his throat—almost a growl. His ears are no longer human. They’re tapered and furry and lying flat against his head.
I blink at him. “Yeah. Finn said he wants us to get more ‘attention.’” I make a face and look down at myself—and I’m shocked anew at how surprisingly nice my breasts look as they sit plumped and hugged by the fabric of my tank top.
When I glance up and catch Deek’s unblinking stare—a stare!—and flushed cheeks, I feel… pretty.
It’s something I haven’t felt in a long time.
With a frown, I process something I never really was able to put my finger on until this moment: I’ve lost my mojo. I lost it when I found out about my husband’s last affair. Actually, now that I think about it, my self-worth had been eroding before that. I guess ever since his first ‘indiscretion.’ Because how could something not be wrong with me? Obviously, I wasn’t enough for him if he felt the urge to stray elsewhere. For a while, I was utterly, wholly, completely demeaned.
But logically, I’m aware that his choice to have extramarital affairs was exactly that—his choice. I thought I fully understood, inside and out, that I’m not less of a woman, even if my self-esteem got hit by a bus.
Again.
And again.
And… again.
The emotional pain damaged me then. Every time.
But honestly? I just realized I’m still not over it. Somewhere inside, I’ve been quietly thinking of myself as being screwed up. Not sufficient enough to keep a mate satisfied. Unfit to be anyone’s partner.
It makes me sad. Suddenly, I feel like crying. Embarrassed, I blink extra fast and reach for my cell phone in my back pocket as a distraction.
But it’s not there. My buttcheek-hugging shorts do not have anything more than decorative suggestions of pockets—they aren’t actually functional. After all, carrying a cell phone while working would surely ruin the lines of my outfit. Wasn’t there a line like that in the first Deadpool movie?
“Susan?” Deek asks softly and so gently that I feel a tug on my heart. “Are you okay?”
Convulsively swallowing an embarrassing rush of tears, I paste on the quickest, most unconvincing-feeling smile. “Uh-huh.” My eyes dart to the clock on the wall and I jump. “Whoa! Ladies!” My heartbeat increases, and I clap my hands to get everyone moving. “It’s go time!”
Lunch bags are paired with backpacks. Books and folders and flash drives are checked for. Charlotte makes a very dramatic huff and races for her Chromebook, which she left behind in her room.
I go for my cell phone, snatching it off my bathroom counter and slipping it into my purse as I sling the strap over my arm, spin for the doorway—
And run smack into Deek.
His gaze is uncharacteristically steady on mine. “Are you all right?” he rumbles.
It’s the timbre of his voice—or maybe it’s the gentleness in his eyes. But something about him following me, caring enough to check on me, has my belly experiencing a tiny flutter.
Then it’s very suddenly definitely the way his big, rough-skinned hands close over my arms with all the care—the genuine compassion—you’d use to lift an injured bird.
It has me swallowing hard again and staring right back at him. “I’m fine. Gotta go.”
Deek cocks his head, an ever-so-slightly unsettling quality to the gesture. A startlingly large amount of not-humanness is evident in such an infinitesimal movement. “All right,” he says agreeably. But his thumbs press against the insides of my arms and his fingers add a little pressure—but fast. It’s a squeeze, there and gone and then he’s releasing me. Stepping back. Glancing down at my sock-clad feet, where his submissive gaze stays locked. “Have a good shift.”
“Thanks,” I breathe, staring at his hair, which is multiplying and very quickly turning to fur. Why is he nervous? “You have a good day too, Deek.”
Wordlessly, he nods.
I hear the girls tromping toward the front door, leaving.
“Thanks for coming to check on me,” I add. “You’re very thoughtful. And… I appreciate you. It,” I correct quickly.
Maybe he would have nodded again. We’ll never know, because he turns into a wolf.
“BYE, MOM!” Maggie shouts.
“Bye,” Charlotte and Ginny chime.
Fighting the strange smile curiously trying to take over my face, I call back, “You guys have a good day!” as I crouch down and start stripping Deek’s clothes off of his wolf form.
“We will!” they call in a triplicate of variations, and then the door shuts behind them.
I work Deek’s various buttons quickly, strip him of his shirt and open his