"Don't pun me if you want to have a serious conversation," I warned, and took the bag, pretending this was an apology. Both for the pun, and for jerking Justin's chain earlier. Even though he was probably right about the "emergency" sofa needs being exaggerated at best, he shouldn't have done the kissy noise and brought up the whole dating can of worms for me.
"Where were you hiding these?" I mumbled.
"In my sock drawer, under the socks."
"Damn. I'd never have thought to look there."
"Exactly. So. About Justin."
The cookies suddenly tasted too dry. "What about him?"
"You have some pretty strong feelings about him, and they don't seem to be going away. I think it would help if you talked to him about it. Tell him how you feel. Find out how he feels. If there's nothing there, at least you won't keep torturing yourself with it. But if there is...and he seems pretty intense about you, by the way...then you'll be able to do something about it. I'm still not convinced he's good enough for you, but there's no denying he cares an awful lot."
He looked at me expectantly, waiting for my return volley. But I had nothing. I stared at him, unhinged, de-worded, silent.
"I'm more than happy to help," said Tomas, when I still hadn't said anything. "I was a pretty good Cyrano de Bergerac back in my day."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Your nose is perfect and you know it," I muttered.
He grinned at that. "I can do anything from help you write a script, practice, be there with you for moral support when you talk to him, or straight up tell him myself when you're not there, to feel the waters out for you. Or anything in between, really."
"You don't have to do all of that." I could feel my cheeks heating up. "He's...it would just be humiliating, to be honest. Yes, if I thought there was a chance, it might be worth it. But he sees me as a broken pup, or a project, or something else really unflattering." I put my head in my hands.
Tomas put a hand on the back of my neck and began to gingerly knead the bunched muscles there. "I don't know. When I hear the two of you talk, I really don't see that."
"Thanks," I mumbled. It felt good when he did that.
"And you give as good as you get, which I've never heard you do with anyone else. Besides me, of course. You sort of come to life, talking to him, even when you're irritated with him. It's..." He paused, seemed to be searching for words. "There might be something real there."
I wished he were right. I leaned into his touch, enjoying the way his clever fingers loosened the tightness of my neck muscles. I hadn't realized I was so stressed out. I wanted to live in a world where Tomas was right, where Justin could love me. Also, a world of neck massages, because this was amazing. I hummed, trying to sound more thoughtful than blissed out. Not sure I managed that.
He gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Hey, I'll give you a full massage if you want, but leave your pants on."
I snorted. As if I'd ever take my pants off around Tomas! "The neck is fine." I thought of something else, and my heart sank a little. It was only a daydream, Tomas's view of things. "You know, he's not exactly shy," I went on. "He'd say something if he was interested in me."
"Would he? I don't know. Maybe he thinks you can do better. For the record, so do I."
"You keep saying that. Why are you offering to help, then?"
"Because I don't want my partner to be miserable. Come on. At least think about it."
"I'm thinking," I told him. "But I'm not getting anywhere. He must know I'm interested. He reads everything else about me like a book."
"Maybe, maybe not. These types that think they know everything, sometimes they've got a blind spot a mile wide."
"You really think he doesn't know?" I'd invited the man for ice cream. I suppose in the big scheme of things, that's not exactly a declaration of love, but as this was me we were talking about, with how much effort even that had taken. He was Mr. Microexpression Expert. There was no way he hadn't guessed I had some feelings for him. Was there?
"I think he'd be an idiot not to know, but then, I think he's an idiot, so, yeah. So do you want my help? Or you want to handle this your own way, and tell me to bite my tongue?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Give me some more cookies." He handed the bag back. As we crunched through the rest of them, I had a good, hard think.
It's true that sometimes (a lot of the time), Justin was pretty much impossible. But then, so was I. It was also true that my feelings had been getting more intense, not less, the longer I'd known him. From our first meeting, I'd found him striking and impossible to ignore. At the time, his strong personality, the way he'd taken charge and protected me, had been pretty much the opposite of romantic. I'd been grateful, confused, and all sorts of other things—but not interested in him that way. In fact, I'd been afraid he'd want to take advantage of his obvious, excessive power over me.
