Part 2 (1/2)
”You're one scary chick. I love it.” He took the bag from me. ”I'm gonna go toast the remains of my surprise. Cream cheese or lox?”
”Cream cheese,” I said, still crouched, not able to meet his eyes. Yeah, we hadn't been dating for that long, but how much more of a freak could I look like?
Trevor brushed the side of my breast with his knuckles as he stood. ”Don't keep me waiting too long, s.e.xy.” He disappeared into the kitchen. I stared down at the brown stain on my rug and felt like an idiot.
I got orange juice and plates while Trevor spread cream cheese on my bagel. Seeing him standing in my kitchen, easily finding knives and spoons and a plate for the lox, was weird. In a big way.
Trevor sensed me looking at him and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. ”What's on your mind, babe?”
I swallowed. He had only been in my house once before, but he'd stayed long enough to make me breakfast the following morning, and in what was obviously a fit of insanity I had given him my spare key. Had I somehow telegraphed that it was okay for him to barge in whenever he liked?
”Nothing. Last night was my first s.h.i.+ft back at work.”
Trevor licked the knife and tossed it into the sink. ”Cool. You bust any bad guys?”
Did crazed junkies trying to stab my face count? ”Only one.”
He shoved half a bagel slice in his mouth and chuckled, swallowing before speaking. I took a token bite of mine, even though I was too nervous with him sitting across from me to be hungry.
”You know,” Trevor said, ”I can't get over the fact that I'm shacked up with a cop. I mean, do you know how many times I've been busted?”
Twice. Both misdemeanor charges that were cleared with a fine. I also knew that Trevor was five-ten instead of six feet like he always claimed and that he wore blue contacts. What, I was supposed to sleep with someone who, for all I knew, could be a chain-saw s.e.x killer? How did normal women date like that?
I said, ”Yeah, that's funny,” in a tone that sounded dolorous even to me.
Trevor reached across the table with fishy-smelling fingers and brushed my hair behind my ear. ”You okay, babe? You seem really s.p.a.cey.” There was genuine concern sitting in his eyes and I breathed in before answering, to fill my nostrils with the scent of the here and now and dispel the clove-tinged past.
”Fine. Sweetheart.” That came out easy enough. I tried again. ”Thanks for coming over. It was ... nice.”
Trevor snorted. ”Nice? I'm not nice. But I like you.” He winked, dropping his plate into the sink and going to my s.h.i.+ny new stainless refrigerator. The old Frigidaire had been sc.r.a.pped due to damage from large-caliber bullet holes. ”You got any beer?”
”No.” I had drunk enough of it in my teens to last for a while, possibly the rest of my life. And what the Hex did Trevor think he was doing, anyway? Was there a set of relations.h.i.+p semaph.o.r.es I wasn't privy to that said, Hey, invade my privacy and drink all of my beer, if I Hey, invade my privacy and drink all of my beer, if I have it? have it? The one nice thing about life with Dmitri had been the lack of bulls.h.i.+t. He wanted me, and one time I had wanted him, and it happened, and afterward he made it okay with an easy smile and a touch against my cheek. Weres are creatures of instinct, and you know where you stand, even if the only slots to stand in are ”prey” and ”mate.” The one nice thing about life with Dmitri had been the lack of bulls.h.i.+t. He wanted me, and one time I had wanted him, and it happened, and afterward he made it okay with an easy smile and a touch against my cheek. Weres are creatures of instinct, and you know where you stand, even if the only slots to stand in are ”prey” and ”mate.”
Trevor came behind me and ma.s.saged my shoulders. ”You're tense, darlin',” he murmured in my ear, lips grazing the top. ”Let's forget the beer and go upstairs. See what I can do about that.”
My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in with a vengeance, the memory of Dmitri's hands where Trevor's sat now twisting my stomach. I twitched under Trevor's touch, and he noticed, stepping back with a sigh.
”It's him again?”
I turned with what I hoped was a convincingly perky smile. ”Who? Babe.” Hex me, I was awful at plat.i.tudes. Probably why I never made it as a c.o.c.ktail waitress.
Trevor leaned against a counter and pushed a hand through the green-streaked black hair that fell in front of his eyes. ”Your mysterious ex that you won't talk about. Luna, you know I think you're the hottest woman I've ever been with, but this existential crisis s.h.i.+t has gotta go.”
I looked down at the braided rug, shamed. Just how much I didn't talk about, Trevor had no idea. And it was unfair. Dmitri was gone. I had met Trevor because because he was gone. Hadn't I gone out determined to rejoin the population at large, and forget him? Now I had Trevor, and cutting him off would be cruel and brand me a truly dysfunctional individual for life. he was gone. Hadn't I gone out determined to rejoin the population at large, and forget him? Now I had Trevor, and cutting him off would be cruel and brand me a truly dysfunctional individual for life.
He looked at me again when I came and slid my arms around his waist, pressing our bodies together. I made sure he could feel I wasn't wearing a bra, and his eyes darkened a bit, a smile creeping to the corners of his mouth. I kissed him and paid special attention to sliding my tongue between his lips. Pressure against my groin through his jeans told me that we were well on the way to making up.
”Upstairs, you said?” I purred, pulling back. Trevor nodded, his breath coming out in little puppy pants. I could smell his plain human pheromones, cloyingly sweet like a narcissus flower.
”Upstairs,” he agreed, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me after him.
The sun had set again by the time I woke up, showered, and made my way downstairs to my office to check e-mail. Trevor was still snoring and tangled in my sheets, and I was inclined to leave him there. I made sure to put some antiseptic and a box of bandages on the nightstand, embarra.s.sed at the deep welts my nails had left on his shoulder blades.
At least I could explain it away as his driving me to heights of heretofore unimagined, romance-novelesque pa.s.sion. A little white lie was far better than blurting out I was a were.
I should have told him the first night we met, at the club where his band was playing. Definitely after the first time I slept with him. I checked the lunar calendar on the wall of the office and saw that the full moon was sixteen days away-too early for any signs of the phase to be showing, thank the G.o.ds. How I would explain this one away, I didn't know.
My e-mail in-box lit up with a few pieces of spam. Not surprising. Who would want to talk to me in the mopey state I was in?
The last remaining e-mail in the box caught my eye, and I vowed I would be strong, I would not click on it. Would not, would not...
I moved the mouse and clicked with the same compulsion as when I bid on vintage pumps and purses at auction, and the resulting emotional gut punch was the same.
From: [email protected] To:
Subject: Don't worry about me ...
Dear Luna, Don't worry about me, darlin'. I can't talk long but I'm in the Ukraine and I'm okay. Don't talk to anyone about me, or you, or us. Please. Can't say exactly what will happen if you do, but things could get serious.
I'll try to protect you. Don't know if I can ...
-Dmitri
Dated almost a month ago, the last I'd heard from Sandovsky. That night, I had gone out and met Trevor. The last line of the message haunted me, in the times when I was halfway between waking and dreaming. I'll try to protect you. I'll try to protect you.
”Well, Dmitri, you've done a great G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned job so far,” I muttered. Footsteps thudded above me and Trevor called down the stairs.
”Babe, you down there? Got any breakfast for me?”
I stabbed at the monitor's power b.u.t.ton and hustled out of the office. ”There should be cereal in the kitchen. I'm late for work-I have to go.” How old the cereal was, I wouldn't testify to. I wasn't late, either, but looking at Trevor in the aftermath sent a flush of guilt through me. I should enjoy him more-or less. Or what the Hex was wrong with me? Since when had I become a whiny urbanite whose biggest concern was boinking?