Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
"Then I would like to go back as we were," he says in a low voice. "As friends."
Have we ever been just friends? Or has there always been more simmering between us? I don't know, and it makes me sad. I want to go back to that, too, but something tells me that A'tam won't be satisfied with just being my buddy. That neither of us is very good at boundaries. "I don't know," I say softly. "Let me think about it."
I expect him to push back. I expect him to blow over my concerns like he always does, to act like I'm being the ridiculous, unreasonable one. But he only nods and relaxes, sitting on the floor across from me, as if he's settling in for a long night. In a way, I'm grateful for the company. Sometimes sitting alone in a cave in the middle of the night is a little creepy. "So tell me about your mother and her pottery," I say to him. "What did she make?"
A'tam smiles broadly, and the look on his face is both fond and wistful. My heart skips a beat, because he's utterly gorgeous. "She made all kinds of things, my mother. Most of them were functional, but she would also make us little fishes and kaari out of clay. I played with them all the time as a child. Looking back, I think she made them so I would not interrupt her so much, but I loved them."
I imagine a tiny A'tam playing with toys while his mother works, and the image is adorable. "What happened to them?"
"I lost them when our cave collapsed."
I feel like an idiot. Their cave collapsed when the island had its first big “shake” and the volcano exploded, killing most of his tribe ten years ago. Of course he lost the toys. "I'm sorry."
"Do not be sorry. I do not tell you so you can take pity on me. I tell you because it is a memory that makes me happy." He reaches over and takes a small bit of clay off my work surface, squeezing it between his fingers. "I like seeing you work clay. It is another thing that makes me happy. If I can do anything to help, let me know."
I watch him, wary, but he seems genuine. "I could use more water," I say, gesturing at the nearly empty bone bowl nearby. "If you don't mind."
A'tam jumps to his feet. "You know you can ask anything of me."
"Because we're friends?" I straighten and give him a direct look. "I don't want to be more than that. I'm not being coy, A'tam. I'm not trying to play games. I sincerely do not want to be your mate…but I can be your friend."
We stare at each other for a long moment across the small cave, and I wonder if he's going to protest. If he's going to make another chest-beating declaration of some kind and then we're back to square one. But A'tam nods slowly and gives me a serious look. "If all I can have is your friendship, B'shit, then I will take it."
"Bridget," I correct as he heads out the cave, but I'm not as irked as I normally am.
8
A'TAM
It is both easy and difficult to be B'shit's friend.
Being around her again and being friends after so many hands of days of fighting feels as if I am gripping my favorite spear, or I have put on a well-worn boot. It is comfortable and fits like it was made for me. So it is with B'shit. I much prefer her sly comments and her laughter to her anger, and I head out to her clay-making cave every night to spend hours with her by candlelight, talking about nothing at all and everything. We talk about how much water to add to the clay. We talk about my life back on the island, or hers back on her world. We talk about favorite foods, and we gossip about tribes-mates and who has resonated to who.
All of the human females are strangely attractive, but there is something in B'shit that has always called to me. It is that quick sparkle in her eyes, her clever, sharp tongue. It is that she never rests when the others do. She must be doing something to improve, something to show her worth. I admire her fierce drive, and it is one of the things that made me want to be her mate.
It is also one of the most vexing things about her.
For all that we are friends, B'shit has made it very clear that she does not want me. If our hands brush, she draws back. If I adjust my loincloth, she gives me a suspicious stare. She has not offered to share kisses again, and she has not tried to sneak under my cloak to share warmth like she used to. I do not push it, of course…but it bothers me.