It starts as a joke. Trading various, er, favors with her boss? Neither of them are serious. It’s nothing but verbal sparring, lobbing zingers back and forth across the kitchen, or at the counter when there aren’t any customers. He’s too old for her, for one thing. And he’s a naga, which means he’s sort of doubly endowed, and what would she really do with two… two of those? So how she ends up bent over a counter in the kitchen after the place is closed up, skirt lifted, doubly crammed full of his… those …? She doesn’t know how that happens. It’s definitely not worth the days off she made him give her in return. And it’s definitely not the sort of bargain that she would even make. But, well, now it’s done. And now nothing will ever be the same. This story features sensitivity-heightening venom, retractable fangs, tail play, and two of those. It’s about fear of commitment and about fear of being different. It’s about understanding which parts of ourselves we can’t change and about finding the courage to face ourselves at our worst. It’s not really a love triangle, and it doesn’t follow all of the romance novel rules. It’s spicy angst fluff, with a guaranteed gushy ending.