“Nearly eleven. Malachy said to let you sleep in. I told him you had to let off a bit of steam last night.”
A bit of steam. I wasn’t sure exactly what that had entailed. I had a vague memory of going to Moondoggie’s, of drinking the Tuesday apple martini special, and not eating the chicken surprise. There might have been a second martini in there somewhere, but nothing to account for the class-five hangover that was steadily building in strength and intensity. “I need to get up.”
“Mal said not to worry about coming in today.” Red curled himself around me, his clothing rough against my bare skin. “You didn’t want to talk about it last night, but I got the impression it was a pretty rough day at work.”
Suddenly the musky scent of him felt overwhelming, and I grunted as the pain in my head battled for precedence with the bile in my throat. Funny to think that I’d once fantasized about having a man who would spoon with me and pay attention to my moods and feelings, back in the days when I’d been married to a narcissistic lout. Now all I wanted was some breathing space. And possibly some throwing-up space, as well.
“That was some run last night, huh?” Red lifted the hair off the back of my neck, which felt good, and then starting kissing my nape.
“We ran?”
“Oh, God, yeah. I couldn’t keep up with you.” He inhaled deeply, and I knew he was drawing in the scent of my hair and skin.
“Stop. I smell awful.”
“Not to me. Not to any shifter, for that matter. And considering last night, I’m thinking we should be calling you a shifter, Girl.”
I threw the covers off my head, needing cooler air. “What happened last night?”
“Yeah, good question. Let me think: dinner, drive home, something out of the ordinary, but what was it, again?”
I punched him. “Red, I’m not feeling up to this.”
Red smiled at me, quizzical and fond. “You don’t remember?”
“My head hurts. I’d like to throw up, but I’m worried that my head might split open. My body feels like I was hauling rocks, or maybe getting hit by them.”
Red’s smile faded. “You really don’t remember.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, then bumped my head on a lamp. “Oh, Jesus, I hate living in this damn cabin.”
There was a momentary silence, like a vacuum of sound, as we both heard what I’d said. “Sorry, I’m just … I feel lousy, that’s all.”
“No, it’s me who’s sorry. Too caught up in my own good mood, I guess.” I felt the bed dip as Red stood up. He walked away, opened the freezer, and came back with a bag of frozen peas. “Here, put that on your head.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t look at him, so I didn’t try. “So, Red, what did happen last night?”
“You shifted.”
Now I did turn to him, but he was looking away, measuring coffee into the pot. “I went furry before the moon was even half full?”
“Yep.” I watched Red pour the water, all the excitement and pleasure gone from his face and posture. There was something else that had happened, I was sure of it, something that had revved him up and filled him with happiness. But before I could inquire further, the competition between pounding head and roiling stomach came to an abrupt conclusion. I bolted for the toilet with my hand clapped over my mouth.
* * *
The next day I decided that I couldn’t put off talking to Red any longer. Nearly thirty hours had passed since my lost night, and we still hadn’t discussed it, just as we hadn’t discussed the strange moment with Malachy.
It was mainly my fault. Wanting to escape the tension at home, I’d taken two Alka-Seltzer and shambled off to work, where Malachy didn’t ask me how I felt, or try to comfort me about Queenie. In return, I didn’t confront him about his nameless illness. Neither of us acknowledged our strange moment of intimacy, which was a relief. Maybe if we pretended it hadn’t happened, it would just go away.
To be honest, I didn’t even like thinking about me lying underneath my boss on my front lawn in broad daylight. I wasn’t sure what was worse: the knowledge that Malachy hadn’t been interested in taking what I was offering, or the realization that I’d been offering. It wasn’t that I’d just discovered a secret attraction to my boss—way, deep down, I knew I wasn’t