by Selena Scott
“That’s a classic,” Quill said, recognizing the picture. “About a whale. And a hunter.”
She jumped so hard the book actually got a few inches of air before landing back in her hands. She snapped it closed and quickly set it back on the shelf, as if she’d been caught browsing nudey mags instead of old editions of classic literature.
He shouldn’t have spoken, Quill reflected glumly when her sheet of hair covered over her eyes again and she took two steps backward, away from him. He should have known better than to surprise her like that. But he’d just so liked the way she’d looked, lit up with curiosity. He’d wanted, in some small way, to be part of the reason she looked like that. Predictably, however, his presence had promptly ruined everything.
She stepped around the stained glass window, again putting it between them, and then she was two more steps into the booth, making sure Ida and Phoenix were also separating her from Quill.
He sighed and stepped up to the book she’d been looking at. He wondered what had so caught her interest. He knew that she and her brothers had never learned to read. So he wasn’t sure why a book would hold any interest at all for her.
He supposed he could just let it rest. Let it remain a rather tepid mystery. Or. He knocked his knuckles against the spine of the crumbling hardback. Or he could find out exactly what she liked about it.
***
Despite what everyone thought, Phoenix had, in fact, learned a little bit about human culture. He knew, for instance, that if he were to get caught staring at Ida right now, she would likely stop charming Dawn so thoroughly. She’d want to know what the hell he was looking at and why he was staring and the truth was, he wasn’t sure of the answers to those questions.
So, in one of the most human gestures he’d ever made, he absently picked up an object off the table of the booth he was standing in and pretended to study it with interest while he was actually studying Ida.
She was whispering something to Dawn, whose eyes got large before she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Dawn didn’t like drawing attention to herself and bursting out laughing in public definitely qualified as drawing attention to herself. But still, apparently Ida was making it difficult because Dawn’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
Phoenix honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever seen his sister laugh like that. She’d mess around and wrestle and race and play with Phoenix and Orion. But he’d never seen her … giggle. And he’d certainly never seen her whisper back to a female friend. She’d never had a female friend before.
Phoenix tried not to let it affect him too much, the sight of his sister goofing around in a carefree, light way. But it did affect him. She was just one of those people who had a sadness about her. He supposed it most likely had something to do with the fact that she’d practically grown up an orphan, with no other women around. But she, much more than either Phoenix or Orion, had always been the lone wolf.
“I see you’ve got a seasoned collector’s eye,” said a reedy voice from over Phoenix’s shoulder. He turned to see a shrewd looking man, the top of his head at about Phoenix’s mid-rib, huge glasses turning his eyes into raisins.
“What?” Phoenix asked.
The man pointed at the object in Phoenix’s hand. “The doll. You’ve picked my most valuable one. You must be a seasoned collector.”
Phoenix looked down at the rubber thing in his hand. It was a little grubby looking doll with nubs for eyes and a shock of wiry hair. It was wearing what looked like a diaper. On impulse, Phoenix gave the doll a little squeeze and frowned when the eyes popped from the doll’s head, the whole thing giving a sad little whine.
“See!” The man intoned. “Tip top shape. You won’t find another its equal.”
“I’m sure I won’t. Here.” He shoved the doll back into the man’s hand. “I don’t care about that.”
He started to crutch away when he heard the man’s voice again. “How rude!”
“What happened?” Ida was suddenly there, at Phoenix’s side, her soft hand resting on his shoulder as she peered behind him at the man.
“Nothing,” Phoenix said with a shrug. “He wanted me to buy his doll. I told him I didn’t care about it.”
“Oh, Phoenix,” Ida said with something soft in her eyes. She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and hurried back into the booth from which he’d just exited. Phoenix watched as, yup, sure enough, not twenty seconds later, the man in the glasses was smiling and shrugging, his head bobbing along as he laughed at something Ida was saying to him. Appeasing him.
She was back at his side in just a moment and Phoenix peered down at her as he crutched away, over toward where Dawn and Quill silently stood next to one another, ready to go, neither speaking.
“You sure are good at being human,” Phoenix told her.
Ida laughed. “Well, I better be. I am human.”
“But not all humans are like you. Trust me.”
She glanced up at him with her light brown eyes, almost amber in this light. "I think most people want to do a little bit of good, if they can. They just can’t always figure out how.”
She fell into step beside Dawn and Phoenix just crutched along after them, thinking about her words.
He thought, for the first time since he’d been plunked down into civilization, that maybe he wanted to figure out how to do some good as well. And he had Ida to thank for that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Well, she had to face facts. The double date idea hadn't worked. She’d thought that spending time with Phoenix’s sister while Quill took the brunt of Phoenix might help Ida to dispel some of these pesky feelings buzzing in circles inside of her. But alas. Seeing him interact with Dawn, teasing and sensitive and patient, had just made things worse.
