by Katie May
Fernando considers my question for a moment in silence, pen tapping against his smooth-shaven jaw, before he quickly scribbles a reply in his notebook. It takes him a moment before he slides it across the table to rest in front of me.
Honestly? I had no idea what I wanted when I came onto this show. I’m not going to give you some bullshit response that I came for you specifically. I had no idea who you were. But this show intrigued me, and I thought I would give it a try. We don’t know each other yet, but I would very much like to change that. I think you’re beautiful, Ridley, but I know that beauty isn’t what matters. This is totally going to sound like a cliché—and I kind of hate myself for writing this—but it’s the inside that counts. There. I said it. The cliché of all clichés. But it’s true. I never thought someone like me would meet someone like you. I’m a rare form of shifter where I retain a lot of my animal characteristics in my human form. As such, I’m only capable of ribbiting. It’s embarrassing and awful and makes me feel...well...it makes me feel like less than a man. I can already see that you’re an old soul, just like me. And I would love the chance to get to know you better, if you’ll let me.
My heart swells as I read through his note once, twice, three times. The words begin to blur on the page as tears form in my eyes.
“Do you mean it?” I whisper, staring at the painstakingly written words. A lot of thought went into this paragraph. Each word is imbued with emotion. For a man who isn’t able to speak, he’s more coherent than a lot of people who can.
Fernando’s lips lift upwards into a slow, languid smirk, and he nods his head once.
“Well then,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “How about I ask you a few questions? What’s your favorite food?”
And for the next hour, we go back and forth asking each other random ass questions.
It’s pizza, by the way. His favorite food. I also learn that he has a younger sister named Penelope who lives with him after their parents died. He’s a mechanic, but dreams of eventually opening up his own business. And, believe it or not, he has become close friends with Jerome, the cat who peed on me.
I would recommend talking to him, Fernando writes, wincing. There’s something he needs to tell you.
Hopefully, it’s an apology, because thanks to him, I had to destroy my favorite dress.
Chapter 5
Seven Months Earlier
I stay all night.
All. Fucking. Night.
During that time, I have more men paw on me than I care to admit. Through it all, I can feel Jerry watching me with keen, all-seeing eyes.
I stick to water, sipping through the straw, as men and women grind against each other in the middle of the floor. Let me make something clear: there isn’t a dance floor. There isn’t even a resemblance of one. Instead, the patrons push away tables in their drunken haze to dry hump.
“I get off my shift in ten minutes,” Jerry says to me, his voice a low growl. I spin on the stool from where I’m observing a particularly...errr...graphic scene and face the scowling bartender. He nods towards the back exit, and after a moment of hesitation, I nod in understanding.
When the ten minutes are up, I follow him towards the door, hand clasped tightly around my clutch. I didn’t bring my gun, but I have both a switch-blade and pepper spray that I can use to drop a ho. And, of course, my powers...though I won’t use them unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t trust my magic anymore than I trust Jerry the Cult Leader Bartender. The last thing I need is for the entire building to catch on fire and kill everyone inside of it. Yeah. No thanks. Talk about a PR nightmare.
“You’ve been starin’ at me all fucking night,” Jerry groans when we exit, spinning around suddenly and pushing me against the side of the building. He begins to plant open-mouthed kisses on my neck.
“Wait!” I squeal, shoving at his shoulders. Surprisingly, he steps back immediately, face scrunched with confusion.
“I thought you wanted me?” he asks with genuine bemusement. And maybe a little hurt, too.
I’d rather suck my toe than his cock, but I don’t bother saying that out loud.
You need to play this smart, Ridley. You can’t fuck this up... like you fuck everything else up.
I hush that mental voice instantly. She can be such a hussy sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, adopting my drunk-ditzy-schoolgirl persona. For added effect, I release a giggle. I apologize in advance to all girls everywhere for the part I have to play. “I just heard...well...never mind.” I wave my hand in the air dismissively, turning back towards the door.
As expected, his ego can’t handle that.
“Whatcha mean, gurl?” he questions, his accent even more pronounced in his irritation.
Check and mate.
“It’s stupid,” I say breezily, laughing slightly. “But…” I glance conspiratorially in both directions. “Someone mentioned that you know…” Once more, I trail off.
“Know wat?” he demands, folding his large, meaty arms over his chest.
“Know about the devil,” I blurt at last, willing my cheeks to turn crimson.
Because in our world, the devil is real.
According to our files, he was alive centuries before my time, committing unspeakable acts against the humans. An early form of SUP—not called that at the time—decided to place him in prison for his crimes, in the deepest pits of hell.
Think of the worst human serial killer you can think of. Now, imagine that as a paranormal entity incapable of death.
If the devil escapes his prison, I have no doubt in my mind he’ll destroy this entire fucking world.
And if Jerry’s tight-lipped smile is any indication? He knows that too.
According to one of the camera operators—a nice man named Lucas—Jerome is in the gym.
Yup, this place has a freaking gym.
I take the staircase down to the basement where lo and behold, the interior has been redecorated into a state-of-the-art workout area. A row of treadmills are placed against the far wall, and opposite them are a bunch of stationary bikes. I spot a shelf of weights and what appears to be an elliptical directly beside it.
