The Better To Kiss You With

by Michelle Osgood

Deanna rolled her shoulders back and clicked on the next item in her queue. On the desk beside her, the screen of her phone lit up with an incoming text. Deanna abandoned her queue and grabbed the phone. Though reserved in person, Deanna had learned that Jamie could be nearly chatty over text.

  Okay I know you’re working and I’m not supposed to be distracting you. And I’m also supposed to be working and not getting distracted. But the interview I’m transcribing is REALLY BORING.

  Deanna grinned, fingers flying over the touchpad, as she replied. One of us needs to have self-control, here. Pretty sure you called dibs on that one.

  Jamie’s response came seconds later. I don’t remember calling dibs on self-control?

  You called it by default by being the responsible one.

  ???????

  Master’s degree + fancy adult apartment + owns a real mattress with a box spring = responsible.

  Jamie’s reply made Deanna laugh out loud. And you told me you were bad at math.

  Deanna’s computer pinged with an incoming flag, and Deanna rubbed a hand guiltily over her mouth. She really did need to be working.

  All right, I’ll be the responsible one & get back to work. I’ll message you on my break!

  I’ll be waiting.

  Deanna was helpless against the giddy flutter in her chest and had to force herself to put her phone back onto the desk, even going so far as to turn it face down so she wouldn’t get distracted again by an incoming text. As she turned back to her computer, she pressed a hand to her heated cheeks and willed herself to pay attention to her job.

  Two hours later Deanna stood, informed of her fifteen-minute break by the chime of her phone. She rolled her neck from side to side and stretched out her arms before picking up her phone and idly wandering into the kitchen. Sitting for too long was as bad as smoking—or so she’d read somewhere—and Deanna tried to make sure that she moved on her breaks.

  She had a string of texts from Jamie, and couldn’t resist the urge to skip over to the bowl of apples on the small counter. Deanna chose the reddest one and bit down as she began to scroll through Jamie’s messages.

  I’ve given up on transcribing for the night. I’m going to watch a movie.

  I went with Sweet Home Alabama. It’s not terrible. It would be better if I had someone to cuddle with, though 

  (All right. I feel bad about that last text. You’re working and I shouldn’t be guilting you.)

  This movie is in fact terrible. I’m switching to Wedding Crashers.

  This movie is also not good. This text was accompanied by a picture of Jamie’s face with her wide mouth turned down in an adorable pout. Deanna checked the timestamp—it had been sent three minutes ago. She began to type a reply.

  I have ten minutes.

  Technically, Deanna had thirteen, but she figured it would take Jamie at least three to read the text and get down the stairs. Taking another bite of her apple, she tossed her phone on the armchair and was about to check her hair in the bathroom mirror when there was a knock at the door.

  Arthur scrabbled up from his bed and gave a happy bark. Sure it couldn’t be Jamie already—maybe Heather needed something?—Deanna strode to the door, then shoved Arthur out of the way to look through the peephole.

  It was Jamie, and, with a puzzled smile, Deanna opened the door to let her in.

  “Were you already on your way down?” she joked, as Jamie gave Arthur a quick rub. Jamie didn’t look like someone who’d just raced down two hallways and a flight of stairs. Deanna would have been at least a little breathless, but Jamie didn’t have a hair out of place.

  “I was in the neighborhood.” Jamie straightened gracefully and gave Deanna a cheeky grin before she closed the door behind her and moved easily into the room. Jamie wore her customary jeans, black this time, and an equally black V-neck shirt that made it nearly impossible for Deanna to pull her eyes away from the tantalizing hollow of Jamie’s throat. Screw her apple. She wanted to take a bite out of Jamie’s collarbone.

  As though Jamie could read Deanna’s mind, or hear the way her pulse had sped up, Jamie stepped closer, crowding into Deanna’s space. Deanna’s mouth parted, and, when Jamie pressed a searing kiss to Deanna’s lips, the apple fell with a thud that Deanna barely heard, too busy grabbing fistfuls of Jamie’s T-shirt and returning the kiss with a heated enthusiasm that left them both breathless.

