Primals (Reverse Harem 1)

“What matters is that my parents already know I’m safe, so they’re not worried. And that Teresa’s...”

She pauses, gripping her cup.

“What’s wrong?”

“Teresa was the other person on that plane,” Clarissa murmurs, her voice distressed. Her fingers stroking her cup, restless. Anxious. “She didn’t make it.”

I frown. “I’m sorry.”

She says nothing, lifting her cup and taking another sip, but her hands are shaking. The coffee spills down the front of her sweater, my sweater.

“Shit,” she curses, looking at the fresh stain.

Getting up, she sets her cup down near the sink and frantically tries to get the stain out with a wet piece of tissue, swearing softly under her breath.

I pretend not to hear.

But her distress only increases as the stain stubbornly spreads the more she worries at it. She’s frantic, taking out the tension and frustration of the past few days on the only physical thing she has to take it out on. I hate seeing her distress.

“Please don’t worry about it.” I walk over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s an old sweater.”

She continues rubbing at the stain. “But it must mean a lot to you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “It does?”

She looks at me. “Isn’t it one of your favorite sweaters?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t have one.”

“I guess. You don’t even like sweaters, after all, do you? Or shirts for that matter.”

I glance at the shirt I have on, puzzled by what she means.

Unless she’d seen me without my shirt.

I almost laugh. Well, I do sleep without a shirt. The room is warm, there’s no need for more. It was only out of courtesy that I’d kept my boxers on. Only that of course means she’d been watching me sleep, which is much more interesting.

I quickly gulp down the rest of my tea before I say something stupid. I sense now is really not the time for at least half the possible remarks I have floating through my head.

“I’m sorry.” She finally stops working on the stain, her hands falling limp, the sweater a sodden mess in the kitchen sink. “It won’t come off.”

“Like I said, it’s fine.”

Clarissa returns to her chair and picks

up her cup of coffee, cradling it as she takes another sip, her silence letting me know she’s still upset.

And I hate seeing her upset.

I stare at the stain on the sweater, clearly visible even from here. Even when she’d been wearing the thing, the sweater had looked like a tent on her. Now she just looked small and cold in the t-shirt she’d been wearing under it.

“You know, why don’t we go and buy you some clothes?”

Her eyebrows go up. “Buy me clothes?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Clothes that will fit you, suit you. You need them, don’t you? I mean, you can’t go back home in my clothes.”

She puts her empty cup on the sink. “You’re right. I can’t. But I...”