The Feline Gaze

“The pleasure is mine.”

“How did you meet my granddaughter?”

Oh great.

It’s fine because Matthew will totally make up a nice story about how we met, right?

Maybe he’ll tell my grandfather that we’re old friends. That’s the perfect lie because it’s impossible to prove whether it’s true or not. “Old friends” has so many meanings. You can be old friends who met each other last week at a coffee shop or old friends who knew each other in high school. Yes, he should definitely go with the “old friends” lie. I smile, satisfied that Matthew will read my mind and tell a beautiful lie that will impress my grandfather and keep my dignity perfectly intact.

But I am wrong, and he does not.

To my horror, he gives my grandfather a completely honest answer.

“I picked her up outside of a bar,” Matthew says. “She was going to try to walk home.”

“What?” Grandpa turns to me. His eyes narrow, and I know what he wants to say. He wants to remind me that I should take better care of myself. He wants to warn me that little tigers shouldn’t go off into the darkness alone. He wants to tell me that no matter what I’m going through, personal safety isn’t a joke. It’s vital.

“It’s not a long walk,” I say, trying to defend myself.

“I taught you better than that, child. Safety first.”

I sigh. This totally isn’t going my way. Besides, I think I might be sick. Grandpa seems happy I’m home, though, and I’m pleased as punch that he decides to save the lecture for later. Instead of fussing at me, he reaches out and gives me a hug. Then he whispers, “He’s a keeper.”

My grandpa smiles at Matthew, sets the sword down, and without another word, he shifts into his kitty-cat form. He emerges from the pile of clothing on the floor, meows loudly, and runs upstairs. Matthew and I both stare at the empty staircase before us where, not a minute ago, a cat was racing away: my grandpa cat.

“What the fuck?” Matthew laughs. “Your grandpa is a cat?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” I say, rolling my eyes. “The whole town thinks he’s a tiger.”

“But he’s not,” Matthew seems really surprised. Why? Other shifters are allowed around here. It’s just that they’re few and far between. “That’s incredible. He’s got them all fooled. And you?” He looks at me and smiles gently, playfully. “What are you, Cassidy?”

That’s a pretty damn good question.

It’s one I wish I had an easy answer to.

What am I?

I’m a girl who doesn’t know what she’s looking for in life.

I’m searching for something I can’t explain.

I’m lonely.

And oh, I’m a shifter.

“Are you a beautiful kitty-cat, too?” Matthew asks gently. “Or are you a tiger, like most of Tigress?” He waits patiently for my answer, and for a brief second, I think about lying. I’m not even sure why. It seems dumb, really, but telling him what kind of shifter I am is sort of personal. It’s almost as personal as letting him watch me shift, which is definitely not happening tonight.

“Tiger,” I finally say, and he nods.

“Figures.” He smiles and nods. He doesn’t seem disappointed in my revelation.

“What figures?”

“That you’re a tiger. You have a very distinct way of moving.”

“Should I be insulted?” I cross my arms over my chest. Instantly, I notice the slightest shift in his eyes as his gaze lowers to my breasts and back again to my face. He moved quickly, almost unnoticeably, but I saw. I saw the way he looked at me, the way he noticed me, and it fills me with this deep sense of satisfaction that it shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t be so damn excited that he likes the way I look. It’s a little vain, really, but Matthew makes me feel all tingly and wet and needy. I like knowing that he wants to look at my breasts. I like that he enjoys seeing my body.