I didn’t stop.
“Hey!” He pulled my elbow and I yanked out of his grasp at the same time I spun to stick my face into his. He didn’t pull away. Grinning, he slid his fingers through my belt loops and said, “That’s more like it.”
I poked my finger between his eyes and pushed. “I’m not a tree nymph, always ripe and in season.”
My shove only forced him half a step back but he put his arms up in the universal sign of, Okay I admit I’m an ass, and he quickly regained his ground. He looked me up and down—my talons squeezed into unlaced chucks, loose pants to accommodate thick bird thighs, black tank over my small, down-covered breasts. I ruffled my wings once to bring his attention back up.
His gaze was mixed with laughter and wariness. “Not sure why you thought I’m the type to confuse a harpy for a wood wart.”