Page 11 of Swipe Right for Orcs
CHAPTER SEVEN
FAIRLIE
I need to leave here in an hour if I’m going to make it to the Drunken Goose to meet Osric on time. My room is a total disaster, like a tornado just ripped through it. Clothes, shoes, and lingerie are scattered everywhere, just as chaotic as my nerves. A frustrated sigh works its way up my throat as I scrub a hand down my face.
What the hell does one wear on a first date with an orc?
Do I wear jeans and a t-shirt? It’s a bar, after all, and we met online, so he could be a serial killer for all I know. Or do I go all out, something low-cut and sexy? I went for a pretty everyday look with my hair, curling it into loose waves that frame my face and for makeup I ended up doing a full face, opting for a dark smokey eye and a nude lip.
But what do orcs—or any monsters, for that matter—even find attractive on a woman? Does sexy come off as desperate? Like,Hey, fuck me, I’m easy?
Not that I’ve ever been the hard-to-get type, let’s be honest. But I’m fresh out of a long-term relationship and tonight, I justwant to see where things go. Maybe I end up fucking an orc; maybe it’s a complete disaster.
I grab my phone and video call Merrin. Her face fills the screen immediately, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Oooo, the best kind of video calls—-the ones where you’re naked.”
I flip her off, laughing. “Stop, this is serious. I have no clue what to wear tonight.”
“What are our options? By the way, your hair and makeup are popping, babe.”
I flip the camera and show her the disaster that is my bedroom.
“Holy shit, babe. Were you robbed? Were they looking for the Gucci or the Louis Vuitton?”
“Very funny, asshole. I’m freaking out. Help me.”
She looks at the phone, her eyes darting around as she takes in the mess. I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
“Okay. Get the black strapless that’s hanging off the lamp and the little navy dress next to your dildo on the nightstand.”
“You’re sure? That dress is tight and see-through. I don’t want to look like I’m on my way to homecoming or something.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Pair it with your black studded flats and call it a day. Is that all you needed?”
“Damn. That’s all I needed. You got a hot date or some shit too?” I ask, wondering why she’s trying to get off the phone so quickly.
“Nope, but I was in the middle of a pretty serious sexting session. Flesheater489 was just about to come, but I told them they had to wait for me. Only obedient playthings get to come.”
“You’re still moonlighting on that site?”
“It pays too well to stop. I don’t even have to send videos. It’s just texting and I make good ass money.”
I shake my head, grinning. “Alright, well, I’ll send you a pic when I’m dressed.”
“Peace out, bitch!” The screen goes black and I lay my phone down, quickly gathering the things Merrin mentioned.
As I step into the navy blue dress, shimmying it up over my hips, I take a moment to really look at myself in the mirror. The sheer, ruched sleeves hug my arms, and the lace corset bodice shows just the right amount of skin. The cold-shoulder sweetheart neckline is perfect, and my cleavage looks amazing.
Damn, Merrin was right. This dress is hot as hell, but not too much. Edgy rather than overtly sexy, it brings a surge of confidence as I slip on my black studded flats.
I give myself one last look in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair before checking that everything is in place. Satisfied, I grab my keys, take a quick selfie to send to Merrin, and head out the door, down to my old faithful Dodge Caliber. She’s not stylish or new, but she’s reliable and doesn’t guzzle gas like a cheap whore.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the Drunken Goose, my nerves kicking in as I take in the familiar neon sign flickering above the entrance. The building itself is nothing fancy—brick exterior, a few high-top tables outside where a couple of guys in faded flannels lean against the railing, beers in hand. A group near the door smokes lazily, the scent of tobacco mixing with the cool night air. The low hum of music filters out whenever the door swings open, blending with the occasional burst of laughter from inside.
I take one final glance in the rearview mirror, roll up my window, and smooth my hands over my dress, and step out of the car. With a deep breath, I walk toward the entrance, dodging a couple of smokers lingering near the doorway. The second I pull the door open, the warm, greasy scent of burgers and fries washes over me, making my stomach growl.
Here goes nothing.