  “Ten minutes, less.” Deanna reminded as they stumbled to Deanna’s couch; neither of them was willing to take their hands or mouths off each other. Jamie didn’t waste time responding, merely tugged them both to the cushions and buried her hands in Deanna’s hair. Deanna pressed forward to kiss Jamie again, Jamie’s kiss-swollen mouth irresistible, but Jamie held her back and Deanna made a wounded noise of protest.

  “Just let me look at you,” Jamie urged. She smoothed her fingers through Deanna’s hair, her movements soft and gentle. Deanna settled, running her own hands up Jamie’s muscular forearms.

  “Is it too soon to say I missed you?” Deanna asked, too happy to have Jamie in her apartment to feel embarrassed.

  Jamie shook her head. Her warm brown eyes never left Deanna’s. “I missed you too. I want to see you again.”

  Deanna raised a teasing eyebrow. “You’re seeing me now.”

  “Dinner,” Jamie clarified. “Or lunch. Breakfast. Coffee.”

  “Well, I was having a snack,” Deanna nodded to the discarded apple that Arthur was giving a cautious lick.

  “Are you working tomorrow? Can we go out? Let me take you out.”

  Jamie had slid her hands down from Deanna’s hair, and her thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the muscles of Deanna’s neck. It took Deanna a moment to find the answer to Jamie’s question. Her brain insisted that there was no need to think about work when she could be thinking about what else Jamie could do with those clever fingers. “Um. I start at three. We can do lunch.”

  “Good.” Jamie gave Deanna a soft kiss that made every bone in Deanna’s body melt until she swayed into Jamie’s arms. “What about the day after that?”

  “Trivia,” Deanna murmured, her eyes dropping back to that enticing triangle of skin at Jamie’s throat.

  “I like trivia.”

  “You should come.” Deanna licked her lips. “The day after that’s my day off.” They could go out, visit an art gallery, wander through downtown. Deanna could hold Jamie’s hand and listen to Jamie talk about her thesis. They could have a nice dinner. Or they could stay in.

  “All right. I call dibs.” Jamie’s teeth flashed in her wide smile, and she kissed Deanna quickly and fiercely. Then, with her customary fluid grace, she extracted herself and before Deanna had recovered from the kiss was at the door. “Time’s up.” She gave Arthur a rub on his belly and slipped out with a jaunty wave.

  Deanna groaned and flopped back against the cushions. Time to get back to work.

  Chapter Seven |

  Occasionally, Deanna liked to grab Arthur and her laptop and go outside for a change of scenery. The rain had finally eased off as the flowers started blooming—whoever had introduced cherry trees to North America had Deanna’s eternal gratitude—and Deanna was happy to leave her raincoat behind, opting instead for a light spring jacket. Arthur was beside himself as they moved down the block in the warm sun, though he was too well-trained to pull on the leash as they walked toward another of Vancouver’s many public parks.

  Deanna stopped at a coffee shop, popping in to grab a vanilla latte with whipped cream, before they settled at one of the picnic benches strewn about the park. On a weekday at three the place was as close to deserted as it ever was on a sunny afternoon. There was a scattering of mothers or nannies with young children and the occasional elderly couple out for a stroll, but by and large she and Arthur had the place to themselves.

  Putting her bag and coffee on the table, Deanna turned to Arthu
r and fixed him with a beady eye. “If I let you off the leash you have to stay close to me. None of this running into the forest, call of the wild bullshit, you hear me?”

  Arthur gave a soft whine; his gaze darted past her to fix on a chittering squirrel at the base of a nearby tree.

  “Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you.”

  With obvious reluctance, he pulled his attention back to her and gave a hopeful wag of his tail. Deanna narrowed her eyes, but unclipped his leash. Arthur didn’t bother to wait a minute for politeness’s sake, but took off like a shot toward the squirrel, who abruptly swallowed its teasing and scurried up the trunk of a tree. Arthur plunked his butt down and settled in to wait.

  With half an ear out for the jangle of his collar, in case Arthur went on the move again, Deanna pulled her computer out of her bag and set up, plugging in her mobile Internet stick so she could connect to the Wolf’s Run site.

