The Feline Gaze

“Not at all. I like the way you move. You walk like you’re proud, like you know something nobody else does.”

“Maybe I have a dark, sordid secret,” I say.

“I’d like to find out what that secret is,” he tells me. He steps forward and for a second, I think Matthew is going to kiss me. For just a second, I think he’s going to press his lips to mine and tota

lly dominate my mouth. For just a second, I think this is going to be the moment I solidify the fact that we should totally be together, but then he presses his lips to my forehead.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispers.

He doesn’t move for what feels like an eternity. We just stand there, so very close together. I can smell him, and he’s just as aroused as I am right now. Both of us are practically pulsing with need, but we don’t act on it yet. Just when I’m about to ask him whether he wants to come upstairs, just when I’m about to make that move, he steps away with a little smile. Then he turns and walks to the door.

Matthew stops at the door and looks back over his shoulder. I’m still by the staircase and I know that my eyes are wide in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to really leave, to go. He looks like he wants to say something, like there’s something just on the tip of his tongue, but he catches himself before he can speak his mind.

“You have a lovely home,” he says instead.

Then he leaves.

And I’m alone.

Fuck.

I slump down in the foyer and lean against the wall. I probably should have asked him to stay. Maybe I should have made a move. I don’t know. Right now, it just seems that I did nothing, which was undoubtedly the incorrect play. Embarrassment washes over me and even though there’s no one down here but me, I cringe. I can feel myself blushing as I think about what a total idiot I am right now.

Fuck.

I’m bad at this whole dating thing.

With a sigh, I push myself off of the wall and carry my little bag of tacos into the kitchen. Then I sit at the table, alone, and start eating. Somehow, they seem entirely too loud. Are tacos always this loud?

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

The sound fills the kitchen and is only slightly louder than the sound of my own embarrassment, which seems to be practically ringing in my ears. Does embarrassment have a sound? It definitely has a scent and I totally reek of it. Humiliation. Ugh. If I’d known my night was going to end like this, I probably would have just stayed home. Then again, that means that I never would have met him. I never would have met the lion.

I suspected he was a huge cat even before my grandfather called him out. It’s interesting that Grandpa seems to be so good at identifying different kinds of shifters. He has no problem telling a swan from a deer, which has always been interesting to me. Maybe it’s because Grandpa is kind of a small shifter. He’s always had to know who the potential predators are.

I hear a soft meow and I turn to see my grandfather in his cat form. He hops up onto the table lightly and pads over to the food. Then he sits down and looks at me expectantly. He doesn’t shift back, doesn’t say anything to me. Not that he can speak in his shifter form. None of us can do that. It would probably be a lot more convenient, honestly, but I have a sneaking suspicion that if shifters could speak in their animal forms, no one would ever bother pretending to be human.

“Hungry?” I nudge one of the tacos in his direction.

He sniffs it carefully, suspiciously, as though it’s something besides tacos. Even in his cat form, Grandpa is dramatic. I roll my eyes and wait patiently as he finally decides to taste the taco. His eyes widen at the taste and he devours it quickly before silently purring and asking for another.

I push another one over.

“By all means,” I murmur, handing it to him. Grandpa hanging out in his cat form isn’t strange or unusual. In fact, as he’s gotten older, he’s become more and more comfortable as a cat and less and less comfortable as a man. I think this has something to do with the aging process, but I can’t really be sure. It’s just that he seems wildly uncomfortable in his human form and when he’s a cat, well, he’s a cat.

He’s just him.

For a long time, it was just the three of us: Grandma, Grandpa, and me. When I moved back after I graduated from boarding school, I decided to live with the two of them. The decision was partially financial and partially social. I didn’t have a dime to my name and my grandparents are totally friendly and wonderful. My parents had a messy divorce and I didn’t want to be around them, but my grandparents were totally welcoming and understanding. They always seemed so happy to have me around and they made me feel like I truly belonged. For the first time in my life, I had a place where I belonged.

Grams passed away a few years ago. Now it’s just me and Grandpa. The house feels emptier, but there’s no less love here. It sounds totally cliché and maybe a little creepy, but I can still sense my grandmother here. Even though she’s gone, she’s never far from my heart. I know Grandpa feels the same way.

“There, there,” I pat his kitty-cat head as he eats, and I think about how my night went. I’m obsessing, but it’s how I process things, so I’ll try to cut myself some slack instead of focusing on the fact that I’m a little weird and strange and awkward.

Honestly, I don’t know if tonight could have been any stranger. Sometimes talking to Grandpa helps, though, even if he doesn’t always talk back. He’s always been good at helping me sort out my feelings and figure out what really matters.