Berries and Greed

Almost swallowing my tongue, I gently raked my claws over her scalp. Beryl practically purred, sinking deeper into my side.

God, yes. This was sooo much better than shade. But it would be even better with shade, so I stretched out my arm to fumble with my smoking tin on the coffee table. “You mind if I smoke?”

She snorted. “Already? No, go ahead.”

“Just gonna have one.” Fishing out a joint, I stuck it between my lips and carefully lit a match, making sure to avoid Beryl’s hair. At my first deep drag, I melted into the couch.

Grabbing the remote, I fired up Gloom Falls. We watched TV for a while, my eyes getting heavy and all my limbs turning into overcooked noodles. I finished my joint and stubbed it out in the ashtray as my gaze snagged on the remnants of the snacks we’d eaten late last night. Stretching my arm out yet again, I grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them into my mouth.

“Fuck, this is the best,” I mumbled, abandoning Beryl’s hair to squeeze her tighter to me. She felt so small and delicate against me, but my shade-loose brain started to imagine her pinning me down and overpowering me. Bossing me around. Maybe ordering me to get on my knees and—

“I don’t want to move, but the cramps are getting worse.” Beryl shifted up onto one arm with a grimace. “I’m gonna go take a bath.”

“Oh, okay.” I sat up in a rush and almost headbutted her. Before I could stammer out an apology, Beryl laughed and cupped my face, pressing a sweet kiss to my mouth. My ears went wild.

“Then I’ll go get our coffee,” she added. Unable to resist, hoping it was okay, I kissed her cheek before shaking my head.

“I’ll go. I’ll get us breakfast as well.” Standing up from the couch and stretching, I asked, “Breakfast burritos, right?”

“Huh?”

I turned to see Beryl giving me a confused frown, and suddenly remembered that we hadn’t actually discussed breakfast burritos at any point. Clearing my throat, I said, “Uh, I mean, do you want a breakfast burrito?”

“Sure.” She shrugged as she stood up. “You obviously have them on the brain.”

“Well, I mean… they’re really good,” I mumbled, picking up the remote to turn off the TV.

As Beryl padded out of the living room, I went around and blew out all the candles that had survived through the night. Most were puddles of hardened wax now, adding a new layer to the ones already stuck to the surfaces, but luckily I had about fifty boxes of scented candles in my Room of Shame.

After getting dressed, I shoved on my boots and coat and left the house. I realised I was grinning like a fool as I strode down the street when one of my neighbours walked past and did a double-take, but for once, I didn’t feel self-conscious. I was in too good of a mood. I was in a fucking amazing mood.

When the overly friendly barista at Deep Brew asked how my morning was going after taking my order, I barely managed to stop myself from blurting out, Beryl kissed me! Beryl said she likes me as more than a friend! I had an orgasm last night! WITH BERYL.

Instead, I told him I was fine and shuffled off to wait for our drinks. After fidgeting restlessly with my hands in my coat pockets for a minute, I couldn’t help but yank out my phone and open my texts with Beryl.

Want a blood tart? I sent her, mouth twitching. About five seconds later, she sent back an emoji of the green face about to throw up.

How about something else? I texted back. A pastry? Cinnamon bun?

I thought we were getting breakfast burritos, she replied.

Oh, shit, yeah. My stomach rumbled at the reminder. I probably should’ve got those first.

These would just be breakfast accoutrements, I said. Or dessert.

Beryl replied, Most people do not have dessert at breakfast, Greid.

Before I could think of a response, another text came through.

GREEDY BOY.

My face prickled as I stared down at the words, heat rushing over my skin. If she called me that while we were… doing stuff, I might shoot myself into the stratosphere from the force of my orgasm.

“Greedy,” a voice said in front of me. I almost dropped my phone as my head snapped up.

I stared in alarm at the barista on the other side of the counter, stuffing my phone guiltily into my pocket. “What?”

He gave me an odd look. “I said Greid. Order for Greid.”

“Oh.” Letting out a squawk of awkward laughter, I reached for the two takeout cups. “That’s me. Greid. I’m Greid. It’s, uh, it’s just Greid.”

He eyed me again. “I know, dude. That’s what I said.”

Cringing, I ducked my head and power-walked out of the coffee shop. Now everyone in there probably thought I referred to myself as ‘Just Greid!’ Fucking fantastic.