Chapter Seven

I STARED dumbly at the damning words. Okay. It didn’t have to mean anything. It was a coincidence. Nothing more. Except that particular coincidence struck a little too close to home. Or, more specifically, too close to my mother’s home.

My hand shook as I reached over and slammed the lid of the laptop closed.

Owen covered my hand with his. “Yusuf?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.” My voice cracked. I jerked my hand free, grabbed the computer, and after jumping from the bed, I deposited the MacBook on the desk with less care than I probably should have. My eyes burned, pressure built in my chest, and I wanted to throw up. All physical reactions owing to the maelstrom of emotions building inside me. Betrayal and fear top among them. I clenched my fists, trying to rein in my emotions.

A subtle shift in the air behind me was the only sign Owen had followed me. Then his arms wrapped around me, strong and sure. At first I stood there, posture rigid. He didn’t back off. If anything, he squeezed tighter, resting his forehead at the top of my spine. In this position the difference between our heights was more pronounced. That connection—that touch—destroyed the protective shields I was so desperately trying to shore up.

With a sob I spun around and buried my face in his hair. I clasped Owen to me, digging my hands into the cotton of his T-shirt.

He didn’t say anything.

I didn’t need him to.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have the words.

Instead, he held me while I let the tears flow, probably dampening his hair.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he pulled the sharpest edges of my emotions away from me, siphoning them off. After a moment I finally found the words. “Why would they lie to me?”

He started rubbing my back, long strokes along my spine. “I can’t say.”

I pushed aside the thought that he was petting me and I was leaning into it like any Labrador would. Or a pet cat. I wanted it too much. Or maybe I needed it. Either way, I soaked up the contact. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to ask your parents? It’s probably the simplest way.”

I took half a step back. Enough to put a few inches of space between us, but not enough to break the connection of his hold. I wasn’t ready for that yet. He didn’t get it. I wasn’t even sure I got it completely.

“I—I can’t. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want to hurt them.”

“And you think asking them will hurt them?”

“If I bring it up, it’s like saying I don’t trust them. And I do. But you’ve got to understand how the last few years have been.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been sick pretty much my whole life. The last few years, things got worse. Not the symptoms, though those were bad enough. But they tried so hard to figure it out. We had money. We weren’t wealthy by any means, but my dad had an excellent salary and my mom had some kind of inheritance. It should have been enough to live more than comfortably, with plenty left over. With all my hospital time, Mom had to quit her job. Taking care of me was a 24-7 deal. Pretty soon, my dad’s company started giving him a hard time over all the sick leave he was taking so he could shuttle me from one out-of-town doctor’s appointment to the next. So Dad quit his job as a continuous improvement manager for an international manufacturing company to work from home as a consultant. It gave him more flexibility to be with Mom and me, but it also meant his income was cut almost in half.”

Owen and I hadn’t moved from our loose embrace in the middle of my dorm room. He hadn’t released me, and I hadn’t let go of him. If anyone walked in, we probably looked like we were frozen in the middle of a slow dance. He didn’t seem anxious to move, and I knew I’d take advantage of every second. His eyes stayed open, which gave me the wherewithal to keep going. Maybe if I got the guilt off my chest, I’d be able to move forward.

“In over fifteen years, I don’t think they took a single vacation. Their life revolved almost a hundred percent around me. After a while we’d gone through the battery of standard tests and therapies with no results, so they started looking into alternative treatments.”

“Like acupuncture?”

I snorted. “I wouldn’t knock acupuncture if I were you. We did that too, and it actually seemed to help with some of the aches and pains, at least for a short time. No, I mean like experimental.”

He stiffened. “Experimental?”

“Yeah. They became experts at identifying any clinical trials and promising treatment plans abroad. The thing is, it was all really expensive. Between the travel and the experimental treatments not covered by insurance, they ran out of money.”

“They love you. I’m sure it is worth it to them.”

My heart twisted. “Yeah, so Dad said. Even as they sold the house and downsized into a condo. It didn’t matter to them. I was what mattered.”

He trailed his hand down my spine again. “They’re your parents. Of course that’s what they think. Wouldn’t you do the same for them?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But how can I, after all their sacrifices, accuse them of keeping something so major away from me? I mean, I’m either adopted, or one or both of my parents are Asiatic lion shifters. I don’t want to sound ungrateful.” I was getting dangerously close to repeatedly circling the same point.

“I don’t know what to tell you. My relationship with my own parents isn’t the same.”

Something in his voice pulled me out of my immobilizing pity party. It wasn’t resentment or anger. Maybe resignation? The words themselves could have meant anything. But the tone. “Everything seemed cool between you and your dad the other night.”

