Page 55 of Fake Dating an Orc Cowboy

I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.

“I’ll communicate once I have a plan,” he said.

And what did that mean?

I wasn’t sure why, but his words stung more than an outright rejection. My feet wanted to move, to keep me from facing the mess of whatever this was. But my body rebelled, pinning me in place on the concrete sidewalk.

“Bye, Ostor,” I said, willing my voice not to break because, damn, it wanted to. “It was . . . fun.” Fun? That was all I could come up with? My nails dug into the suitcase handle, and I barely held back the wave of emotions about to smack into me. “Do you have a way home?” I asked stiffly, still not turning to look at him.

“I’ve texted one of my brothers to come get me.” HIs voice came out heavier than before.

“Good,” I snapped.

“Good,” he echoed, just as clipped.

Anger began churning through my veins, stomping through the sadness that I’d been drowning in through the flight. My steps quickened, my heels smacking against the pavement as I stormed out onto the crosswalk with only the clatter of Ostor’s roller bag behind me.

“Wait,” he called out with what I swore sounded like desperation.

Nah, it couldn't be.

But I stopped—right there on the crosswalk. A car waited to pass, the driver tapping his hand on the steering wheel. He tooted the horn.

“Yeah, you know what, buddy?” I snarled at him. “I'm here. Pedestrians rule. You can sit on your ass and give me a chance to . . .” Well, I didn't know what I was going to do.

A tiny, stupid part of me that still cared, that still hoped, won out. Slowly, I turned, expecting Ostor to look shamefaced, to fumble some generic explanation that would soften the blow of this parting.

What I didn’t expect was to find Ostor kneeling right behind me. His hat fell to the side as he reached for my hands. The rough warmth of his touch sent a jolt looping through me, stabbing through that flicker of hope I’d tried to snuff out.

“I messed up,” he said, the words tumbling out of him at a frantic pace. “I messed up everything, Rosey. Human courtship, your customs—everything. I don’t know how to do this, how to show you I care about you without ruining it even more.” His rough thumbs brushed against the backs of my hands, his dark eyes lifting to meet mine with a rawness that pinned me in place.

The car wheeled around us, tires squealing, but I could only see this gorgeous orc male who was turning my hand over and kissing the tiny symbol on the back of my wrist.

“Ostor.” My heart was breaking all over again because this felt much too real. “Why do I have this mark?”

He traced his fingertip across it. “It’s a mating mark. It means . . . It means . . .”

“What?” I croak. “Tell me.”

“That the fates chose me for you.”

It was all I could do to remain on my feet. “What do you think about that? Do you feel forced?”

He shook his head, not looking up. “How could I? But I messed it up, and I’m going to fix it.”

“I’m not sure what you messed up.” My brain was spinning, confusion stabbing the surface here and there, making it hard to think.

“I’m going to figure it out,” he said, his words gaining strength even as his voice cracked. “I’ll fix all of it. You deserve better than a male who fumbles around, not knowing what to say, what to do, or how to play volleyball.”

“Volleyball?”

“I shouldn't have put my cock inside you. Or dragged my tongue through your warm wetness. Or sucked on your clit.”

“You go, dude,” a woman said, passing us. She gave me a bright smile. “Gotta love a guy with a good tongue.”

I shook my head, dismissing her, focusing on this guy who was finally looking up at me, his heart blazing on his face.

He jerked in a breath, and his grip on my hands tightened. “Jacob told me everything, and I'm grateful.”

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