Page 49 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
“This is a matched couple’s mixer,” Charlotte said, relaxing.
She'd been nervous on the drive, tugging at the hem of her cocktail dress. Not that she couldn't handle herself at a more formal affair, but her dreams of grandeur had mostly been confined to her head and her sister’s novels until this point.
So maybe she had a bit of an imposter syndrome going on despite a growing social media following, and her own self-assurance in her utter attractiveness. Still. She and Caro were working class kids, and no amount of hard work, studying, and internet haunting the heels of the rich and infamous could disguise that.
“It is,” Brahnt said. “You mentioned you wanted to attend a couples’ mixer.”
She’d said “a few” which he’d just reduced to “a” in one sentence. Charlotte understood escorting her here was a grudging indulgence. Brahnt didn't do social mixers. It wasn't that he was introverted or antisocial, he was just highly aware of the value of his time and saw no need to waste it on social occasions that weren't thinly disguised business meetings—a mix of his actual words and Charlotte’s interpretation into everyday speak.
Charlotte wondered how Brahnt was going to manage to subvert play dates into business opportunities, but one problem at a time.
“This is great,” Charlotte said. “I recognize a few of the Humans who've been paired. I'll introduce you.”
Channeling a bit of his Orcish assertiveness, Charlotte took him firmly around the upper arm and dragged him along. Charlotte was stronger than she looked, but Brahnt still outweighed her so it wasn't like dragging along a five-foot nine ballerina.
Brahnt’s steps were grudging, every last one.
“Addison!” Charlotte squealed. “I haven't seen you since the last mixer we were at? How's everything going?”
Charlotte began a flurry of introductions, aided by the other Humans, of course, while the Orcs eyed each other, not even trying to tone down the “touch her and die” snarls disguised as smiles. Orcs didn’t play well with others outside their clans.
At her side, Brahnt stiffened. Charlotte glanced at him, then followed his gaze to one of the males.
“Brahnt!” the Orc was saying. “I hadn't heard you'd been matched. Congrats congrats.”
“Thomath,” Brahnt said coolly, curling his upper lip—slightly. Not even for open hostility. “It was recent. I’m pleased with Matchmaker’s services.”
Thomath chuckled. “Right right, if the Stonerator is pleased, then that's a rousing endorsement. Let’s celebrate!”
“Stonerator,” Charlotte echoed, mostly silent though her lips formed the word.
She glanced at Brahnt—uh oh—glanced at Thomath, glanced at Thomath’s Human who met Charlotte's gaze with a slight wince and leaned into her Orc, whispering in his ear.
Charlotte did her part, and also began doing preemptive damage control. “You know each other?” she murmured in Brahnt’s ear.
“Yes. Childhood. . .acquaintance.”
“He’s a character. Small world.”
“Too small.”
“No fights,” Charlotte hissed, pitching her voice even lower.
“So how is everything going?” Thomath asked Brahnt. “Still in the honeymoon phase? Is there going to be an actual honeymoon?” Thomath eyed Charlotte speculatively.
Brahnt shifted, sliding an arm around her back and pulling her closer.
“We’re pregnant,” Brahnt said, “so we’re a bit distracted. Charlotte will decide the particulars as far as dates go when she has the chance.” He gave Thomath’s Human a fleeting but pointed look. “Any news on your front?”
“I don't move as fast as you do, Stonefist!” Thomath said. “How’s your mother taking the news?”
“She’s ecstatic, of course,” Brahnt lied.
“I see another friend!” Charlotte chirped and excused them both, dragging Brahnt along—which was more difficult this time because, evidently, Brahnt wanted to stay and lock horns with Thomath.
“Is this a dick measuring contest between you two or something?” Charlotte asked.
“No. I knocked mine up first.”