But as I'd grown stronger in myself, less easy to push around, a little more confident, and as I'd tried to figure out what I wanted from life and to do in it, I could never quite get away from wanting him in my life in some way. In fact, it irritated me immensely when he still acted like he had to protect or shield me. I wanted desperately to be seen as someone more his equal, stronger. And I hadn't wanted to work with him, either, even though that would be one way to keep him close.
I'd wanted something different, and more. There had been a time when I could hide that from myself, but the excuses were dwindling rapidly, and my devastation when we'd been fighting, or when he hadn't come to see me graduate...those feelings did not seem to be easing with time and distance. If anything, I missed him more than ever lately, and I should be weaned off him by now. I shouldn't miss him so much.
It wasn't as if I could just straight out say, "Aha, he's my mate!" either. Because I didn't know. I had no clue. Sure, he smelled good, but so what? Lots of people smelled good. I could be (and often was) around him without thinking about sex. I definitely didn't want to drop to my knees and blow him, that was for damned sure. I never wanted to blow anybody again in my life.
But there was something about him. Something that my brain, contrary and insistent, had decided was necessary. My heart wasn't being very good about taking no for an answer, either. I was miserable when we didn't talk frequently. I missed his physical presence so much it was starting to feel like physical pain. Even a short visit would be welcome...and it couldn't come quickly enough, or last long enough.
Even when he pissed me off, even when I halfway hated his guts for not seeing the real me—competent, stronger, continuing to grow—I wanted him around. I wanted to be near him, and not so he'd boss me around and make me feel safe, the way I'd needed at first.
His personality was so very different from mine, I could just imagine a lifetime of conflict between us, whatever our relationship became, if any. I didn't look forward to that. It would be nice to have somebody get me, and not constantly try to run roughshod over what I felt or wanted.
But I knew very well he cared about me, and if I could just keep working on ways to tell him what I needed or how I felt, he'd do his best not to ignore that. If I told him I needed space, or needed to make up my own mind about something, he'd give it to me, even if I had to remind him a couple of times not to turn his powers on me and try to pry a decision loose by main force.
He was like an engine, always running, revving away the gas, unable to slow down, even on a meandering lane. Yes, he got the job done, and he was great in a high-octane situation. He also meant well. I knew he did. But would any of those things let him mesh in a stable relationship with a guy like me—or even a friendship?
I didn't know. The truth was, I wanted him. Badly. I didn't quite know for sure yet, but I thought I probably wanted him as my mate. That scared me, of course, but not as much as the thought of losing him forever. If I confessed my feelings and he didn't return them, would that happen?
"Hey," said Tomas, "if you need to, you can sleep on my bed tonight."
I gave him a
surprised look. "What? I'm not that upset."
"I know. Just...if you want to."
He clearly thought I was upset.
Sometimes if work was especially stressful or I was miserable for any other reason, including but not limited to my own shitty personality and feeling like a complete failure at life, Tommy would remind me I was welcome to sleep on his bed any time.
What he meant was in wolf form, and it always helped. It was good to be a wolf, and close to him, and feel safe and comfortable in my fur.
I certainly wasn't going to crawl into his bed next to him in human form. For one thing, there wouldn't be room; I take up a lot of space, and he needs room to toss and turn. But I could curl up near his feet in my wolf form, no problem. It was a comfort, even on hot nights. I liked being near him; he steadied me.
I tried not to disturb him, but more than once, we'd woken up together in the morning with me laying siege to his personal space, his arms wrapped around me like he'd been trying to wrangle me in his sleep. He was always sweaty and overheated, and I was embarrassed that I'd made him uncomfortable. But other than that, it wasn't awkward.
