Chapter Twelve: Desmond
Desmond took a deep breath and turned toward a pained looking Monica.
“Desmond, I am so sorry. Please don’t think I go around blabbing donor information to just anyone. Claire just kept asking me, and I temporarily lost my mind.” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Besides, she seemed to think she ought to know something.”
Desmond ignored that last bit and instead took her hand, rubbing it, hoping to calm her down. “Monica, really, it’s okay. Please relax. None of this is your fault. Everything is going to be fine.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s Claire’s fault. Still, you’re not mad?”
Desmond snorted. “Nope. It’s funny, actually.”
It was. He tried to contain it, but he was delighted. It was a really stupid fight, and he hated that they had it publicly, but he couldn’t deny what Claire’s anger meant. She would only be really mad about something if she cared, and that was a good sign.
Jackie and Sean stood behind Desmond, having seen the entire thing and managing not to laugh.
“Man, you’ve got it bad,” Sean said.
Jackie snickered as they walked away, and said, “I wonder if all her friends are crazy like that.”
Desmond sat with his friends and drank, biding his time. He waited just long enough for Claire to get home before he decided to pay her a visit. He managed to get Monica to tell him that Claire probably hadn’t eaten dinner, and since it was still early, he stopped by her favorite takeout place on the way to her house. At the very least, he knew he could make his way into her heart with food. It hadn’t failed him in the past, and he was trusting her love for food would win out against her annoyance with him.
He knocked at the townhome she owned and then rang the doorbell.
Even though she hadn’t announced herself verbally, he heard her walk toward the door and imagined she was peeking through the peephole.
“What do you want?”
“I come bearing gifts,” he said, holding the bag up.
“I said, what do you want?” she asked through a crack in the door.
“To talk and feed you. I know you didn’t eat dinner,” he persuaded.
“I have snacks,” she said, though she moved the chain link off the wall, planting one hand on her hip.
“But do snacks compare to Ho’s?”
Ho’s was this small Asian spot hidden off the main road, but the food was phenomenal, and the place managed to continue standing even as the development grew more modern.
“Fine,” she said, sucking her teeth but opening the door.
He smiled and walked inside, kicking off his shoes, and waiting for her to lead him since he’d never been further in her house than the front door.
The couch was by the front door, and the living room showed what she’d been doing before he knocked on her door. It didn’t look like much from the crumpled blankets, the opened bag of chips on the table, and the paused movie.
“The Ugly Truth, huh?” he said recognizing the scene.
“Yeah. You got a problem with that?” she said, scowling at him.
“No. I love that movie,” he said as she continued around the corner into a cute little nook.
The house was an extension of her store – black with gold accents in the curtains and vases. She had an incense shelf and a yoga mat wrapped up in the corner. A candle was burning on the kitchen table.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you for the type to like chick flicks,” she said, sitting at the kitchen table.
“I think there’s a lot about me you wouldn’t guess,” he said sitting beside her instead of across from her and pulling the food out of the bag. She stood and grabbed plates from her cabinet, returning with utensils and pointedly sitting across from him instead of her original seat.
“Apparently,” she said. “You got any other secrets you want to tell me? Are you a magician? Do you secretly give children gifts every year on a sled with magical animals?” she said sarcastically, and Desmond laughed.
“You are so funny,” he said. “Seriously, I have never laughed as much as I have when I’m with you.”
That made her heart soften, and she sighed. “Thanks for bringing me dinner.”
“Thanks for letting me in,” he said, knowing very well just how it could have gone if she pretended she wasn’t home.
“I’m sorry I called you an egotistical asshole.”
“Are you sorry you did it at the top of your lungs in a crowded bar?” Desmond raised an eyebrow at her. He wasn’t mad, but she still deserved the rebuke.
“Maybe,” she said scoffing. “Are you sorry you kept things from me?”
He tilted his head to the side as if thinking. “I don’t think causing that kind of scene and not sharing my credit report are in the same boat.”
She growled. “Fine. At a reasonably loud – although not as loud as it could have been – volume in a bar full of our friends. I’m sorry I caused a scene.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t correct you when I had the chance.”