“Oh, things are fine.” He rocked his head from side to side as though loosening the joints. “We get along fine. We’re just not as closely connected as it sounds like your family is.”

He stepped away from me, dropping his arms to his sides. I tried not to mourn the missing warmth.

“Anyway,” he said, jamming his hands into his pockets, “you should try to get some sleep. It’ll be easier to concoct a plan after a few z’s.”

My lips twisted in an involuntary, if bitter, smile. “You’re kidding, right? Hadn’t you noticed I don’t sleep much?”

The emotional shield he’d put between us cracked a little, and his gaze softened. “Yeah. Even if you hadn’t visited me in the overnight shifts, those dark circles under your eyes would tell me. But still, you need sleep. So try. Tomorrow will be soon enough to plan our next step.”

He turned to step toward the door, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Owen.” When he looked at me curiously, I added, “For not letting me play the ostrich.”

“You’re welcome.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over mine. It lasted barely a second, was butterfly soft, and ended much too quickly. Before the action had time to register, it was done, and Owen was gone.

I pressed my fingertips to my still-tingling lips. And he expected me to go to sleep?

I RESTED my head on my palm and tried to keep my gritty eyes focused on Dr. Coleman. We’d started a new chapter on the politics of wildlife management. Any other time I’d have been completely absorbed in the materials and his lecture. Maybe it was because of how young he was, but he was completely engaging, even when talking politics. It may not have been ornithology, which was his main passion, but he managed to make even legislative finagling interesting.

Most of the time.

Today I was too tired and way too distracted to keep up with the partisan views on property rights and preservation. And for the first time since the full moon, it had nothing to do with my inner lion. No, it had everything to do with Owen’s kiss.

Which was ridiculous. It was barely a brush. No more intimate than kissing a cousin. Or a maiden aunt.

But it was my first kiss. And it was Owen.

I’d already figured out guys kind of did it for me. Mostly thanks to Owen. But discovering a homosexual—or maybe bisexual, I hadn’t dug too deep into that well of self-discovery yet—component to myself was secondary to discovering I had a lion inside me. A fucking lion!

But that kiss.

Honestly, it could barely be called a kiss. It was a peck. A buss. A smooch. No, not a smooch. I wasn’t five. But still.

For more than an hour after he’d left, my mind repeated this stupid cycle. And when it wasn’t busying coming up with every synonym I could find for kiss, my mind provided a lovely image of Owen performing different variations of the kiss—a hand kiss, a forehead kiss, a french kiss. Which had me imagining Owen’s mouth on me in all sorts of other tantalizing places. Which had me twitchy and sweaty and hard. It wasn’t that I’d never had an erection before, but with everything else going on with my body, it hadn’t happened often. Suddenly, with one brief touch and several years’ worth of catching up to do, I had a lion-sized libido and no idea what to do with it.

All because of a stupid, platonic brush of his lips that probably didn’t mean anything more to him than a handshake would have. Or a hug. Or a slap on the back.

And, damn it, I needed to let it go and deal with the rest of the crap in my life.

“Joey?” Someone touched my shoulder, and I jerked, sending my laptop skittering to the edge of my desk. I barely managed to slam my hand down—probably cracking a couple of keys—in time to keep the computer from crashing to the floor.

I looked up to see the empty classroom and Dr. Coleman standing next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut. Class was over, and I’d missed the exodus of students. “Sorry,” I muttered, pulling my shoulder bag to my lap. I dumped everything into it, not even bothering to save my notes or power down my laptop.

“You okay?” Dr. Coleman asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I zoned out there for a bit.”

Instead of looking pissed that I’d basically ignored the last twenty minutes of his lecture, he looked concerned. He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his khaki pants. His red polo shirt matched his Converse high-tops, something I only noticed because I was avoiding meeting his eyes. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little rough around the edges.”

It was a generous way to put it. I looked like I hadn’t slept in two weeks, which I guess I hadn’t. “I’m fine. Long night.” After my first—and hopefully only—shift, I’d started feeling and looking healthier. But restless sleep and tossing and turning would leave anyone a little rough around the edges.

Dr. Coleman nodded. “Well, try to get some sleep. And reread chapter six to catch back up. There’s going to be a quiz on what we covered today.”

I sighed, humiliated and grateful at the same time. It was not a comfortable feeling. “Thanks. And I promise to pay attention tomorrow.”

“It’s no big deal. It happens to the best of us.” He moved back to the front of the room and started packing up his stuff.

I shot a quick glance over my shoulder as I exited the room. Dr. Coleman really was a pretty cool guy. I thought about what the girl had said that day at lunch. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hook up with his TA. He came across as the kind of guy who’d be more likely to tutor the jock and fantasize about him from a distance.