  For a couple of hours she worked steadily, clearing her queue of messages and posts that had been flagged or reported and dealing with only one slightly tricky issue, in which the alleged behavior had occurred off-site and now both parties were unhappy that the other remained active. Since nothing else popped up that required her attention, and her shift was almost up, Deanna pulled out her phone and opened the Wolf’s Run app.

  She had an official account on Wolf’s Run, but when Deanna applied for the job she’d also downloaded the app and set up a profile to see what the game was all about. She’d enjoyed playing for the couple of weeks before she’d heard back from the administrative team, and though she hadn’t been very active on the message boards, she’d made a couple of posts. Staff weren’t discouraged from playing the game, but they were cautioned about keeping their private accounts private, and of course restricted from anything that could be seen as cheating or using their behind-the-scenes knowledge to unfair advantage. Because of that, Deanna had made a point of not getting involved with the role-playing aspect of it, avoided the forums and storyboards once she’d been hired and did nothing that could directly affect the plot. But she was a sucker for the real-world interaction of claiming territory for her pack and so, knowing she was currently in a hotly contested area, she logged in to make her claim for the Hollow Cave Pack.

  Logging in brought her automatically to her profile, and Deanna spent a moment admiring the werewolf avatar she’d created. The website offered an impressive array of selections and customizations, and Deanna had created a seven foot-tall wolfman—well, wolflady—with pale gray markings, royal blue eyes and a broadsword slung over her back. It might have been overkill to include the sword, but Deanna had wanted the most badass lady werewolf possible. The site encouraged users to upload pictures of themselves for their character’s human appearance, and an important piece of the game’s werewolf lore was that when a werewolf transformed from human into wolfman, his eyes stayed the same color. If you uploaded your own picture, the computer would recognize your eye color and transmit that to your avatar. It was a pretty neat feature, but since Deanna was keeping her private account private, she hadn’t taken advantage of it; hence her avatar had blue eyes instead of green. Even without Deanna’s eyes, she thought her character looked pretty cool.

  As she moved her thumb to claim the territory at her current location, a notification informed her that she had a new private message (or a howl, as they were called in the game).

  Since Deanna didn’t interact with any other users on this account, she was surprised. She brought the message up.

  Hey D. Betchya didn’t think I could find you here. Too bad that REAL WOLVES are great trackers. Be a good den mommy and take down the site. Or I’ll keep tracking. crywolf

  Deanna wasn’t sure how long she stared at the text. Her fingers were numb where she clutched her phone; her chest was tight with a sensation she refused to recognize as panic. It wasn’t until Arthur came over and dropped his head onto her thigh that Deanna snapped out of it. She set her phone carefully on the table, though she was tempted to fling it as far away from her as she could, and took a deep breath.

  Her shift wasn’t over yet. She still had a few minutes left, but, since her queue was empty of any issues that needed resolving, Deanna just sat there and stared at the screen. She should log back on to her private account and submit an abuse report about crywolf and the account he’d used to send the message, but she couldn’t look at it again. Not right now.

  When the clock showed five, Deanna logged out of her moderator account and shut her laptop, tucking it into her bag before she hooked Arthur onto his leash. For once he didn’t try to linger as they left the park, but stuck close by her side as they made their way home.

  She should stop at the grocery store—Deanna had told Jamie that she would make her dinner—but she couldn’t bring herself to leave Arthur tied up outside while she shopped. It wasn’t as though crywolf was actually watching her, but because he’d found her private account when there was no clear connection between that one and her moderator account Deanna was more uneasy than she cared to admit.

  Once they were inside, Deanna was unable to sit still. Though she’d just done it last week, she went through each cupboard in the kitchen, pulled out the contents and wiped down the shelves. She’d hoped the mindless task would distract her, but she couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

  “It’s silly,” she said to Arthur as he wandered into the kitchen. On her knees on the counter, Deanna clutched precariously at the top of the farthest cupboard as she leaned in to get at the back corner. “I’m overreacting.”

  Arthur put his head on his paws, in what Deanna took to be a sympathetic gesture.

  Someone knocked on the front door, and Deanna nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart pounded in her chest, and it wasn’t until Arthur gave a joyous woof that she realized it had to be Jamie. She eased herself off the counter and hurried across the room. Though Arthur was already wriggling beside the door, Deanna still checked the peephole.