“I accept your apology though I’m still kind of annoyed that you let me believe something like that about you for so long.”
He shrugged. “It happens.”
“I guess it’s not your fault, though. I could have googled you.”
He chuckled again. “Google does know everything.”
She smiled softly and took a bite of her food. “How did you know I liked beef and broccoli?” she asked after she swallowed.
“Monica told me.”
“That snitch.”
“She kinda owed me after she told you what I do with my money.”
“True,” Claire said, taking another bite. “So, you give away a million dollars a year?”
“Actually no. I give several million away every year.” He continued talking though her mouth hung open. “It’s good for business. Plus, I have plenty to give. It’s important to give back to others.”
“How much money do you have?” she hissed. “What are you? Like the richest man on earth?”
Desmond tilted his head to the side, calculating just how much wealth he had before shrugging and said, “Probably.”
Claire looked at him, trying to discern if he was joking. “Are you serious?’
“Yeah. I have a pretty big hoard of gold bars I inherited from my great-great-grand dragon. Add the investments I made on my own in technology, stocks, and international trade and undocumented offshore accounts I have, I am probably the richest man on earth.
Claire shook her head, trying to clear the static in her head. “I cannot believe this.”
“Why? You’ve seen my houses and you know I’m a certified financial planner. Is it so far of a stretch to believe I am wealthy?”
“This is more than wealthy, mister. This is like Bill Gates to the max.”
Desmond just shrugged. “To be fair, my wealth isn’t documented.”
“Why?” Claire said.
“Because documenting it would not only alert the government that I have lived an unnaturally long time, it would give me more attention than I want in this lifetime.”
“From who?”
“Women, investors, scammers, hackers, thieves,” he said, running down the list casually.
“That makes sense,” Claire said, nodding and eating the last bite of her food. “Well, thanks for trusting me with the information. I promise, I’m not after you for your money,” she said, startled when she realized what she said. Instead of trying to fix it, she stood and started clearing the table.
He stood and helped her, thinking there was no reason to mention it. He figured he would gain more ground if he let her lead. So, he mirrored her, trashing his food containers and rinsing his dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.
Then there was nothing left to do, and Claire stood, fiddling with her fingers a bit before looking up.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” she asked in such a soft voice he wanted to kiss her.
“Nope. Nowhere. Just here with you,” his voice lifted like it was a question.
“Then would you like to stay? You said you like this movie…”
“I would love to,” he said, following her to the living room. Based on the scene, he could tell the movie was near the beginning, which was lucky for him.
Desmond froze in the living room, not sure where to sit. There was only one couch since it was a townhome and not very spacious.
“Want some covers?” she said, holding up her blanket.
“Yeah,” he said, even though he knew he wouldn’t need it. He was naturally hot.
She sat on one side, making it clear he was to sit next to her and started the movie. For the first ten minutes, Desmond couldn’t focus on the movie, only on Claire’s proximity to his outstretched arm along the back of the couch in his peripheral view. He wanted her to be closer. He willed her to be closer, hoping she would trust him enough to get that close.
Minutes later, his wish was granted. Claire slid over until their thighs were touching and leaned her head down on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, smiling and finally able to pay attention to the movie.
Abby Richter said, “I am not desperate!” She paused, and said, “Why did you think I sounded desperate?”
Mike said, “Listen to you. Desperately asking me if you sounded desperate,” and Desmond found he could relate.
Claire leaned into him, and he laid back, hoping he was reading the situation correctly. She sighed, and he went with it, bring his legs up so she could curl into him, and she followed.
Abby Richter, “I’m Mike Chadway. I like girls in Jell-O. I like to fuck like a monkey. Don’t fall in love. It’s scary,” she said, mocking Mike.
“Yeah, it is scary. It’s terrifying. Especially when I’m in love with a psycho like you,” Mike Chadway said.
Abby Richter said, “I am not a psycho!”
“I just told you that I loved you and all you heard was ‘psycho.’ Well, you’re the definition of neurotic.”