Since he was nice enough to offer, I took him up on it that night, too. If he was worried about me enough to be willing to risk waking up overheated and crowded in his own bed, I was willing to take advantage of that. I started out politely not crowding him, though, because I'm well-behaved like that.
After he'd fallen asleep, his snores quietly comforting background music, I was still awake. I thought some more about Justin, and my whole confusing array of emotions. Sometimes my thoughts and feelings were clearer in my wolf form, sometimes they weren't. Today I felt confused both ways.
Eventually I got up, headed over to Tomas's dresser, and sniffed at the drawers. Sure enough, he had something else hidden in the second one from the bottom. I got it open with my nose and paws, and gingerly lifted out a box of Swiss rolls with my teeth, squishing the corner a little in the process. I took it into the living room politely, so I wouldn't disturb him ripping open the cardboard and then the little treats within.
I could have shifted to my human form and opened them more easily, but I enjoy snacks in my wolf form, especially junk food and raw meat. Not very civilized, I know, but extremely tasty.
It's not that I couldn't buy my own snack foods. I could, and I did. It's just that when they were gone, I went for his, if they were too easy to find. Today he'd given himself away, and I didn't have the willpower to even try to resist.
I'm not sure that forbidden food tastes any better, but it certainly didn't taste any worse. I enjoyed every bite, and licked my nose and paws clean of the white cream afterwards, leaving little bits of damp, ripped cardboard and slippery plastic on the floor before easing back up onto his bed.
I'd get up early and clean it up before he ever noticed.
WE WERE BOTH OF US informal the next morning. Though I shifted long enough to use the toilet and clean up my snack-related mess, I shifted back to wolf again right after. I padded around the house in my fur, occasionally giving Tomas a lick on the knee or ankle, while he schlepped around in his underwear, cooking breakfast for us both.
He didn't scold me for not doing half the breakfast work; Tomas didn't like my touching anything in the kitchen. I hadn't learned any proper cooking skills, and I made him nervous. In all fairness to me, I hadn't had a kitchen to practice in till we'd moved in together. I'd lived in a pool hall. And later, Eddie hadn't wanted me to practice in his kitchen.
Tomas didn't find any spots on the carpet, so my cleaning had been decent. However, I didn't hide the scraps of cardboard well enough, because after dumping some eggshells in the trashcan, he gave me a reproving look and said, "Snacking, were we?"
I did my best to look innocent, widening my eyes in a clueless manner, and licked the offending muzzle.
"Well, buy extra next time, honestly." He reached down and ruffled the fur on my head, and I ducked a little, grinning to myself. Tomas was such a pushover. I walked all over him—and he didn't mind.
For such a gentle and mellow guy, he could be very protective. Standing up for me seemed to make him swell up to twice his size, and he spoke in a fierce, precise, quiet voice that made everyone around listen. He was merciless. And he'd never once been that way with me. I appreciated having that part of him on my side when cops were thinking about having me sniff dead bodies.
I didn't know how anyone dealt with dead bodies, on the job or off. Just the thought of it made me get all trembly and weird. I didn't know what the reason was, but Tomas thought maybe it had something to do with my parents' deaths, and told me that it was okay either way.
Nobody, he said, could force me to be around dead bodies. It simply wasn't part of my job requirement, whatever anyone said, and he would make sure it stayed that way.
I hoped that I would be able to be as effective at protecting him if the occasion ever arose, but so far, it hadn't. Tomas carried himself easily through his work, his life, and around his coworkers.
As far as I could tell, nobody really disliked Tomas. He was easygoing, competent, and relaxed enough that nobody considered him a challenge or competition. If they'd stepped back and assessed all of his amazing qualities, they'd have looked at it differently. That was just how Tommy was, though; he was competent and soft-spoken and slipped under people's radar.
