Monster mash, p.24
Monster Mash, page 24
My lips spread into a warm smile. “All these years and nobody’s redecorated?”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Pack motto.”
There was a slight pause before the air to my right filled with his presence. I turned my head, trying to focus on exactly where I thought his face was. With my limited vision, all I could make out was a blur of brown fur, but I knew what he looked like. At least what he’d looked like eight years ago, before my vision had been stolen from me. It’d happened slowly, and been happening since around my twelfth birthday. There was no cure for retinitis pigmentosa, but there were some expensive treatments that could stall the disease, and my parents had been well off enough to ensure that I got them…for a while.
Until I came out and then I had to choose between continuing the treatment and living true to myself. In the end, I’d decided that delaying the inevitable hadn’t been worth it. The pack took me in, put me up in that very same apartment, helped me get emancipated. Or rather, Gaston and his family had helped.
Now, I had only five percent of my vision in one eye and fifteen in the other, but I didn’t usually feel like I had lost anything. If anything, I’d gained in that trade off. I had Simon now.
But with Gaston standing right there, I wished I could see him again. I wanted it so badly, I ached for it. He’d been so handsome, so perfect. So refined, even before he went off to his fancy school. He was the only thing I’d ever wanted to look at, and now that I couldn’t, I felt robbed.
I swallowed the thickening lump in my throat, and the urge to ask if I could touch him. “So. Shower?”
“Do you want me to guide you?” Gaston asked.
I smiled. “I think I know the way. If it’s not too much trouble, though, maybe you could lay out a towel and the soap?”
“Sure thing.”
I followed along behind him, picking my way through the apartment by memory. There was a sofa in the middle of the room, green if I remembered right. It was ugly as sin, but comfortable as hell. The apartment used to have one of those old analog TVs, but I was sure it’d probably been upgraded. There was also a rocking chair, but it’d been moved slightly to the right of where I remembered it being.
Going past it, I hit the familiar clickty-clack of linoleum on the kitchen floor. The apartment didn’t have much of a kitchen, if I recalled. Just a table, one of those hot plates, a toaster, and a blender. The fridge was one of those tiny dorm fridges, barely big enough to store leftover pizza.
Turning to the left, I measured out the width of the narrow-carpeted hallway, feeling my way down the hall with a hand on the wall until I came to the first door on the right. The familiar smell of Irish Spring soap was on the air, with a hint of Gaston. Not surprising since I could hear him moving around in the bathroom, getting it arranged for me.
Simon shook himself out behind me and sat down, his tags jingling.
I planted my walking stick and waited, trying to picture everything Gaston was doing. It was a small bathroom, too small to house a proper tub, but there was a shower just past the toilet. It, too, was almost comically small. I couldn’t imagine Gaston fitting into such a thing, but if he was staying up there, he surely did. Somehow.
“What’s that all about? You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Gaston said.
“Nothing much. Just trying to imagine you fitting into that ridiculously small shower.”
“You imagining me with or without my clothes?”
I hadn’t been imagining him any which way before, but since he brought it up… I tried to remember what he looked like with his shirt off, though I knew I’d seen much more of him than that. Werewolves were not shy about nudity, even if they tried to limit it in public spaces. Some level of nakedness just couldn’t be helped when they went running around on all fours sometimes.
There was that swooping feeling low in my stomach when I felt him come closer. He planted a big furry paw on the doorframe beside my head, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The space in front of me filled with his scent and I closed my eyes, inhaling greedily.
“Why did you sleep with Kelvin?” Gaston asked quietly. “I didn’t even think you liked him.”
“You want the honest truth?”
“Of course I do.”
“Because he was there. You weren’t.” My eyes fluttered back open, and I wished again that I could see him so I could gauge his reaction as I added the last part.
It hurt to say it, hurt to know that there was a rejection coming, but he had to know. I was tired of holding all that in, letting it eat away at me. Even though he’d flirted with me at lunch, it didn’t mean anything. That was just how Gaston was. He always flirted with everyone. It was just harmless fun for him.
He hooked a clawed finger under my chin, tipping my face up slightly and sending a shiver through me. “Well, I’m here now.”
I licked my lips. “I thought…But you were…”
“Straight?” He chuckled and traced his claw along my jaw. “Grey, please. I’m anything but.”
I lifted a hand, swatting his claw away, suddenly angry. “All those years and you never fucking came out to me? How come? What about Becca? I know you two fucked.”
He snorted. “That stone cold bitch was probably enough to make me wish I was gay. But no. I like people, Grey, not parts, and you were always my favorite person.”
I clenched my jaw. “I was your best fucking friend. Why…Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why didn’t you? You think I didn’t know you were crushing on me?”
I turned away, crossing my arms. I didn’t know if I was more pissed that he’d never said anything or that I hadn’t. “If I’d known, I never would’ve fucking slept with Kelvin.”
“But you didn’t ask, did you?”
“Why the fuck would I?” I demanded, throwing my hands up. “I lost my whole fucking family because I came out as gay, Gaston. You know what I learned? I learned there’s a cost, and I didn’t want anyone else to ever have to pay that.” I drove a finger into his muscled chest, trying to ignore how good it felt. “You should’ve told me. That’s on you. Don’t you dare try to say it’s my fault we never got together.”
