Page 20 of Stags

“Okay, maybe,” said Eiren. “And maybe I’m going to be that childless aunt, but it’s going to be by choice. You want this, and you can have it. I’m positive you’re selling yourself short.”

Rora licked her lips. “I’m actually… I’m wondering if I’ve been looking in the wrong places, actually. What if I’m not attractive to younger men, but I am attractive to, er, older…?”

“What?” said Tawny, giggling at her. “What are you saying?”

“I may have had a moment with a stag,” said Rora in a low and wondering voice.

“When?” said Eiren.

“Well, it was just looking at each other,” said Rora, “but it was a long look, and he seemed… but he was old enough to have sired me for moon’s sake.”

“Doesn’t turn me on, the age thing,” said Eiren, “but I get it. I mean, I see why people would find it hot, but I don’t.”

“I do,” said Tawny, tapping her bottom lip. “At least, in theory. For this, at the run, no, I don’t want some old stag sperm, however. I am trying to make a strong and healthy baby here. But, sure, I could see the allure of an older man, especially for your first time. You should let us help you find him.”

Rora wrinkled up her nose, thinking about it. “I don’t know. I could never be in a relationship with a man that old. Think about it. How would you socialize? I wouldn’t want to hang out with people my parents’ age, and he couldn’t hang out with my friends. And what would you talk about? You’d have nothing in common.”

“Well, you don’t have to be in a relationship with him,” said Eiren. “That’s the whole point of this weekend, isn’t it?”

Rora considered. “I don’t want to seek him out. If it’s meant to be, he’ll show up. Otherwise, let’s just let the evening unfold.”

Tawny shrugged. “I can get behind that. So, where to? Back to the courtyard for more drinks, or back to our rooms?”

“Are you going to do the midnight run?” said Eiren.

“Are you?” said Tawny.

“I haven’t decided,” said Eiren.

“Me either,” said Tawny.

They both looked at Rora.

“Me either,” she said.

ATHOS HAD LOSTtrack of Stockton earlier, and as the evening wore on, he had to admit that maybe it hadn’t been a particularly great idea to start drinking so early.

He could have at least stuck to beer, he thought, instead of chasing shots of whiskey with gins and tonic, as he had done.

It was only ten o’clock when he had to acknowledge that he was staggering around, slurring his words, and that the world might be spinning. Hotly embarrassed, he made a beeline for an elevator and headed back to his room.

There, he collapsed on his bed and flung an arm over his face, only to discover—yes, definitely spinning.

He sat up.

When was the last time he’d gotten the spins? When he was twenty-three? It was pathetic.

But then, he didn’t drink that often these days. He was busy. He worked. A lot. In the wake of the divorce, he knew a lot of guys would have started going out more, but Athos had mostly poured himself into work, taking on extra projects and filling up his schedule. What time was left he used to be available to his sisters and mother.

He supposed he had figured that if he were busy every second of every day, he wouldn’t have time to feel grief.

And the end of his relationship? In some ways, it felt like someone had died.

It wasn’t Cira, his ex-wife, though. It wasn’t even him.

It was just the thing they had been together, the meshing of them, the two-ness of them. That had died. He had been so pulled into that, it had become his identity. He hadn’t been Athos, not really, not anymore. He’d been part of Athos-and-Cira. They’d been a unit.

He had thought they would be together forever.

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