  Jamie had a small bouquet of flowers, but instead of handing them to Deanna so that she could pet Arthur, Jamie looked at Deanna.

  “Are you all right?”

  Deanna nodded. Arthur, maybe sensing that the adults needed to talk, settled into his dog bed.

  “I got another message at work today. From crywolf,” Deanna explained wearily. “Except it wasn’t really at work; it was on my personal Wolf’s Run account, which isn’t public knowledge.”

  Jamie had moved into the apartment, and now pulled Deanna into a hard hug. Deanna buried her face in Jamie’s neck and clutched at her. Deanna was embarrassed when tears began to prick at her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” Jamie soothed. Her hand, the one that wasn’t still holding the paper-wrapped bouquet, gently rubbed Deanna’s back.

  Jamie’s sweater was soft against Deanna’s bare arms and Deanna inhaled the warm scent of Jamie’s cologne. For the first time since she’d seen crywolf’s message, Deanna felt safe.

  “I didn’t get groceries,” Deanna mumbled against Jamie’s skin. “It’s kinda chickenshit, I—”

  “Hey.” Jamie cut her off. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s okay to feel scared after something like that.”

  Deanna gave a watery laugh and stepped back to wipe away the tears. “Thanks. And I know. But.” She shrugged. “It’s not like he said anything new.”

  “Can I see the message?”

  Deanna nodded and picked up her phone from the coffee table. She pulled up the message before passing it to Jamie, who traded her for the flowers. “It’s the same vague and delusional crap.”

  Jamie’s lips thinned as she read the text. “He calls you ‘D,’” she said finally, putting the phone down. “That’s not a vague threat.”

  “‘D’ for ‘denmother,’ I’m sure.” Deanna unwrapped the flowers, a bundle of lilac-colored hyacinths, and arranged them in a glass vase.

  “Or �
�D’ for Deanna,” Jamie said darkly.

  “Now who’s overreacting?” Deanna teased. The sensation of being watched had vanished, and, with Jamie’s solid and reassuring presence in the room, Deanna felt even sillier about her reluctance to shop on her way home. “I’m sorry about dinner, though.”

  “Your famous spaghetti Bolognese can wait.” Jamie came into the kitchen behind Deanna and wrapped her arms around her. “What did you do to your cupboards? No, never mind. I don’t want to know.” She shook her head. “Why don’t you run yourself a hot bath? I’ll pour you a glass of wine, put your kitchen back together, and then we can order pizza.”

  “Yeah?” Deanna perked up.

  “Yeah,” Jamie confirmed. “And you can make me watch a couple episodes of one of your bad sci-fi shows. We’ll have a marathon night.”

  A hot bath and a glass of wine sounded wonderful. “Okay. But Battlestar Galactica isn’t ‘bad sci-fi.’ It’s amazing.”

  Wisely, Jamie didn’t argue.

  As the credits ran on their third episode, Deanna knew she should probably let Jamie go back upstairs. It was a weekday, so she’d have class in the morning. Still, instead of suggesting Jamie leave, she snuggled closer to her warm, solid body.

  Jamie shut off the TV and the DVD player. Since they’d closed the heavy blinds before starting the show, the only light came from the small lamp behind the couch. And since the bed was much more comfortable than the couch to cuddle on, Deanna had pulled it out when Jamie went for the pizza, so now she and Jamie lay tangled in the sheets in her barely-lit apartment.

  Deanna had emerged from her bath with her skin flushed pink from the heat and the glass of wine Jamie had handed her. She’d put on her favorite nightgown. If they were in for the night, Deanna saw no reason not to be in pjs.

  Though she’d spent the last episode with her bare leg tucked between Jamie’s jean-clad ones, it wasn’t until Jamie turned off the screen, making Deanna’s small apartment that much darker, that Deanna felt the first twist of desire. She’d enjoyed their cuddling, taking simple, human pleasure in the warm body of another person tucked close beside her. But even when Jamie had brushed her fingers over the back of Deanna’s neck, a spot that usually pushed all of Deanna’s buttons, Deanna had felt only a pleasant curl of warmth.