Page 9 of Ravaged Wolf
Did they smell my fear? They must not have if I didn’t hear him. Still, shame roars in my ears at the thought of them knowing I was afraid.
To change the subject, I close my eyes and focus on the place in my chest where I felt the tug. There’s something there. A haziness. I extend my mind, grab, and pull.
Trevor chuckles in surprise. “Whoa, there. Nice grip.”
I lift my arm and make a muscle.
He grins. The corners of my mouth curl in response.
“Now you can call me in for dinner when I’m napping in my recliner in the den,” he says.
“Is that what your mother does?”
“Nah. My dad’s the one that cooks. My mom’s the napper.”
“Your dad cooks?”
“My mom’s had five kids. After the third one, she told him he could have pups or homecooked meals. He had to pick.”
“He picked pups?”
“Yeah. He wants his own little pack. He’s an alpha at heart.”
“Is he really?” I know it’s supposed to be cute, but the idea of a dominant father-in-law sours my stomach. I’ve lived with it all my life, and it sucks.
My dad’s fondest wish is that he had alpha blood. He does everything Madog Collins does, wears the same clothes, golfs on the same days with the same brand of clubs, buys my mom the exact jewelry that Gwen Collins wears. His biggest disappointment is that my mom only went into heat once, and all he got was a submissive female.
“Nah. I’m joking.” Trevor shakes his head, and his curls swing. I want to touch them. “He’s a teddy bear.”
“A teddy bear shifter?” A surreal picture pops into my head of the shabby brown bear that I’ve had since I was a baby morphing into a small man in green overalls held up with one buttoned strap. It makes me smile. Trevor can’t know why, but he smiles right back.
“Hey, it’s a big world, right?” he says. “Who’s to say we’re the only shifters in it?”
I don’t know what to say, so I sip my soda. It’s deliciously cold and sweet, but it tastes different than what I’ve had in the past. I look closer at the can. There is a cherry on it. “Cherry soda?”
Trevor nods, his smile widening. “Cherry cola.”
I like it. The fizz tickles my nose. It doesn’t taste like cherries, though.
Trevor cracks his open and drinks, too. We sit for a few minutes in silence. I set my can down between us and rest my hand on the landing. He sets his can down, too, and then leans back and braces himself on his palms so his pinky is centimeters away from mine.
I can feel every inch of my skin, just because his hand is close to mine. How weird is that?
I can’t even tell if I’m cold or hot or comfortable or not, but I’m hyperaware of the parts of my body closest to him—the meaty part of my outer palm and the bump of my wrist bone and the underside of my forearm where blue veins run like tributaries. And my breasts. My breasts, especially. They feel so heavy.
Does he feel it, too? Is he doing it on purpose? He’s so careful about keeping his distance, he must be aware that his closeness is affecting me.
Is this a move?
A male has never come on to me, but I thought it was supposed to be more obvious, like an arm around the shoulder or a hand on the small of my back. Those are human moves, though. I learned them from movies. What are shifter moves? How am I eighteen years old, and I don’t know?
I don’t know anything. Is Trevor into me? Is there a female he’s talking to? Lots of males wait for mating, but a lot of them don’t. What does he even do when he’s not working? What does he do when heisworking?
“I don’t even know what you do.” It takes me a second to realize that I’ve spoken one of my whirling thoughts aloud.
“You mean, like my apprenticeship?” He takes the random question in stride.
I nod.
