The door opened. I took a step back to avoid the cloud of steam that rolled out. Clay stepped out with it. Stunned, I stared at him. I hadn’t seen him since the beginning of the summer. Well, excluding that brief look at his backside. I’d been too shocked to actually look then.
He still looked scruffy, sporting a beard that concealed his entire neck along with a full mouth-covering mustache. His damp hair hung in limp wavy strands in front of his eyes, covering the top portion of his face almost down to his nose. Clean and dressed in the clothes I’d forced him into he looked amazing.
His shoulders filled the short-sleeved shirt, and although snug on his chest, it fell loosely to his waist. Standing there, he put his hands in his pockets and waited for my inspection to finish. Embarrassed, I tore my gaze away, but not before I noted he’d left himself barefoot.
“Brat,” I muttered. Clearing my throat, I added, “You’ll do.” I turned catching Rachel’s smirk. “Quiet from the peanut gallery.”
She just laughed and rushed to answer the front door that mercifully rang just then sparing me from having to look at Clay again. In a way, I’d forgotten the man under the fur. I followed Rachel slowly entering the living room feeling curiously lost. Clay padded softly behind me.
“Come on in,” Rachel invited Peter. Scott followed inches behind Peter. His eyes found mine and he smiled widely. I flashed a politely cool smile in return.
I could see the moment Scott spotted Clay. His face first fell and then firmed in tense appraisal.
“Hi, Peter. Nice to see you again, Scott.” His face lit at my statement. I felt bad for him. Bad that I needed to hurt him to end his fixation on me. “We were going to join you guys, but Clay just got off of work a little while ago and suggested he and I take advantage of the empty house tonight.” My heart skipped a beat or two at my bold words and I struggled to control the blush that wanted to paint my face. Thankfully, Clay stood behind me so I didn’t need to witness his reaction to my words.
Scott’s face was a different story. I watched it turn red. “Isn’t Clay your dog?” he asked suspiciously.
I smiled apologetically still feeling pity for Scott, “We named the dog after my boyfriend. It’s a bit of a joke. Clay, this is Peter and Scott, Rachel’s friends.” My disassociation of him broke Scott. His shoulders slumped and the familiar look of shame stole over his face. Why did this happen? I hated it. Pity and remorse swamped me.
Clay lightly set his hand at the small of my back. A casual touch. His palm slowly warmed a large area. Even in man form, he could sense some of my anxiety.
Noting Clay’s hand on my back, Scott glanced between us and then turned to his friend. “Peter, Rachel, I’m sorry to back out on you too, but I think I’m going to head home. I’ve been fighting a cold all week.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned and left.
Peter, who’d looked apologetically anxious when he entered, watched his friend leave with a concerned frown. Rachel murmured something to him and he nodded, going to the closet to retrieve her jacket. Rachel looked back at me as Peter held out her jacket to assist her, and asked, “Are you sure you want to stay in?”
Rachel accepted Peter’s help with an ease that usually came after being together for years. I doubted they even realized how in tune they were with each other. That often happened when people found their perfect match. Their lives blended in a seamless perfection they simply called love. It was more than that though. Their deep connection put them perfectly in tune with each other’s needs and wants. It kept them open to suggestion and reason so they would always listen to each other. Yep, I’d need to look for a roommate soon.
“We’re sure,” I answered with a smile and waved them out the door. “Don’t come home early.”
When the door closed behind Peter and Rachel, I turned to Clay with a smile breaking our connection. “Home free. Thank you, Clay.”
The subtle difference between living with Clay-the-dog and standing in a room alone with Clay-the-man tickled the nerves in my stomach. I refused to show it.
He simply watched me, placing his now empty hand back into the front pocket of his pants. I could feel the air cooling the spot on my back he’d touched.
“Um,” I mumbled not sure what to do. I hadn’t thought past getting rid of Scott.
Clay’s calm gaze made the nervous butterflies in my stomach worse. Silly, really, considering he watched me all the time as a dog. I took a breath and tried again. “Did you want to do something since we’re both dressed up?”
He shrugged.
“You can talk to me, Clay,” I said with a little hope. I really began to wonder if he could speak. When he didn’t respond, I spoke again. “Okay... Do you want to go out or stay in?”