Determined, I rose from my bed not bothering to finish drying my hair. Due to the pull I had on human men, I’d honed my skills of reason and avoidance. If reasoning didn’t work, I avoided them. This would be no different. Piece of cake.
I gave myself a pep talk as I hurried through the halls drawing a few curious glances from some of the men I passed. I remained focused on finding Clay, while thinking of, and rejecting, the possible reasons for his doubt.
Pushing open the main door, I hopped off the porch, stepping back into the sun and winced when my bare feet met with the sharp gravel. Too absorbed in my purpose, I hadn’t thought of shoes. Resolute, I tiptoed across the parking area as quickly as possible. Clay still tinkered with the truck.
This time he turned to watch my approach. Other than a few quick glances at him to ensure he didn’t leave, I focused on placing my feet in the smoother areas where tire treads had cleared the stone, leaving sand behind. My ill-timed stiff steps made a prancing dance. I hoped no one had a video camera.
As I neared, he took a shop rag from his pocket and set it on the ground near the truck. I paused mid-prance and looked down at the filthy rag. I just showered. What was with getting me dirty? Not a fair thought. My feet were probably already dirty. The insistent bite of the gravel on the bottom of my feet decided it. I stepped onto the rag, wiping my feet on the grease and carbon stained surface to dislodge the piercing shards still stuck to them. The relief made it worthwhile.
“Thanks,” I said looking up at him.
Since he’d set the rag in front of the truck, I stood closer than I would have liked. I could see brown eyes staring at me from behind the stringy hair. He studied me intently and I felt that strange pull in my stomach again, reminding me of my problem. We had an obvious connection, one I didn’t want and one he might not want. Instead of trying to figure out why he might doubt our connection, maybe I needed to explain why I didn’t want it in terms he could relate too as a Forlorn werewolf.
Taking a breath, I plunged into a lie. “Sam just told me that you’re to be confined to a bachelor’s room for the remainder of the day. With me. They want to see how we react to each other so they can determine if you really do have a claim on me.”
I knew I played with fire. Living with Sam had taught me werewolves could sense a lie through increased heart rate, smell of fear or anxiety. The simple beauty of the situation made the lie hard to detect. If Sam had really just told me they wanted to lock me up with this guy, I’d have freaked out. So smelling anxiety wouldn’t be out of place. And the dash across the gravel had elevated my pulse already.
A low growl rumbled from him before I finished speaking.
“What? You don’t want to spend time with me?” I asked feigning confusion.
He stopped his growling and quietly looked down at my feet on the rag. I looked down at them too and noted what the gravel hadn’t done, the rag had. They were filthy again. If Charlene found me walking though the hallways with feet this dirty, she’d give me an earful.
I looked back up at him getting back to the topic. “You do want to spend time with me, don’t you?”
He shrugged, still looking down. Not staring at my feet then, but thinking. I pushed hoping to press my point before he caught on.
“So, it’s not me… Don’t you like being indoors?” He shrugged again, this time looking up at me. “Ok. If it’s not me, and not being indoors, then what?” I let the question hang briefly before saying what I already knew. Ultimately, Forlorn didn’t join packs because… “You don’t want to be told when or how to spend time with me, told what to do. Is that right?”
He didn’t look away. Didn’t move at all. After a moment, I said quietly, “Yeah, me either.”
I watched him closely waiting for some sign that he understood I’d lied to him. His motionlessness felt like a standoff, temporarily shriveling my hope. Maybe there was no reasoning with Clay. No, I just chose the wrong tract.
Ignoring the pain, I stepped off the rag and bent down to pick it up. I shook it out and handed it back to him. “I’m sorry I lied to you Clay. I thought maybe if you knew how it felt to have your choices taken from you, you’d understand why I want to leave. It’s nothing personal.”
He took the rag from me and turned back to the truck. Someone had brought him more tools and he was in the process of taking something off what I assumed was the engine. He picked up a ratchet and started to loosen a bolt.