Kaleb is currently using one of the heavy weights, his bare muscles bunching with each lift. He’s definitely one of the more muscular men on the show, his only rival being Ren. Sweat coats his body, highlighting the numerous grooves of his chest. When he catches sight of me, a brilliant smile appears on his face, and he quickly drops the weight onto the...weight stand? Weight holder? Fuck if I know the term.
“Ridley, hi!” he says with an eagerness that reminds me of a besotted puppy. He scrambles to his feet, and my eyes automatically latch onto the planes of his defined chest. When he moves, the muscles in his arms ripple and dilute. This man...he’s power. Pure power. I imagine he could crush me with one squeeze from his hand.
And…
Why do I all of a sudden have a vivid image of lying on my bed with his hands around my throat? With his cock…?
Head out of gutter, Ridley. Head out of gutter.
“Were you looking for me?” he asks, the smile on his face almost contagious. And there’s something strangely endearing about a man as strong and cocky as Kaleb looking almost vulnerable.
“Errr…yes?” I wince at how stupid I sound, but my bumbling awkwardness is worth the light that radiates from Kaleb’s eyes.
“Oh! I wrote you another poem!” he enthuses, patting his bare abs. “Um, I must’ve left it in my shirt! Stay right there!” With a whoop, Kaleb hurries in the direction of what appears to be a locker room. A mansion with a gym and a locker room? I hit my head and went to candyland. Maybe one day, I’ll become rich enough to afford this luxury, but for now, I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.
Everything except for the gym, that is.
Your girl needs her cake.
“You’re sweet,” a familiar voice murmurs from behind me. I spin, heart jumping to my throat, to see a figure lurking in the shadows. His
hood is pulled over his head, obscuring his features from view.
I recognize him as one of the men competing, but I don’t think I ever had a conversation with him sans the first one where we awkwardly introduced ourselves to each other. Edward, if I remember correctly. The werewolf.
He takes a step closer, and the shadows steadily retreat until I’m staring at a chiseled face. Today, Edward is wearing all black, almost as if he’s an extension of the shadows. He doesn’t smile, though, choosing instead to regard me with cool intensity.
“I watch,” he admits in that raspy voice of his. I would almost describe it as...husky. There’s something decidedly seductive about it.
“What do you mean?” I query, staring at the man as intently as he is me. I feel awful that I haven’t had the chance to get to know him. Come to think of it, there are a few guys that I don’t know as well as I should. I’m hoping to rectify the situation, and soon.
“It means that I see things,” he says, those dark eyes of his narrowing slightly. “And you, Ridley, are...nice.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I cock my hip to the side instinctively, unable to hold back my sass.
Edward’s lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile.
He seems...different than before. When I had first met him, during the introduction phase of the show, he had been awkward and talkative. Now, he seems like an entirely different person.
“Not a bad thing,” he assures me, his smile broadening. “You are what you say you are. That’s an admirable trait. Some people have...two sides to their personality.” He chuckles darkly, as if he’s on the inside of a joke.
Movement over my shoulder captures his attention. Those dark, dark eyes of his narrow slightly before he takes a step backwards, disappearing back into the shadows.
What the hell?
I turn just in time to see Kaleb approach, smile luminescent and a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. When I turn back towards the corner, Edward the werewolf is nowhere to be seen.
“Is everything okay?” Kaleb questions, instantly on alert with whatever expression he sees on my face. He gently grabs my arm and pulls me behind him, muscles tensing as if he needs to protect me from a threat. I can’t help but smile at his protectiveness.
“I’m fine. It’s just...never mind.” I don’t know how to explain Edward’s personality change. But, then again, I don’t know the man well enough to say if it truly was a change in personality. Maybe he’s normally mysterious and slick, but when he gets nervous, he rambles? Because I can totally relate to that.
“Here’s my poem,” Kaleb says, thrusting the paper at me. His cheeks immediately flame, and he ducks his head sheepishly. “If you don’t like it, it won’t hurt my feelings. I’m not much of a writer.”
Clearing my throat, I unfold the paper and begin to read.
“Ridley, your beauty surpasses that of the stars,
“You could be your own planet; you could be Mars,
“Whenever I see you, I can’t help but smile,
“I’ll run any distance, even a mile,
“I love it when you laugh and when you grin,
“I’ll love it even more if you scream my name again and again.
“Sincerely yours, Kaleb.”
I stare at the poem for a long, long moment. Because, dammit, that’s actually really sweet of him. And cute.
“Do you like it?” Kaleb asks, rocking back on his heels. He scrubs at his large, bulging biceps anxiously.
“I love it,” I assure him, neatly folding the piece of paper. “I’ll put it with the other one. I love your poems, Kaleb.”
And I do. They’re just like Kaleb—awkward and straight-forward and slightly erotic.
“I look forward to the paintball game tonight,” Kaleb continues, eyes alight with excitement. “I hope you’re on my team.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” I just barely contain my grimace of disgust. Because me and a gun? Not a good combination. Me and running while holding a gun? That’s laughable.