A tall guy with more than a little Native American in his features strode past me, his elbow-length black hair swinging behind him. There was nothing visible, but I swore energy crackled around him, and I smelled ozone and coffee in his wake. More, I sensed power unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I stopped in my tracks, heart beating in an irregular rhythm as my fight-or-flight instincts battled it out again. The man was a predator, no doubt about it. And I would bet any amount of money he was a shifter too. The guy must have seen or felt my stare, because he shot a look my way before entering the classroom I’d just left.

Distantly, I heard Dr. Coleman say, “Hey, babe.”

He was Dr. Coleman’s ex-TA? The geeky bird-nerd professor hooked up with… words failed me. Clearly, the ornithology professor was more badass than I’d have guessed.

I left the Reynolds Sciences building, brain fuzzy from lack of sleep and awe at Dr. Coleman’s balls, which is why it took me so long to register my name after I’d gone half a block in the direction of the dorms.

“Yusuf!”

Blinking, I turned to Owen, who was jogging up behind me. Just like that day I had lunch with “the guys.”

“Déjà vu,” I murmured, my stomach twisting greasily. Then I recalled a moment in my dreams where Owen had used his hands to…. My stomach dropped to my knees. My face burned, and my mouth dried. I couldn’t face him. Not now. Not after picturing him like that.

Oblivious to my discomfort, Owen stepped close and smiled. “You’re done with class for the day, right?”

I licked my lips. I could do this. I could be normal. Or at least not act like a complete moron. “Ah, yeah. I’m heading to my room.” I pointed lamely to Matthison Hall, as if Owen didn’t know exactly where it and my room were located.

“You have plans for lunch?”

“Lunch?” I said the word like I’d never heard it before. I was making this whole thing more awkward than it had to be, and if I didn’t relax, Owen was going to notice. And if he asked, what would I say? Ever since you kissed me, I’ve developed an oral fixation. I want you to kiss and lick and suck me all over. I know you didn’t mean it like that, but there you have it. Yeah, so there was no way I could tell him the truth. Better if he didn’t ask. “Lunch,” I repeated more decisively. “No. No plans for lunch.” See, I could play it cool.

“Good. There’s someone I want you to meet.” Owen rested his hand on my back, nudging me the opposite direction from where I’d been heading, which would have been fine, but he didn’t move his hand when we were clearly going the way he wanted us to go.

I concentrated on watching for cracks in the sidewalk instead of the heat from his palm on my spine. “Where are we going and who are we meeting?”

“There’s a café on the next block, Buddy’s. We’re meeting a friend of mine. Okay, he’s not really a friend, more of an ex, but I think he’ll be able to help with your situation.”

His ex? I couldn’t possibly meet one of his exes. Not while fantasies of Owen still lingered in my brain.

Then the more pertinent part of his statement sank in. Help. He thought his ex could help with my situation.

“Help? In what way?”

Owen bit his lip. Like I needed any more reason to obsess about his mouth. “He’s sort of a, you know, a hacker.”

“A hacker?”

“Well, actually, he’s a journalism major, a senior, who does a little hacking on the side.”

“A little hacking.” My voice came out breathy, and I sounded more than a little incredulous.

“He’s not a criminal or anything,” he rushed to reassure me. “At least, he didn’t used to be. Mostly he just does research. Sometimes he digs a little deeper than maybe he should. He wants to be one of those investigative journalists, the ones who uncover major stories.”

I cleared my throat. “Um, like those Watergate reporters?” I didn’t think my parental betrayal, or whatever it was, would require Woodward and Bernstein.

“Kind of. Someday, at any rate, though I think he’s shooting to be the next Anderson Cooper. He’s really good at digging up stuff people would rather stay buried.”

“And he’s your ex?” I cringed. I hadn’t meant to say that. It was none of my business. It had no bearing on me or my situation.

Owen rubbed his palms along the thighs of his jeans. “Yeah. We went out for a while. Just didn’t mesh. Nothing in common outside of sex. There wasn’t any drama or anything. You don’t have to worry about that. We’re still, well, not friends, but friendly.”

I forced myself to say, “Good. That’s… that’s good.” Because it was good. Friendly was good. No drama was good. But really, the only thing I could focus on was the nothing in common outside of sex comment. I didn’t want—or need—to know about Owen having sex with anyone else. In fact, it was all I could do to keep the feral growl building in my chest subdued.

My hands clenched and my fingertips tingled. A reminder, since I clearly needed it, that I had something much more pressing to worry about than what Owen did with some other guy way back when.

How do you know it was way back when? It might have been weeks, or even days, ago. I mentally squashed the little voice in my head. I didn’t need that kind of thinking. I had more important details to deal with.