“No. In case you change.”
“Why should that determine your choice of pants?”
“I’m tired of the purple sweats making it seem like I’ve looked when I haven’t.”
My face flamed a little hotter. Every time I stripped before shifting, he turned completely around so he couldn’t accidentally look, a courtesy I never afforded him. Even still, his sweats were always tented by the time he turned back. If Niamh was there, she’d inevitably accuse him of using a mirror to look over his shoulder. She liked to make an awkward situation worse. It was part of her charm.
“How are jeans going to help with that? I assume you’re wearing jeans?”
“Jeans are uncomfortable as hell when you have a hard-on and no briefs.”
“Ah. So that’s the real reason you’re free-balling it—trying to force self-control.”
His lopsided smile was adorable. “That purple sucks, anyway. It in no way matches your other form. It’s much too drab.”
I laughed and stood with the phone, dropping the towel into the laundry. It would be interesting to see who came in to grab it—Mr. Tom, as usual, or my mother, whom I’d banned from doing my laundry in my teens because she shrank everything but wouldn’t give me money to buy more. The ban hadn’t worked. She hated seeing clothes in the laundry basket. The woman was a machine.
“When did you want to train?” I asked, flicking on the light in my spacious closet and propping up the phone on my dresser, against my jewelry box.
Austin was on the move again, walking through his house, a place I’d never been. I had only been to his cabin on the lake, a place he usually didn’t tell people about.
“I have to hit the bar and put in a couple orders,” he said, “but I can run and do that now. Early afternoon? Lunchtime?”
When I was sure only my face showed in the picture, my robe hit the floor and I pulled out some knickers. “Yeah, whenever. I’ll probably need a break from the parents by then.”
“Great. I’ll just swing… What are you doing?” His tone had changed, almost aggressive.
Panties on, I paused with bra in hand. “Changing, why? You did it.”
The movement behind him stopped, and a pained expression took over his face. He swore, looking to the side. “Wish you would’ve waited on that.”
I couldn’t help a smile even as heat unfurled within me. A wave of shivers coated my body from the contrasting chilled air kissing my skin. I did my best to ignore the sensation, putting on my bra. “You need to get laid, son. This is becoming a problem.”
He shook his head and breathed out through his mouth. “You’re a pretty lady. Can’t be helped. Talk to you later. Wear a muumuu.”
I laughed as the call ended, the screen going black before morphing back into his contact image. For a moment I just let myself be still, owning the confusing emotions and feelings rolling through me: heat from our exchange, pleasurable aching down low, the strange contentment of having shared our morning routines, the comfort and joy of our deepening intimacy as friends, and the worry regarding the budding longing I felt to be near him. To call him again and keep talking. To speed up time so he could get here a little faster.
“Keep it steady, Jacinta,” I murmured to myself, pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, smiling a little as I noted the order. “He’s the only normal man in your life. You’re clearly reacting to that as much as him as a person.”
The bedroom door opened for me as I reached it.
“Thank you.” I stepped through it.
“What?” Ulric walked toward me in the hall. “Me?” He grinned.
“No, sorry. The house. She hears.” I made a circle in the air with my finger.
A pained expression crossed his face. “Don’t tell me those things. This house is a lot to get used to. Not to shift the topic or anything, but can I come out now? It smells like bacon. Or can I at least fly out the window and hit a diner in town? If I smell bacon, I need to eat bacon. I don’t think I’m alone in that.”
“Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll go try to explain you all to my parents first. Then yes, I’m sure there is bacon, though we’ll have to make more, since my mom didn’t know to cook for the house.”
“It’s not Mr. Tom? Damn. I was hoping he’d come around on his stance regarding bacon. Did he make a special allowance because of your parents?”
For some reason no one could understand, Mr. Tom would not allow bacon in the house. He claimed it was bad for us, which wasn’t untrue, but then why were chocolate and cookies allowed? We’d all just kind of gotten over it, because we didn’t want to make it ourselves.