“Don’t worry,” Kaleb assures me, leaning forward. His scent hits me, reminding me distinctly of long walks on the beach. I want to breathe him in, but I resist the urge...because that’s weird. A little too weird for me. “I’ll protect you.”
“Even if we’re not on the same team?” I quip.
“Of course.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “You’re my girl.”
And I totally need to take bug spray to the surge of butterflies in my stomach. Damn him.
Kaleb grabs a towel that’s draped over a bench and wipes the sweat off his face and chest. I can’t help but ogle his impressive muscles, the way they flex with every lift of his arm. When he catches my blatant staring, his smirk widens, and some of his familiar cockiness returns.
“I’ll see you later, babygirl?” he purrs. “Maybe in my bedroom?”
Snorting at his antics, I push at his lower back. Fuck, the man is positively rippped.
“Go and clean up. You’re beginning to stink.” I make a face to emphasize my point, though Kaleb is anything but stinky. Actually, he smells pretty damn good, but I’ll die before I admit that out loud.
I watch his retreating back before turning to survey the room once more. Apparently, Lucas the camera operator was wrong and Jerome isn’t truly here.
Before that thought can even fully articulate, a soft meow echoes from the far side of the room. Eyes narrowing, I race around the machines until I stop in front of an adorable white cat with light brown—almost orange—spots. He’s curled up on one of the treadmills, licking one of his paws.
When he sees me, he jumps to his feet, eyes widening in panic, and…
And a trail of pee escapes his...um...cat weiner, cascading down the length of the treadmill.
My mouth drops open as I stare at the pungently smelling liquid.
“Um…”
The cat releases a melancholic whine, racing in the direction of the locker room.
What the hell?
A moment later, the door reopens and Jerome appears, dressed only in a pair of loose shorts with his bronze chest on display. He scrubs a hand through his dark hair, eyes wild with panic.
“I can explain,” he blurts immediately, eyes volleying between the piss and my face.
“What the hell, Jerome?” I ask, groaning. “Why do you keep peeing everywhere?”
The cat shifter almost appears...embarrassed? There’s a blush to his cheeks that hasn’t been there prior, and his lips are no longer set in his standard, cocky grin.
“I guess we need to talk,” he says after a moment of silence.
“Yeah. I think we do.”
I move as far away from the pee as I can, perching on the edge of one of the bikes. Jerome stands in front of me, anxiously fiddling with his fingers.
“Okay, talk.” I nod at him, beseeching with my eyes. “Because your behavior is completely unacceptable. And honestly? It’s kind of gross.”
Because who likes getting peed on? Not me, for starters.
“I heard you went on a coffee date with Fernando,” he begins, confusing the shit out of me.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
He sighs once more, reaching towards the nearest bar and resting the tips of his fingers on the metal. The movement stretches his arms above his head, giving me a full, undisturbed view of his impressive chest. It’s not nearly as muscular as Kaleb’s, but there’s a prominent six pack and a line of dark hair leading towards his shorts. I call it the “no, no hair.” Because when you stare at it, you should probably stop for a moment and think, “Is this really what you want to do?”
“He told you how some shifters retain more characteristics of their animal form than their human form, correct?” he questions, gauging my reaction carefully. At my barely perceptible nod, he hurries along doggedly. “I, um, have a little issue.” He pauses, brows furrowing, before he takes a deep, fortifying breath. “With my bladder.”
“Huh?” Out of everything I
expected him to say, that wasn’t even a top contender.
“I pee. A lot. When I’m nervous or excited. And, more often than not, I pee on things I consider my own. It’s a completely shitty thing to do, I know that, but I honestly can’t help it. When I first met you, my cat was...eager. I think that’s the right word. He wanted you—wanted to get to know you and claim you as our mate—and I panicked. So… I peed on you.” He scrubs a hand down his face, body trembling in agitation. “Please don’t be mad,” he begs, tone near pleading. “Please don’t send me away.”
“Jerome, I honestly don’t know what to say. I can’t even imagine what that would be like.” Instinctively, I cross my legs as if that could somehow stop the imaginary pain from my bladder.
“You hate me, don’t you?” he says, eyes lowering. “You’re disgusted.”
“I don’t—”
He suddenly shrinks down into his cat form, large, innocent eyes staring up at me. Shame emanates from those golden depths, and I know that he still retains some, if not all, of the man’s cognitive process.
Unable to help myself, I lean down and grab the fluffy cat, holding him against my chest. He immediately begins to purr, body rumbling with contentment, as I stroke behind both of his soft ears.
“If you pee on me, I swear I’ll kill you,” I warn, kissing his furry head.
Huh.
If Jerome doesn’t work as a boyfriend, he’ll make a pretty damn good pet.
Maybe I judged him too harshly. Maybe I pushed him away before I even got a chance to know him.
Those thoughts percolate in my head as I turn, still holding the cat, and exit the gym.
Chapter 6
As you might have guessed, I never went paintballing before.
I’m restless with nervous anticipation as we load into the numerous cars and pull away from the mansion.