She’d snuck about a thousand peeks at him, frowning down at all the knick knacks on the tables. Patiently crutching around the entire market because it was the place that Ida had chosen to take everybody and she didn’t think he wanted to complain. Hell, even watching him snarf down food from the food trucks had done funny things to her insides.
It was officially red alert season. She needed a plan and fast. For the next few days, Ida stuffed her schedule full with her other clients. She took one to apply for a loan, drove one to the DMV where he applied for his State Identification. She helped another choose a color scheme for the room she was renting in a coop filled with other shifters.
And when she wasn’t working, she was scrubbing her fridge from top to bottom, went apple picking with Wren, casually perused a pop-up Halloween store but didn’t find a costume. And it was at that moment that Ida had to face facts. She was officially avoiding Phoenix. Which was bad because it was literally her job to spend time with him. And extra bad because he so badly needed her guidance. She was not being her best self.
But Ida was just kind of scared that her best self might be slippery-ing down the slope toward a nice, messy crush.
It was with that thought in mind that Ida chose, for her next appointment with Phoenix, the least romantic thing she could think to do.
Now, she knew that there were plenty of people who would think of perusing modern art as a perfectly good date activity. In fact, there were most likely people who thought that it was even an aphrodisiac. But Ida had been dragged around on one too many bad dates in the name of culture to feel anything but bored at an art museum at this point.
Apparently, Phoenix agreed.
“No more,” he begged as they rounded another corner of the contemporary art museum. “This building is a labyrinth. I have a headache. I know you said it’s art but it all looks stupid to me and I’m starving.”
“Oh, don’t be a big baby. Art is important to human culture!” she justified her choice of activities. Though, in her opinion, he’d hit the dang nail on the dang head. Modern art was deeply not her thing. She’d inflicted on them what she’d referred to as a ‘culture day’ hoping to let some of the air out of the intimacy balloon that had been swellin
g between them.
She wasn’t wrong that Phoenix’s life in his human form would be easier and more natural if he had a vague understanding of things like art and philosophy and literature and pop culture. But … maybe in her urge to find something un-sexy to do, she’d overcorrected.
He’d seemed extremely bored and unconnected and skeptical of the experience since the moment she’d pulled up to the boxy building. She’d thought it would be good for both of them to be bored and not quite so warm with each other.
But now she winced, feeling guilty as she watched Phoenix limp on his crutches toward the exit. In her need to do something innocuous and un-sexy, she’d kept him on his feet too long. Damn.
She caught up to him. “Let’s get you home.”
A few minutes later he squeezed into her car, but his grimace didn’t go away.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. “It’s just my leg and side, “he said with a wince. “I need to stretch out.”
He pushed the passenger seat back as far as it would go, but there wasn’t enough room.
“We’ll be back at your house in about forty five minutes.”
He groaned. Ida glanced at him, really worried. He hadn’t talked about his injury much with her, and the one time she’d asked if he’d want her to accompany him on any physical therapy appointments he’d firmly shut her down. He made it clear that his injury was not on the table for discussion. She thought about the way he’d turned from her the other day, hiding his shiny pink scarring as if it were something horrifying she shouldn't see. And now, taking her cues from him, she’d allowed him to push himself much too far and he might have done permanent damage.
She would have stopped at a park to let him stretch it out, but it was cold and drizzly.
“Just pull over,” he gasped. “I’ll stretch on the ground somewhere. I don’t care.”
“No, no. Look, can you make it five minutes? My house is in this neighborhood.” She knew this was stupid. She should not be taking her client to her house. And definitely not a client she had a crush on. But this was her mistake and he was paying for it now. She couldn’t let him wallow in pain.
“All right,” he grunted.
When they pulled up to her small bungalow she knew how much pain he was in because he didn’t protest when she came around to his side of the car and helped him up the sidewalk. As soon as they were inside her front door, he lowered himself to the ground and started in on some stretches. She raced to her bathroom and found some ibuprofen.
“Here. Take these.”
He dry swallowed them wordlessly, his face scrunched up in pain. He was laying on his back, stretching his knee toward his chest, though it wouldn’t go very far. Ida couldn’t help but sit next to his head. Unable to stop herself, she put her fingers on his tightened forehead and smoothed the wrinkles there, hoping to encourage him to relax a little.
His eyes popped open.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she whispered.
“Scalp massage,” he grumbled.
She smiled and got comfortable, immediately starting to rub his head and take deep breaths that she hoped he’d match. After a minute, he did. His face loosened a little and his breathing became less strained.
He switched his stretching position, tensed again, and then, after a moment, began to relax. This happened four or five times until finally he was laying on his back, his eyes open to the ceiling, his breaths deep.
“I’m okay now.”
She peered down at him. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Not as okay as I would be if you hadn’t forced me through that art building, but yeah. I’m fine.”