I sucked in a harsh breath when his hand closed over mine, flattening my palm against his chest. “Never’s a long time. It’s not too late.”
My jaw quivered. Why the fuck did I feel like I was on the verge of tears? “Yes, it is. You’re here for what? A week? A month? And then you’ll fly back to L.A. and forget all about me. I know you have a life out there, Gaston.”
“Grey…”
“No.” I jerked my hand away. “I don’t want you if I only get you for a week or a month. I’d rather never know than mourn you again.”
“Grey, please.”
Simon growled.
I stepped back, pushing Simon behind me. “I’d appreciate it if you got out of my way so I could shower. I need to practice if you want me to play tonight. If that wasn’t just a ruse to try to charm me into sleeping with you.”
Gaston sighed. “I’m not that kind of player, Grey. Not with you. But I’ll get out of the way.”
“Thank you,” I snapped.
As soon as he was gone, I stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind me, and stripped out of my ratty clothes. My chest was heavy. Why? Why would he say all that now? He acted like his leaving hadn’t wrecked me the first time.
What I’d felt for him, it wasn’t just some boyhood crush. I’d have moved mountains for him, even if we couldn’t be together. When I thought he was straight, I could accept that he’d fallen for someone else. I’d made peace with that. But now that I knew he wasn’t, everything was different.
I showered, sifting through memories, second-guessing everything. All the nights we’d laid awake together, talking about the future, our dreams… I’d told him my deepest secrets, and he’d told me his, but never once had either of us admitted the truth that was right in front of us. We’d fallen asleep in each other's arms more than once. How could I not have seen it? I thought he was just being a good friend, but that wasn’t the sort of thing good friends did, was it?
I should’ve known. In hindsight, it was so fucking obvious.
Then why would he even date Becca? Why would he sleep with her?
Maybe it was the same reason I’d fallen into bed with Kelven.
Stupid teenage desperation.
But we weren’t teenagers now. We were almost thirty. He’d said it wasn’t too late, but…
I knew I couldn’t keep up a long-distance relationship. My living situation was too tenuous. I didn’t always have access to a phone, let alone the internet and the assistive technology I needed to use either. Competing with the movie stars and models that probably frequented the restaurant where he worked was impossible.
Why was the timing always so wrong?
We have now, I thought, but is now enough?
I wanted to know. I wanted him. I’d never stopped wanting him. Not even eight years of crisscrossing the country to play the blues had filled the void losing him had left. If I could have him for a few weeks and nothing more, would it finally be enough?
Was it really better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?
I don’t even know who he is now, I reminded myself. It’s been eight years. People can change a lot in eight years.
My head knew that, but it was a different story in my heart. My heart was desperate for that second chance, even if it was temporary.
I shut off the shower and stood there, watching the water swirl in the drain. Decision time. I could walk out of that shower, tell Gaston in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t going to forgive him for breaking my heart eight years ago, or I could seize this chance at knowing.
I sighed and pushed the shower curtain back, muttering, “Carpe diem, baby.”
I dried off and wrapped the towel around my waist before awkwardly feeling my way to the door. Simon was there, waiting for me, and stood as soon as the door opened. I didn’t know where Gaston had gone until I heard movement in the bedroom across the hall.
Rather than go to the bedroom, I made my way to the living room and felt around until I found my guitar case. Opening it, I sat on the edge of the couch and plucked through a few notes before I found the chord I wanted.
I played through the opening bars of “Give Me One Reason” by Tracy Chapman and started singing, letting the song do all the talking for me.
Gaston didn’t make himself known until I’d finished the instrumental after the second verse, scooting onto the sofa next to me. I kept playing, but he was the one who picked up the third verse, singing and tapping out the rhythm on his leg. He didn’t have the voice of a professional singer, but it was pleasant, deep, and full of passion.
We hit the chorus a second time, and he took the harmony while I filled in the main part.
When the song was over, I left the guitar sitting in my lap and looked over at him. “How about it, Casanova? You got any convincing arguments I haven’t heard yet?”
“Maybe one,” he said, moving closer. “But you’re going to have to lose the guitar if you want to hear it.”
“Oh, yeah?” I put the guitar aside. “What is it?”
“Just this,” Gaston said, and kissed me.
Kissing Grey was like grabbing a live wire: icy at first and then dangerously, heart-stoppingly hot.
He stiffened when our lips touched, and for a minute, I thought he was going to bolt. Maybe he was afraid. Humans and werewolves didn’t often mix. We tended to stick to our own packs, or neighboring packs, when searching for mates, but there were always exceptions, and I’d make one for him. But the fear wasn’t unfounded. There was a side of me that wanted to capture his whole head in my jaws, if only to get access to more of him.
After a few seconds, he relaxed and lifted a hand, gathering a handful of the fur at my jaw. His fingers flexed as if he were trying to resist digging his fingernails into my skin. In the end, he decided to stroke his fingers back, letting them roam along my jaw and then up over my scalp, feathering through my hair with a maddening gentleness.
