Page 12 of Reptile Dysfunction
Grinning, I open my laptop and navigate to HarmonyUncensored.com. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider my first post.
Five years ago, monsters revealed themselves to the world. But some stories remained hidden. Until now.
The words flow easily after that, painting a picture of secret protectors and necessary shadows, of a Gorgon who used fear to keep both humans and monsters safe. I write about enforcer culture without naming names, about the complex morality of maintaining secrets through intimidation.
I write about strength and purpose and the cost of losing both.
And if I also write about caramel-hued eyes and silk-scaled snakes and the way motorcycle vibrations feel through leather jackets—well, that part’s just for me.
For now.
Chapter Five
Thad
The Silver Swimmers are early. That’s never a good sign—unless you enjoy being ambushed by geriatric gossip assassins.
“So,” Iris says, wading into the shallow end with a knowing smile, “how was your coffee date?”
“Wasn’t a date.” My snakes contradict my denial by happily flicking their tongues at the mere mention of last night. “It was an interview.”
“At your house,” Mabel adds with faux innocence. “On your motorcycle.”
Dorothy actually cackles. “We heard your offer to pick her up, dear. Very gallant.”
The rest of the class filters in, saving me from having to respond. But as I lead them through their warm-up exercises, my traitorous mind keeps drifting to the way Sloane’s fingers felt against my snakes, how her body molded to mine on the ride home, the flash in her eyes when she challenged my intimidation abilities.
“Your snakes are doing that happy dance again,” Iris observes later, during cooldown stretches. “The one they do when one of your young students does a stroke particularly well.”
“They’re stretching,” I lie. “Like you’re supposed to be doing.”
“Mhmm.” She shares a look with her cohorts that I pretend not to see. “And I suppose they’ll just be ‘stretching’ during her Pilates class later too?” Mabel adds with a knowing smirk. “I saw the flyer on the bulletin board. She’s teaching a special introductory class this afternoon. Just right for beginners… even reluctant ones.”
Confusion must show on my face because Dorothy leans in, patting my arm. “She mentioned it yesterday during our chat. Said she’d love to see more men join her class. Seemed to be looking right at you when she said it.”
My snakes wiggle upon hearing this information, their curiosity embarrassingly obvious. One particularly nosy one at the crown of my head stretches as if considering the idea.
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Mabel’s innocent tone could curdle milk. “Some of us take her Wednesday afternoon class. Such an excellent instructor. Very hands-on with form correction.”
The mental image of Sloane’s hands adjusting people’s positions sends an unwelcome heat through my body. A few of my snakes give the Gorgon equivalent of a swoon. It’s embarrassing.
“You should join us at 4:30,” Dorothy suggests. “Good for that swimmer’s back of yours.”
“I don’t do Pilates.”
“Afraid of a challenge?” The voice comes from behind me, and my snakes whip around before my head can follow.
Sloane stands at the edge of the pool, wearing fitted black athletic wear that shows off every curve. Her hair is in that practical ponytail again, and she’s holding a rolled-up mat like it’s a weapon she’s prepared to use.
“Afraid of wasting my time,” I counter, but my snakes are already edging closer.
“Scared,” she translates with a smirk. “It’s okay; not everyone can handle it. Especially someone who spends all day in water. Dry land might be too… ambitious.”
The Nosy Trio watches our exchange like it’s premium cable.
“Four-thirty?” I hear myself ask before my brain can catch up with my mouth.