“No! The definition of neurotic is a person who suffers from anxiety, obsessive thoughts, compulsive acts, and…and physical ailments without any objective evidence of...” she said.
“Shut up! Yet again, I just told you I’m in love with you and you’re standing here giving me a vocabulary lesson,” Mike said.
This was Desmond’s favorite scene.
“You’re in love with me,” she said, shocked. “Why?”
“Beats the shit out of me, but I am.”
She leaned over and kissed him, and Desmond was jealous. That’s what he wanted to be doing. Kissing Claire. He had gotten close to her lips but hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting them.
The movie ended and returned back to the main screen, but Claire made no attempt to get up and remove the DVD.
“Claire?” he said aloud, comfortable holding her. “You asleep?”
“No,” she said.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Sure.”
“Do you have any dragons in your family?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. He liked the voice change. She usually talked loud and aggressively, willing to take charge and making it clear whatever she was saying was not up for discussion. But here and now, she was talking like the woman he had imagined was under all the armor. “My great-great grandmom was a dragon, and my great grandfather was a dragon. Since then, we’ve just been fire-blooded.”
The television screen went black from being idle, covering them in dim lighting from the candle still burning in the kitchen.
“What do you think about being a fire maiden?” Desmond said, liking how she shivered in his arms from his voice against her ear.
“I don’t know. I’ve always known I was one, and my mother told me it wasn’t something to be angry with or try to deny. She helped me embrace it as my grandmom help her embrace her maiden status, and I just think of it as my life.”
“When you were little, did you envision you’d be with a dragon or a human?”
Claire was so quiet Desmond wondered if she fell asleep, but she spoke up. “I always figured it would be mean to deprive dragon-kind of a potential partner without giving it a fair shot, you know? I mean, it’s in my bloodline to be with either a dragon or a fire-blooded man. I wouldn’t force a relationship, but I wouldn’t ignore someone just because they were human.” She took a deep breath. “What about you?”
“My mother would skin me alive if I brought a human to the family reunion.”
Claire snorted before losing herself to a giggle fit.
Desmond smirked and continued, “You know how traditional dragonesses can be. Even though I know whomever I fall in love will eventually be loved by my family. A human would struggle. I could see my sister trying to break her or my dad asking so many questions she would run off like her hair was on fire.”
Claire laughed. “My parents would definitely be more understanding, but they would be disappointed, too. I think my mom likes the legacy of being fire-blooded and hopes that I might bring a dragon back into our bloodline.”
“You know dragons are dying out.”
Claire slapped his hand. “Shut your mouth. That’s blasphemy. We are not a dying breed. We’re taking over. Why do you think these conspiracy theorists are going crazy?”
“Speaking of conspiracy theorists, have you seen any more of those nut jobs at work?”
“You would know,” she said. “You’re there almost as much as I am.”
He snickered. “Yeah, yeah. I’m serious. I’m not there every day. So, have you seen any more weirdos?”
“No,” she said. “Why? You care about what happens to little ole’ me?”
“Yes, I do care. I would hate it if something happened to you.”
“Well, then let me put your mind at ease. No weirdos have been seen. The strange sightings haven’t popped up since you last came around.”
“Good,” he said, smiling. “Then my presence was worth the effort.”
“Speaking of your little appearances, what was with that kiss?”
He couldn’t tell from her tone if she upset, curious, or what. Given he seemed to be doing well, he worded his response carefully. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan it. I just went with it. It felt right at that moment.”
She was quiet, and he waited, hoping his patience won out.
“Did you not like it?” Again, she didn’t respond, and he was hoping it wasn’t because she was upset. “Claire?” he said, feeling her completely relax.
“Yeah?” she sighed.
“You want me to leave?”
He bit the inside of his cheek, cursing himself for having to do the right thing and hoping she wouldn’t say yes. It was late, and he didn’t care that he was folded up like a pretzel on her couch that was too small for him. She was in his arms, and he would stay all night and bear the crook he would certainly have in his neck if it meant hours with her against his chest.
“No,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Stay.”
He stretched up and kissed her cheek. “Okay.”
Her lips stretched to a childlike smile as she cuddled closer.