Forty-one
Rachael opened her
eyes, surprised to find herself a) in her bed, and b) alone. Now
last night of all nights, where would Edward—
She heard the door
open, heard his light, eager step stop outside her bedroom door. He
poked his head in and brightened when he saw her. “You’re awake!
And you’re the other you again! Awesome.”
She was startled and
touched by other you. Many people would
have said back to normal, and she would
not have taken offense. She loved that Edward had so easily grasped
that she wasn’t part human and part wolf; she was all Pack. It was
a tricky concept for non-Pack to grasp, and the centuries of
negative press from fairy tales didn’t help.
“Oh my God,” he said,
looking horror-struck. “You’re awake.
Oh, Rachael, I’m so sor—”
“Shut up now, will
you?” she said kindly. From the look of him, Edward had been up
most of the night with her. He had that starry-eyed
need-a-nap-but-too-keyed-up-to-sleep expression. He had seemed to
spend the night waiting for her to do something. All night he’d
waited, and there had been no way (beyond the obvious) to tell him
that curling up in a hobbit hole listening to crickets and the
evening breeze was the plan. She
believed he’d finally caught on around four o’clock in the morning.
“You had cause.”
“I didn’t, Rache.
You’re nice to say so, but I absolutely didn’t.” Forgetting he had
an armful of grocery bags, he rushed to her side of the bed.
Regret. Regret. Sorrow. Shame. “I was
such an asshole.”
“I know you’re sorry,
Edward. No need to keep on about it.”
“Mmmm . . . nope.” He
appeared to do some sort of inner analyzing. “Nope. I’m still
crushed with remorse and feel the need to keep cowering and
groveling. Not that you didn’t leave tons of clues, because you
did, but you even told me (more than
once!) and I still took that as my cue to try for Douche Bag of the
Year.”
She started laughing
at his given title, but he didn’t so much as smile. “For a guy who
considered himself open to paranormal shenanigans of any kind, I
turned out to be stupidly close-minded.”
“And a contender for Douche Bag of the Year,” she
teased. His face, pale with tension, suddenly lit, and this time he
was laughing with her. “Have you considered where you’re going to
display the trophy?”
“I should probably
have a case made, huh? Listen, I just got back from Cub Foods . .
.” She rose from the bed and padded after him to the kitchen. “You
were all out of raw hamburger and milk and Pop-Tarts.”
“I
loathe—”
“Yeah, well, they’re
for me, so just back off. Also, it’s un-American not to like
Pop-Tarts.”
“Why do I hate
America?” she mused aloud. “Because I sure do. America and
everything she stands for, including Pop-Tarts. Hatred fills me at
the mere thought of a chocolate fudge Pop-Tart.”
“Yeah, well, that’s
what I’d expect from a Cape Cod liberal pinko
werewolf.”
“Hey!”
“You heard me,” he
said smugly.
“I’m no pinko, you
ape-evolved troglodyte.”
“Hurtful.” He sighed,
putting on an expression so pious and sugar-sweet she wondered if
he’d have an insulin reaction. “So, so hurtful.” He brightened.
“And here! See? I got the seventy-thirty hamburger mix. By the way,
the explanation for your unstoppable appetite for everything in the
world finally occurred to me about four
A.M. And again, let me say to myself: duh.”
“And eggs and juice
and pork chops,” she said approvingly.
“I didn’t know . . .
I thought maybe you’d be pretty hungry once the sun came
up.”
She smiled at his
anxious expression. “Don’t worry, I hardly ever eat people
anymore.”
“Ho-ho-ho. But
seriously: please don’t eat people. I figured you’d be
hungry.”
“Nope. That Ziploc o’
Meat bag is still holding me. But this was thoughtful . . . I keep
telling you, you shouldn’t pay for me to eat. Ever. You realize if
you keep it up, you’ll eventually have to take out a
loan.”
“I know, now.” He
laughed, then tentatively reached for her. “Did anyone ever tell
you, you’re gorgeous on all fours?”
“Well, of course
you’d think so,” she teased, delighted
to see him blush. She hadn’t thought he’d flee. Hadn’t thought. But there was no way to ever truly know
about someone until they were facing what you feared.
“That, yeah, ask me
if I think bluff sex could cure all the world’s problems—but I
meant—I meant your other self. Those four legs.”
“People have told me
that, yes.” She reached up to push his bangs to the side, out of
his eyes. “But only other Pack members. You’re the first—I mean,
you’re my first—” Now it was her turn to blush. Fair’s fair, she thought ruefully. “I’ve never
slept with anyone who wasn’t Pack.”
“Ah, but you know the
old saying. Once you go off Pack, you can’t wait to head back. No.
Wait. That’s not it.” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her
neck. “Once you renounce the Pack, you have to try out for track?
Now that you’ve been exposed to Pack, you’re gonna have to hire
yourself a hack? Closer, I think . . .”
She reached down,
past the waistband of his shorts, and found him already thickening.
“The next time we need a motto, I promise you’ll be the first one
we call.” She squeezed gently and heard his soft groan. “The very,
very first.” Lust. Lust. Lust. “Have I
mentioned . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I love your
scent.”
“Ummmm . .
.”
“I absolutely love
it.” Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. He was unzipping his fly to give
her more room, but she ignored it. Squeeze. Release. “You know the
only thing I like better than how you smell?”
His groan was drawn
out and his eyes were rolling up; he tried to speak and could
not.
“How you
taste.”