“Me?” Kevin said. “Please don’t say anything that could damage my self-esteem. I am very softhearted, and I would hate to cry in front of you.”
“How long you been able to talk?” Vadoma asked.
Kevin looked confused, or as much as a dragon with his head shoved through a window could look confused. “I’ve always been able to talk. I do have a tongue, you know. Granted, I don’t use my tongue for just talking. Sometimes I use it for—”
“How long have you been able to talk so that others understand you?”
Kevin said, “Oh. Since Sam showed up at my keep and forced me to come along with him and leave my horde behind. He was really rather militant about it. All like, Dragon, you must leave your invaluable treasure behind because me and my tight little ass and whiny voice are telling you to do. I’m Sam of Wilds. I tell people to do things and expect them to do it because I’m a bossy fucking twink.”
“That’s not what happened!”
> “Close enough,” Gary said.
“I’m actually going to agree with Gary on that one,” Justin said.
“Betrayer!” I gasped. “After everything I’ve done for you!”
“And what is it exactly you’ve done for me?”
“Well, there was that… um. Hold on. I’ll think of something. Aha! There was that time that I—wait. No. That was a tree.”
Everyone turned to stare at me.
And if there is one thing that can be counted on, it’s that when I become the center of attention, I tend to make things awkward.
“I didn’t do it,” I blurted out.
Morgan face-palmed. I didn’t blame him.
“What didn’t you do?” Vadoma asked.
I swallowed thickly. “Whatever it is you think I did?”
“Good job in landing that one,” Gary said to Ryan. “All your choices have led you to this moment. Really makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“I make good choices,” Ryan said. He glanced at me. “Mostly.”
“Hmm,” Vadoma said.
Which, obviously, I didn’t know what to do with. Because when one hmms, one could be saying a multitude of things. For example:
Hmm: You are so cool, Sam.
Hmm: I had high hopes for meeting you. All of which have been exceeded.
Hmm: Your dimples are adorable and I don’t think your eyebrows are bushy.
Hmm: I am going to murder your face and then bathe in your blood as part of a gypsy ritual where I ask a goddess to damn you for all eternity while I curse everyone you love. Oh, and by the way, your eyebrows are terrible, and you are neither as adorable nor as quick-witted as you think you are. Most people hate you. Like I do. I hate you so much.
“What does that even mean?” I demanded of Vadoma.
“A little high-strung, isn’t he?” Vadoma asked.
“Yes,” everyone else in the room said.
Which, you know. Fuck them all.
“See if I get you guys any presents for your birthdays ever again,” I muttered.