My hands got a little braver too, moving up from his elbows, feasting on the feel of coarse hair over hard muscle. The inside of his left arm had a tattoo, a few bars of notes from an Etta James song. No lyrics, just the notes. I traced the pads of my fingers over them as if I were a record player and he was my record. Over his heart was another, a sound wave, probably captured from another song, though I didn’t know which one. I’d have to remember to ask him later. The smooth skin there rose in gooseflesh as I outlined the peak of the soundwave with a claw, deepening the kiss.
Grey suddenly put a hand on my chest and shoved me back gently. “Gaston, wait.”
I pulled back. “What’s wrong? Am I not being convincing enough?”
His mouth turned up in a nervous smile. “Oh, you’re being plenty convincing. It’s just, ah… Shit, how do I put this without sounding like a total tool?”
“Hey, if you don’t want to go further, that’s cool.” I’d be disappointed as hell, because I was really into him, but I didn’t want to push him further than he wanted to go.
“It’s not that.” He shifted back on the cushions, blushing brighter as he tried to hide his erection poking up through the bath towel. “Look, I’ve only been with someone one other time, and that was…” He sighed and knocked his fists together. “Well, I wasn’t totally sober so…”
I growled. I couldn’t stop myself. There was only one time he could be talking about, and that would’ve been with Kelvin. Now I had even more reason to be pissed off at Kelvin. Not only did he fuck everything up with Bluz and drive the bar right into the fucking ground, but he’d taken advantage of Grey all those years ago.
“It’s not like that!” Grey’s hands shot out, resting on my chest. “I asked him, so don’t be pissed at Kelvin. I don’t think he knew. I didn’t tell him. I was… Well, I was a little broken up about you and Becca ‘cause I thought you were patching things up, and…” He sighed again, shoulders slumping. “I knew you hated him. I only fucked him because I knew it’d piss you off. He didn’t know I was a virgin. I didn’t tell him.”
“But he’d have known you were drunk,” I ground out.
“We both were. Trust me, it was a mutual mistake. But like… I thought you should know before we…You know. Before anything happened. I don’t have, like, a ton of experience, and what I have is kind of fuzzy up there. We were pretty fucking drunk.” He moved his hands up, gripping my muzzle gently. “Hey, it’s okay. It was eight years ago. A lifetime ago.”
Not as far as I was concerned. The next time I saw Kelvin, I was going to send him scrambling for the nearest exit with his tail tucked between his legs, if I left his tail attached at all.
None of that was on Grey, though. I did my best to let it go, albeit temporarily, exhaling through my nose. “You should let me take you on a proper date, then. Dinner, dancing. The whole nine yards.”
He wrinkled his nose, letting his hands fall into his lap with a light plop. “You don’t need to wine and dine me so you can punch my proverbial V-card, Gaston. I’m a big boy and I’m down to fuck without all the fanfare.”
“Yeah, but I want to.” I leaned back on the couch and put an arm around him, pulling him closer to me. He smelled like soap and wood varnish, and like he should be under me, begging me to come. Down, boy, I told myself. You’ll get there. “You deserve to be wined and dined like anybody else.”
He pulled away from me. “Like anybody else?”
Uh-oh.
“Gaston, I waited four fucking years for you to make a move, and then you went and slept with Becca Montgomery. Becca fucking Montgomery.” He spat her name like it was an insult. “I was right here, and you went to her and then you came and told me all about it like…Like you didn’t even fucking know.”
“I didn’t,” I protested, although that was only a half truth. “Okay, I suspected, but…” I sighed and rubbed behind my ears. “You can’t be mad, man. You didn’t make a move either.”
“And then you ran away. You didn’t write, didn’t call, didn’t drop by to check on me.” He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “You were my best friend. I’ve been waiting twelve years for you. Twelve years, Gaston Dupris. You don’t get to treat me like anybody else.”
“Grey,” I moved to put my hand on him, but he stood, yanking the towel back into place.
“I have a show to get ready for,” he growled and marched away.
I stared after him. “What the fuck did I say?”
He came padding down the hallway a moment later, his face all red. “I…don’t have anything to wear.”
“Well, you play pretty good naked,” I mused.
“Gaston!” he snapped.
“All right, all right.” I pushed up. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll find someone in the pack close to your size to bring something over.”
He snorted and threw his hand out, feeling along the wall to find his way back to the bathroom.
“Are we still going to have sex?” I called after him.
The bathroom door slammed shut in answer.
I sighed. “Stee-rike two,” I muttered and wandered back to the living room to make a few phone calls.
There weren’t many guys Grey’s size in the pack, but Diana had a spare uniform shirt and some skinny jeans that would fit him. Actually, his ass looked amazing in women’s skinny jeans, but I didn’t tell him that. I was pretty sure he’d clock me if I tried flirting with him again.
An hour before the dinner rush, I had to go down to the bar to do some last-minute prep. I was surly and horny, not a good combination. To take the edge off, I was tempted to have a shot of the good stuff from the top shelf, but Bluz was already so in the red, I felt guilty just thinking about it. Instead, I decided calories would be a better bet and made myself a virgin sidecar instead.
Of course, trouble chose exactly that minute to walk through the front door.
