“Are you not interested in men?”
Nanaba pursed her lips, lifting the tricorn hat from her hair and dropping it onto her desk. “I’m interested in the concept of men,” she told the man in her bathtub, frowning when he cocked his head at her, giving his golden fin a little swish and splattering sea water on her floor, “It just that I haven’t found a man worth being interested in.”
“Men don’t want me,” came her flat response, running her fingers through her hair and shaking it out from its imprisonment beneath the hat.
Ugh. This creature was ridiculous, a never ending slew of questions from the fish man she had unwillingly acquired so many months ago.
“Mike, I—I don’t know. They want beautiful women,” she settled on, pulling her coat from her shoulders and tossing it onto her bed, “weak women. They want women with big—“ she waved her hands at her chest, her modest breasts making a small swell under her linen shirt, but seemingly dwarfed under the image of the wenches bulging bosoms at port.
Mike lifted himself up, resting his forearms on the lip of the copper basin, “I’ve never seen those before,” he admitted, “our ladies have bodies much like my own just…smaller, and softer.”
Nanaba threw him a warning glance, “you’re not likely to ever see them either,” she told him, shutting down the flirtatious grin her tossed her way.
“Well I think you’re very beautiful,” he said sinking down into the water and resting his head on his crossed arms, “because you’re very strong.”
She paused, her heart skipping a beat as she stared at him, trying to find the teasing and jest in his voice that he always sported for her, but it wasn’t there. His eyes were solemn, serious for the first time, and when she felt heat in her cheeks, she brushed it off, bending down to undo her bootstraps.
“You’re just a fish,” she snapped, “what do you know about women.”
“A fish, maybe,” he agreed, “but I still heave the eyes and the heart of a man.”