. You know, if you have a preference?” he said to his almost empty plate, looking up only when he’d finished his question.

Damn. Suddenly, other parts of my body became highly invested in the conversation.

“I’m vers, too,” I said. “But yeah, I do have a preference.”

Sonny raised his brows. Pursed his lips together.

I forced myself to stop giggling. Dammit, dammit, why was it so much easier to be confident in the bedroom than at the dining table? I glanced over to the corner to John, tapping away on his laptop. “I like to top.”

“Okay, phew,” Sonny said. He laughed once. “Because I’ve seen what you’re packing, and let me tell you, it’s been ages since I had a decent railing.”

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