“No. I mean lie down.”
I do.
“Under the covers!” she sounds exasperated.
I climb under the covers, my eyes never leaving hers, assuming there will be another order in a moment, like dance, or twirl in a circle, or make sounds like the tree-dwelling animals that used to jump from limb to limb on Skylose.
“What did I do?” I ask again.
Crying now, she blindly reaches for a chair, pulls it toward the doorway, and sits.
“I didn’t know you were a human. I mean a humanoid. I thought you were a dog.”
“I understand,” I tell her, nodding my head, encouraging her to say more, even as I don’t understand at all.
“I . . . told you things. Secret things. Things people don’t readily divulge to other people.”
Oh. She told me things. My canine brain doesn’t really understand a great deal of the higher-level things that happen in my shifted form. It’s primitive. It understands raw emotion, strong orders, urgent words, and bodily needs. But everything Willa told me seemed urgent. I remember a lot of what she told me.
“And you watched me . . . darn! I can’t even say it out loud.”
I watched her pleasure herself. Not just this morning, but many times. I loved watching that. I loved everything about it. I loved the smell, yes, my canine loves many smells, but none more than that. But I loved the way her face flushed. I loved her little moans of pleasure. I loved the way her relaxed muscles felt when she snuggled me afterward. By the look on her face, I get the message I should never bring any of these things up with her. Never.
Willa
Look at his face. Dear God, he’s so alien . . . and so handsome. And miserable, as if I’ve confused him so badly he doesn’t know what to do. As much as I’d like to make him into the bad guy, he’s not. I’m just so freaking embarrassed.
I should explain this to him. It’s just, what do you say? I told you about everything in my entire life thinking I was talking to a dog and it turned out you’re a man . . . a male.
I cradle my face in my hands again and breathe, trying to think. By the look on his face, I’ve confused the shit out of him. I want to help him understand what’s going on with me. But before I can do that, my mind has to punish me with a rolling movie of everything I divulged to him over the last three months.
Go ahead, I tell myself. Remind me of all the shit I spilled to him under cover of darkness. There were the things I did that were slightly embarrassing, like cheating in grade school, and saying mean things to schoolkids before I developed a good filter. Those were nothing. I’d feel okay about doing a standup comedy routine about them.
It’s the stuff from Junior High and beyond where things get dicey. The fumbled first kisses. The stupid things I told girlfriends that resulted in learning to never tell anyone my deepest thoughts because they would be splattered all over the Junior High grapevine or worse, Facebook, within an hour.
The mortifying first fumblings on second and third base with the wrong boys. Losing my virginity and having it mentioned derisively on social media. I socially hibernated for years after that.
I peek through the gap between my hands to glance at the male on the bed in front of me. He’s sitting up against the headboard, just waiting for me. His face is sweet, impassive, as if he’ll sit like that all day until I figure out what to do.
And here he is, coming out of a long hibernation of his own. You’d think he’d be more interested in regaining his life, or creating a new one. Anything other than spending his first day back on two legs waiting for a crazy Earth female to explain her seesawing emotions.
“I told you embarrassing things, Bayne. And I masturbated in front of you.” There. I said it.
He nods. As if this is nothing. As if I’m telling him what I had for dinner last night. But, of course, he knows that too.
“Just looking at you, knowing you know every embarrassing moment of my life, makes me uncomfortable. I need some time.”
“Okay.”
Perhaps he doesn’t know what that expression means. Any Earth male would know that it’s code-speak for ‘I’m breaking up with you and you should get out of my fucking bed’. Obviously, the Skylosian did not get the memo, because there’s still a tent under the covers and he hasn’t moved a muscle. In fact, he’s still looking at me expectantly, perhaps waiting for me to join him in bed and let him ‘ease’ me.
“And it’s rude to ask a woman to have sex when you’ve only known her a few hours. You shouldn't ask me again,” I instruct.
“After how many hoaras is it not considered rude?”
At this, my mouth actually pops open in surprise. Look at his face! It’s so sincere. He doesn’t even realize how impolite that question was. Actually, if I allow myself to see it, his artless innocence is endearing. But right now I don’t want to acknowledge that.
“So, you’re going to pull on some clothes and we’re going to march to the bridge and have them assign you a room of your own. You aren’t going to be sleeping in my room anymore.”
He cocks his head in a very familiar way. He did this as WarDog and it never failed to earn him a pat on his head because he was so adorable. He’s definitely adorable now, but I need to force that out of my mind.
“No problem. I
