“And ever since then, you’ve been stuck in the vortex of a—what? Six? Six-year dating dry spell?”

“Vortex?”

“And here’s two hunky fellows climbing all over you—”

“They aren’t—”

“—and all you can think of to do is stick them together and vamoose.”

“I’ve got other stuff to worry about.”

“That’s why,” he said kindly, “you’re a moron. Just like an octopus. No, don’t tell me, I don’t care. They’re stupid, too.”

Chapter Twelve

Jonas cheerfully trailed behind his best bud and her massive, ridiculously good-looking new pal. He eyed the people milling around on the cobblestones and wondered if any of them had the faintest idea he was walking behind two mer-people. Hell, be had a hard time believing it, and he’d grown up with one of them.

Artur kept leaning over and trying to whisper in Fred’s ear, and she kept batting him away like he was a persistently annoying fly. Jonas shook his head. It was so obvious that Artur—a prince! A freakin’ prince!—had the hots for his pal. Did she notice? Nuh-uh. Would she have cared if she did notice? Probably not. Was she a nutjob of the highest order? Yup.

But then, if she didn’t engage in that odd Freddish behavior, she wouldn’t be Fred.

He still remembered the day they met. He’d been pretty shocked when the big kids had ganged up on him, and had barely noticed the small, stick-thin blue-haired girl reading a book up against a tree.

Whether she didn’t like the distraction from her book or couldn’t stand to see the odds so badly out of whack (probably the former), it didn’t matter. She’d gotten up and put her hands on the big kids and they’d gone flying and then she went back to her book and she’d ignored the stares and the whispers. Almost as if, at the ripe old age of seven, she didn’t notice them anymore, or never had, or just didn’t care.

He’d pestered her the rest of the day until she had sighed and agreed to bring him to her house. They’d been buds ever since.

He’d known. Not that she was a mermaid, but even as a child, Fred wasn’t like anybody else. Anybody else. That was all right, though, because he wasn’t a typical elementary school student, either, not when he knew how to do floral arrangements and had a collection of paint chips which he kept organized by tint and type (matte, gloss, etc.).

And when she finally worked up the courage to show him her other form, he had been surprised, but not shocked. And not horrified, either. He’d thought her tail was pretty, and had told her so. She’d told him to shut up, and he’d ignored her.

Now he was tagging along, as he so often did, partly because he smelled excitement, and partly because he was hoping to get another glimpse of the delectable Dr. Barb. He’d been wondering for years what her hair would feel like in his hands, if it ever was out of that silly braid, if her eyes narrowed or widened or closed completely during orgasm. It was a full-on crush, the one secret he kept from Fred. Just the thought of her scorn (or indifference) made him cringe.