Chapter Twenty

BUDDY the bear was a big believer in yoga.

Six weeks we’d been doing this. Six weeks. I didn’t know how I expected him to teach me control, but hours upon hours of downward-facing dog and meditation wasn’t it.

For someone who seemed to think inner reflection and relaxation techniques were so important, Buddy was the grumpiest person I’d ever spent time around. He was taciturn, ill-tempered, and generally seemed to prefer solitude to company. Despite his attitude and strange obsession with yoga, the big man’s methods seemed to be working. I’d made it through my second full moon with Buddy last week, and the difference between it and the first one was enough to prove I was much more comfortable in my skin, so to speak.

When I’d shifted on purpose for the first time, it had been a slow and painful process. I’d been terrified I was going to do something horrible, and Buddy explained that those human emotions got in the way of a smooth transition. Once shifted, the cat took over almost completely. It was all instinct and primal drives.

Afterward, Buddy had me shifting twice a week. Once deep in the wilds of Buffalo Bill State Park, surrounded by nature. Once in my dorm room, surrounded by my human possessions. He said he was trying to get my subconscious to reconcile my shifted form with my human existence. Since he accompanied me on each shift, his regular appearance in my dorm room meant my neighbors probably thought I had standing hookup with an older man. But since Owen was the only person whose opinion on my love life mattered, I didn’t particularly care if the guys down the hall gave me speculative looks.

When I’d shifted again at the full moon a couple of weeks ago, it felt right and natural, the animal consciousness there in the background, but my human side in charge. In the last couple of weeks, both halves started to coexist, to the point I didn’t really view myself as having a human half or a shifter half. I was simply an individual, with aspects of both all the time.

I was halfway through Owen’s deadline. He’d agreed to stay away for three months, and he’d been as good as his word. Sort of. I hadn’t seen him in six weeks, which was a feat in and of itself, given we both lived at Matthison Hall. He didn’t approach me, and I avoided the front lobby at night when I knew he’d be working. But he didn’t leave me alone. I never saw him, but he was always there.

Every Monday, he sent me a text. It was always short, always simple—a heart icon, or a smiley face, or a simple “hi.”

Every Tuesday I found a sticky note on my door when I left in the morning, something he’d clearly put there at the end of his shift at the front desk. Like the texts, these notes were simple, a few words to let me know he was thinking of me.

Every Wednesday he left a chess piece in my student mailbox.

Thursdays brought more texts, these with ridiculous internet memes attached.

I spent Friday evenings with Buddy, shifting or meditating in the woods. When I’d get back to my room, there was always a sandwich from the Union Center deli. It was never the same as a previous option and contained a combination of ingredients I would never have put together myself. Potato chips were always included.

Saturdays were the hardest. Whatever he left at my door was always something that had absorbed his scent. One week it was a soft and worn Cody College T-shirt, clearly not new, and it smelled so strongly of Owen it almost brought me to my knees. The next week it was a goofy stuffed owl he had to have slept with for his scent to be as ingrained as it was. I slept with the silly plush toy next to my head and his T-shirt under my pillow.

On Sundays, it was more sticky notes, these counting down the weeks.

It was obvious he didn’t want me to forget about him. With or without the reminders, there was no chance of that happening. I knew there was no way I’d make it through six more weeks of this. My concentration was shot, and I was 99 percent sure I passed my classes on a fluke. We had a little over a week before the fall semester started, and since I didn’t have lectures or exams to keep me occupied, my mind wandered to, and stuck on, Owen. Not that I needed the excuse. Every day I didn’t interact with him, I felt it more, like the tugging in my chest when the moon was full. He was as much a part of me as my lion.

On Monday morning, I sent him a text. Hi :)

His response: ?! <3

Tuesday was a bit more trouble. I realized I didn’t know where Owen’s room was. Deciding it was a good chance to practice my tracking skills, I went to the front desk to pick up his trail. My chest constricted at the first hit of his distinctive smell. My hands gripped the edge of the counter while I tried to breathe past the longing. When I’d gained control of my emotions, I found a recent line of Owen’s nighttime-snow-and-fir scent. After a few false starts, I discovered that if I let some of the lion’s instincts come forward, I could practically see Owen’s trail. Which was actually pretty freaking cool.

I didn’t have very far to go. Turned out, Owen’s room was on the first floor, halfway down the north wing. When I reached his door, I could hear him shuffling around inside. The shuffling stopped, and I held my breath. I imagined he sensed me as clearly as I did him. I wanted to knock on his door, to see him face-to-face. To talk to him. To touch him. To just be in his presence for more than a moment or two.

Instead, I reached into my pocket and stuck the bright green sticky note to his door. I’d debated for hours, throwing away dozens of options before deciding on Soon.

I walked away before I gave in to temptation.

I skipped ahead in the pattern on Wednesday. Instead of the chess piece, I texted Owen a Grumpy Cat meme.

He texted back within seconds. What are you up to, Yusuf?

I hung a bag with an Italian sub with every possible topping from his door handle on Thursday.

I couldn’t find a stuffed Asiatic lion anywhere, but I’d gotten my hands on a Care Bears Brave Heart Lion. I didn’t know if Owen’s sense of smell was anything like mine, but I made sure to handle the plush creature as much as possible before having it delivered to him at the front desk on Friday.

On Saturday, I slipped a postcard with a picture of the Chicago skyline into his mail slot.

It was three o’clock in the morning on Sunday, barely twelve hours after I’d given him the memento from Chicago, and nausea surged through me with every beat of my heart. I paused at the bottom of the steps, my palms damp with sweat. I tightened my grip on the heavy package I carried. I’d spent a near fortune on its contents, and, while not exactly fragile, I didn’t want to see anything damaged.

