Page 1 of Siren in Love (In Love #1)

Mike

M ike had always thought the background music the supermarket near New Elvenswood’s university campus played through hidden speakers was about as cultured as a day-old piece of gum stuck to the sole of a smelly running shoe, yet here he was.

Granted, he wasn’t at the market for the music.

No, Mike was here for the almost ridiculously wide selection of spices on offer, specifically the cayenne pepper.

As spicy spices went, it was the best, and Mike was willing to endure the insult to his ears for it.

Two little bags of the stuff were already in his shopping basket.

He looked from them to what remained on the shelf, checked the best-by date, and added two more.

“Off fucking pitch,” he mumbled as the singer broke into the chorus.

Mike had inquired about the music before. The problem with the proximity to the university was apparently that the market thought it was a good idea to feature the university radio, and the university radio in turn featured student “artists.”

Rubbing his ears to try and block out the terrible singing, Mike let his eyes wander over the rainbow of salt varieties the market had in stock.

They had everything from pink to black, from coarse to fine, and a part of Mike was wondering why he was even bothering with the fancy ones when he really just needed it for cooking—for pasta water, essentially.

He sighed, scratched the back of his head, and picked out a pink salt. It went into his shopping basket to keep the cayenne pepper company.

“Pink salt is pretty. It’ll look nice sprinkled over the pasta.” I think pink salt from another continent just became the highlight of my day. It’s certainly nicer than reviewing that selkie client’s prenup.

Mike left the spice aisle behind and headed to the produce section. He wasn’t going to skip cooking, not even after a long day. Something about preparing food without rushing made him relax. He liked cooking for friends as well, but had never minded just doing it for himself.

As he picked out green bell peppers, putting them into his basket one after another, Mike began to hum a low melody that barely drowned out the ugly background music the store used to torture the shoppers.

Turning to the ginger root, Mike caught sight of a fellow shopper.

Or rather, he caught sight of the shopper’s T-shirt.

“I am a DRAGON, look how I boar,” it read, displaying a grumpy cartoon boar, half hidden by a pink dragon costume.

That T-shirt was wonderfully ridiculous, and Mike found himself smiling.

The man who wore it under a neat black jean jacket didn’t notice. He was too engrossed in the pineapples, picking one up and giving it a critical look, then putting it down again and subjecting its neighbor to the same scrutiny. The whole thing looked, for lack of a better word, cute.

Mike shuffled past the cantaloupes and cleared his throat. The man looked up from his pineapple, meeting Mike’s gaze with brilliant green eyes.

Mike pointed at the spiky fruit. “You want them just slightly soft when you squeeze the shell. Definitely not hard.”

Dragon Tee’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pinched ever so slightly. They were a very light pink—a lot like the salt, but prettier. He probably uses ChapStick a lot. That’s good. Soft lips are so nice. Oh, please, let my gaydar be right about this cutie.

“My mother told me not to trust men who have such strong opinions about pineapples,” Dragon Tee said.

His blond hair fell over his eyebrows and almost tangled in his dark lashes, and Mike had a sudden urge to brush those soft curls out of the way. Dragon Tee had a bubbly voice a bit higher than Mike’s own and with an excitable, bright note to it.

Mike nodded thoughtfully. “I assure you, that wasn’t an opinion, just an observation.” He leaned over the pile of cantaloupes in front of him. “But if you care for my opinion, it’s the dragon fruit lovers who are all kinds of trouble.” He tilted his head. “Nice T-shirt, by the way.”

To Dragon Tee’s credit, he never looked at his own T-shirt, not missing a beat when he said, “Thank you. I like a man who knows soaring fashion when he sees it.” He blinked, really slowly, making Mike’s gaydar buzz, then held out the pineapple to Mike. “Check this for me.”

Mike took the offered fruit. This is a test. He’s testing me just like he tested the pineapple, only he’s not squeezing me like he did them. Pity.

Mike sighed. The fruit felt fine to him, but he still walked around the aisle until he stood next to Dragon Tee. He put the pineapple he’d been handed back down and picked out another, made a small show of examining that one, then handed it to Dragon Tee.

“Here. This one’ll be sweet.”

Dragon Tee actually licked his pink bottom lip before he took the fruit from Mike. Their fingers brushed, and Mike wanted to let out a low hum at the contact, but he didn’t.

Few supernaturals would willingly stick out like Dragon Tee did, so Mike had to assume this cute man with a hankering for pineapple was all human. Humans needed to be handled with care.

“Thank you,” Dragon Tee said, and Mike really wished the next words out of the man’s mouth would be a suggestion about how they could devour that damn pineapple together. “I’m Corvin,” he said instead.

“Michael.” Mike held out his hand for Corvin to shake. “But only my mother and my boss ever call me that. I’m Mike to everyone else.”

“Hi, Mike.” Corvin’s dragon T-shirt rippled with the movement of his chest. “Do you always pick up strangers when they’re shopping for exotic fruit?”

Mike held up his hand, palm out, and shook his head. “No, and I’m not here to pick you up. No, wait, that’s wrong. How about I invite you to have my homemade pineapple sherbet with me?”

Corvin didn’t look amused. “Yes, I can clearly see you don’t regularly pick up fruit shoppers. We won’t be lured into your van by the promise of sherbet, you know.”

So he won’t be romanced by pineapple sherbet. Fuck. I read too many contracts today. I no longer know how to pick up cute humans with sharp tongues.

Mike shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Right, I see what you mean. That’s very forward to ask someone.

Honestly though, can I take you on a date?

In a public place. And if you feel like pineapple sherbet after, you can let me know?

I picked out fancy salt five minutes ago and was ready to declare it the high point of my day, so if you say yes, that would be a far better high point. ”

Mike shook the little salt container. This wasn’t smooth at all, was it?

Yet Corvin’s lips quirked upward.

“Mike, are you trying to get a pity date out of me? No, don’t answer that. Give me your phone.”

Mike pulled the device from his pocket and unlocked it with his fingerprint. He watched, enthralled, as Corvin added himself to Mike’s contacts, his quick fingers flying over the screen.

“Here.” Corvin handed the phone back. “You can text me with a time and location, just don’t make it anything ridiculous.”

Mike’s heart beat just a little faster, and he really wanted to hum now, loudly. He pursed his lips, clamping down hard on the urge.

“Nothing ridiculous—check.” He cleared his throat. “And it’s not a pity date.”

Corvin lifted his chin, those green eyes sharp. “I’ll be the judge of that. Enjoy your pink salt, Mike.”

Turning and walking off like a model at a show, he left the fruit aisle, the pineapple Mike had picked for him in hand.

“Enjoy the pineapple!”

Corvin looked over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know if it was sweet enough for me.”

Mike watched him vanish behind the canned goods, appreciating that he got to watch Corvin leave. Such a nice view of his behind. And his shoulders too. His hair looks like silky cotton, and why the hell do I want to move it out of the way so I can kiss his neck?

Once the cutie was out of sight, Mike turned back to the produce, finally allowing himself to hum. He picked up the pineapple Corvin had handed him and forgot about everything else he’d wanted from this aisle.

Still humming, he headed to the register, paid, walked to his car, then drove home. When he closed the front door behind him, he filled the house with song rather than just humming. Silence wasn’t something any siren could handle for long, not when their heart was full of joy.

When he got into the kitchen, Mike realized he’d bought bell peppers, pink salt, cayenne pepper, and a pineapple.

It wasn’t exactly a meal, but that didn’t matter.

He sliced the pineapple into juicy chunks with his sushi knife and proceeded to eat the entire fruit with his fingers while he sat on his couch and contemplated where to take Corvin for their date.