She laughed and grimaced. “Sorry. Point taken. No more art exhibits. And no more standing for hours.” Her eyes trailed down his big body on the runner carpet of her front hallway. He took up nearly every inch. His clothes hid his scarring and his feet were tipped to either side, one hand resting on his belly. He looked almost at ease. “Is there some sort of lotion or something that you put on your injury? Something to loosen up the scar tissue?”
“Sometimes,” he answered evasively. “Seriously. I’m all right. I have a PT appointment tonight and it’ll be fine.”
He slowly heaved himself up to a sit and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, facing away from her. He craned his head around. “So. This is your house?”
Ida bit her lip and rose to her feet. “Yup.”
She wondered what he saw when he looked around at her brightly painted walls and dying tulips in a jar at one end of the hall. She wondered if he noticed that she didn’t have any family pictures framed anywhere.
He got to his feet and reached for his crutches, heading in toward her living room and kitchen. She watched as he studied the “chicks over dicks” framed cross-stitch that Wren had made for her last birthday, but when he looked away with no comment, she remembered he couldn’t read.
She resisted the urge to ask him what he thought about all of this. He turned back to her. “Got anything to eat?”
She laughed and led him to her couch. “You sit down. Or lay down. Get comfortable. And I’ll make us some pancakes.”
She quickly made up the batter but frowned when she saw that she’d gotten her dress messy. So, Ida headed back into her bedroom and changed into some trousers and a nice sweater. She came back out, quickly put the pancakes on the griddle and checked on Phoenix. He was stretched out on her couch with his eyes closed. But when she came back into the living room a little while later, steaming pancakes on a tray with two glasses of juice and a carafe of syrup, he immediately sniffed the air and straightened up.
She handed him his food. “Wanna watch a show?”
He looked at her blankly.
“The TV.” She pointed behind her. “It’s definitely a human thing. To watch television while you eat.”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Don’t care.”
She flicked on the TV and they ate in silence, him finishing long before she did. He was taking up most of the couch with his long legs but when she finished eating and set her plate away, she turned partway toward him and pushed at his feet with hers, arranging them so that they both had space.
He grunted and picked up his legs, apparently seeing his opportunity, he slid his feet underneath either of her thighs, his legs stretched out between hers.
He still watched the TV, his eyes lazily lidded, one arm up, pillowing the back of his head as if he didn’t see anything wrong with this position.
And maybe he didn’t. Ida had been reading up on what little was known about True wolf shifters and there was one thing that came up frequently. They were surprisingly cuddly animals. She imagined that on cold nights, Phoenix and his siblings would have had to huddle together for warmth. He probably wouldn’t see anything strange about pressing against her right now, tangling his body with hers.
She kept her eyes glued to the TV, but she could tell that he was yawning on the other side of the couch. Because this wasn’t a heated moment for him. She was certain that for him, this was about companionship and warmth more than anything. He probably didn’t even realize that this position was intimate.
But she was his mentor and supposed to be teaching him about human culture and etiquette and she’d be remiss if she allowed him to think that it was completely fine to casually cuddle with a colleague or friend like this.
She started to slide back so that she could sit up and untangle from him but his legs tensed and pinned her legs down. “Where are you going?”
“Just repositioning.”
“You’re uncomfortable?”
She knew she had to be honest with him. It was her job to explain the intricacies of human intimacy to him. When he finally got himself a girlfriend, she didn’t want him to be eons behind. “Um. Not physically.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that this position,” she pointed down at their tangled legs, his knees on the inside of hers, her thighs laid
over his feet, “Is pretty intimate. It’s probably something you’d do with a girlfriend, not a friend.”
“So you don’t want to sit like this with me?”
Well, the problem was actually that she did want to sit like this with him and that she definitely shouldn’t be sitting like this with him. Apparently she hesitated just long enough to give him an answer.
“This feels nice to me,” he said in a low voice. His knees pushed out against hers and Ida gasped as the movement spread her legs open a few inches. “I like it.”
Crap. Now she was actually turned on. She felt a liquid heat start between her legs and she did her best not to squirm. He pushed her legs open a few more inches and she was very aware of the fact that he was staring at her the same way he’d stared at that Gap Body website. His eyes even darker than normal, his nostrils flaring. She refused to look down at his crotch. Instead, she quickly disentangled herself from him, pulled herself to the far side of the couch and sat on her feet.
“Maybe it’s time we started looking for a romantic partner for you,” she suggested in a voice that was embarrassingly weak.
“A romantic partner?”
“A girlfriend. Someone you could be, um, intimate with.” She felt his gaze on the side of her face as if it were a physical touch.
“I don’t need a girlfriend in order to mate, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Right, right.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you don’t need my help to find, uh, someone willing to … yeah.”
His voice was low and scratchy. “I haven’t had problems in the past.”
A silence stretched between them and Ida was fairly certain that she was going to have to be the one to break it. After all, they were in her house, on her couch.
“Ida?” There was something soft in his voice that she’d never heard before. She turned to him. “Can I ask you a question about human culture?”