Matthison Hall was mostly deserted. Most of the students who’d stayed over the summer were taking advantage of the short break before the fall semester to visit their families. I was glad for the emptiness, because I didn’t want to deal with underage drunks or other insomniacs while I took this final step in my weeklong courting ritual.

I rounded the corner into lobby. Student mailboxes lined up on my right, and the poor plant that Owen had overwatered almost three months ago stood to my left. And just past the mailboxes was the counter.

Owen’s wide amber eyes lasered in on me, his whole body stilling. The intensity of Owen’s gaze had me biting my lip. The white-knuckled grip he had on his cell phone told me I wasn’t the only anxious person in the room. It was ninety-seven steps from the entrance of the south wing to the entrance of the north wing. I only had to take thirty-six steps to reach Owen.

I had a whole speech prepared in my head. I silently rehearsed the words of gratitude and explanation as I took each of the thirty-six steps. Instead, the closer I got, the more words like mine and never again and Owen Owen Owen kept interrupting. Then, almost before I knew it, I stood in front of the counter. “Hey.”

His throat convulsed as he gulped. He licked his lips. “Hey.”

I set the present I’d ordered for him on the desk. The box was about eighteen inches long by eighteen inches wide, and about six inches tall. I’d wrapped it in pink paper with chubby unicorns frolicking across it. I’d seen it and knew Owen would probably get a kick out of the completely unsuitable wrap.

“This is for you,” I said, in case the unicorns confused him.

His hand fluttered for a second, looking like he was reaching out to touch me rather than the package. A second later, he pulled back and started tugging at the taped flaps. Under the pink paper was a glossy wooden box with brass hinges and a little brass latch. The polished rosewood gleamed in the overhead lights. Owen traced his fingers across the top. He looked at me. “What is this?”

I squirmed. I’d never given anyone a present that meant so much to me. What if he hated it? What if he didn’t understand its importance? What if he was tired of me?

The last I knew was insecurity talking, because his every note, his every gift over the last six weeks told me in no uncertain terms that he still wanted me.

“A present.”

“I see that. But why?” His voice was steady, but I’d learned to trust all my senses. His snow-at-midnight scent was overlaid by nerves and hope, and his pulse pounded visibly at his neck.

“Just open it, okay?”

He released the brass latch, then lifted the lid to reveal chocolate brown and golden honey rosewood squares alternating across a hand-carved chessboard that had been made by an Iranian craftsman my mom knew. Owen’s breath caught, his gaze finding mine. “Oh wow, Yusuf. This is beautiful.” He reached into one of the two velvet bags that came with the board. Inside were the honey-colored, hand-carved chessmen.

I grabbed the other bag and withdrew one of the darker pieces. “Want to play?”

The smile that spread across his face was the one that had intoxicated me the first night—wide, rejuvenating, full of energy. It was sunshine after months of darkness. “Yeah, okay.”

I set up the board while Owen brought one of the tall stools to the lobby side of the desk. He paused, eyes searching mine. He reached out as if to touch, then dropped his hand.

I didn’t like the uncertainty in the action. Disliked even more the fact that I’d caused it.

I took his hand between mine and soaked up the contact. His fingers shook, but after a brief hesitation, he adjusted his grip until our fingers twined together. “Does this mean….” He stopped, inhaled deeply, then tried again. “What does this mean?”

“It means I want there to be a lot more late-night chess matches with you. I want there to be a lot more nights with you in general. I want… I want you.” I stepped closer, well within his personal space bubble. Our chests nearly touched, and I had to tilt my head down a bit to be able to look him in the eye. I freed one hand and brought it up so I could trace his cheek. Then I brushed back his flyaway bangs before tracing his full lower lip with the edge of my thumb. His tongue darted out to tease my thumb, and all my blood rushed to my groin.

“No more ridiculous thoughts about keeping away from me for my own good?”

“First, they weren’t idiotic thoughts, and second, I never actually said it was for your own good. But, no, I think I accomplished what I needed to.”

“And you want to play chess with me?” His lips tipped with the slightest hint of a smile. He leaned in until our bodies actually touched, one of his arms looping around my back to hold me close.

“Among other things.” My voice sounded deeper than usual. Rough.

“And you’re not going to run away again?”

“I didn’t—” I began, but at his arched brow, I changed what I was going to say. “No. No more running away. Besides, you didn’t let me run far.” I tugged at the hem of the T-shirt I wore. It was the one he’d given me, the one that smelled like him.

“Yeah, well, I understood why you had to do what you did. But you also needed to know you had somewhere—someone—to return to after your running was done.”

I ducked my head, rubbing my cheek against his before turning to capture his lips with mine. It was gentle and sweet at first, but when Owen reached up to brace his hands on my shoulders and stand on his toes to deepen the kiss, I growled and opened my mouth for his questing tongue.

I wrapped my arms around his back, pulling him tight as though trying to merge our bodies. I pulled away to nibble along the corner of his mouth, to his jaw, back up behind his ear. “I love you,” I murmured between kisses, over and over again.

“I’m totally in love with you too.” He stroked along my spine, the contact soothing and arousing at the same time. If I were a common housecat, I’d probably be purring. As it was, it took all my concentration to keep from closing my eyes in bliss and basking in his touch.

“I didn’t want to need anyone,” I said ten minutes later. We’d slid to the ground, our backs against the front counter, and cuddled. We hadn’t said much, too caught up in reacquainting ourselves with the feel of each other. “I was determined to make it or break it on my own.”

“And then I came along with my own brand of mother-hen-style smothering.” His head rested on my shoulder, his arm draped across my stomach.

“Good thing too. Turns out I do need something I can’t take care of myself.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He hugged me tight, and it was exactly what I needed.

“You. I need you, Owen Weyer.”