A few people didn't like me, thinking I got special treatment, or was too big for my britches. I was a big guy, and it was difficult to hide from scrutiny. It wasn't as easy to change anyone's mind about all of this as it would have been if we'd all been wolves. They'd have been able to read my personality almost immediately. Instead, these cops saw a big, tough-looking wolf who got paid well for not doing all that much, and could turn down the tougher jobs, say, the ones involving gruesome death.
They saw someone whose size challenged and pissed them off, and whose attitude toward the job seemed arrogant, like I thought I was too good for it. It didn't matter what the truth was; that was what they'd chosen to see.
But Tomas stuck up for me, the captain upheld our rights, and I kept my head down and did my job the best I could. I handled my half of the paperwork whenever possible. I never let anyone goad me into a challenge of any sort, or a pissing match, or a staring contest. And I stuck close to Tomas at all possible times.
It was good that he didn't mind me hanging all over him, because I didn't like to be alone around all those cops. I was doing much better around police, as I'd told Justin, but I was not comfortable or confident, especially without Tomas as my front man.
It was also kind that he cooked me breakfast. Tommy was a really great cook.
I waited now, expectantly, for him to serve me. He always served me first, which made me feel deliciously spoiled. He scraped more than half the scrambled eggs onto a huge yellow Fiestaware plate and put it on the floor for me. The steaming eggs, with bits of fried green pepper and onion mixed in, smelled delicious.
"Toast's on the way," he told me, stepping around me toward the toaster, getting whacked with my wagging tail. "Watch that thing, it's a lethal weapon."
I'd finished my eggs by the time he presented me with toast, and then a delicious chunk of fried Spam. After that he sat down and ate, all his food arranged neatly together on a plate, rather than in courses. (I was always too hungry to wait to eat everything together.)
He set about eating in a more civilized manner (i.e., slowly), while I plopped down on his feet and dozed lightly for another few minutes. I liked being with him; I wasn't trying to get more food. I needed to be close to him, and not alone.
WE OFFERED TO PICK Justin up from the airport, but he said he needed to rent a car so he could get around, and he was perfectly able to find our place with GPS. And what time would be best to drop by, when he'd be sure to find us at home?
Tomas told him our usual hours, but said we could probably meet him for lunch sooner than that, if he wanted. No, he would be eating at the conference. It was going
to be a doozy, he could tell, and he'd see us this evening.
"Looking forward to it," said Tomas. His cheerfulness probably would've fooled most people.
I gave him a look after he hung up. "I didn't get to talk enough."
"You'll talk to him this evening. If he lets anyone else get a word in edgewise."
"You really don't like him, do you?"
"I don't like men like him, no. Ones who walk all over everybody."
"He's not like that, really. He's just got a strong personality."
"Don't make excuses for him. I'm allowed to dislike someone, even if it's for their strong personality."
"But he's good, Tommy. Honestly he is."
"I know you like him, okay? I've accepted that. I just don't think I'll be joining his fan club anytime soon. Especially if he tries to take you away from me."
"He wouldn't do that."
"He'd better not. You'd be a wreck working homicide."
I took a breath, steadying myself for what I needed to tell him. I hadn't felt the need before. But now? Well, if he was worrying about all of this, then he needed to know.
"Maybe he seems like he'd shove you out of the way in a second if it advanced his career, but he wouldn't. He had a chance to try to talk me into working with him and he never took it. Didn't drop a single hint. I admit, I suspected him of it because of something someone told me—how he'd tried to get a wolf the regular way and it didn't work, so maybe he was trying this way—but it didn't happen.
"When I started telling him I couldn't deal with the—the cops at the training, too assertive and...and you know how some of them were...then he could've said something, but he didn't. He jumped right in with, 'They should have people with different personalities,' and went on about that for a while, and then he bent the agency's ears and what do you know, in a couple of days three nice new cops showed up, cops who weren't so pushy."
I stared at him, and he stared back. He didn't blush brightly like some people do, but I could see the blush that was there, and it was a big one, for him. "You mean I only have my job—and you—because of Justin Fucking Barnes?"
Loyal Page 14
