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Authors: Jennifer Reynolds
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cried? I know we’ve had an unusual day today, but I like that it has brought you out of your shell.”
Wanting desperately to talk to her, to explain everything, something I never thought I would want to do, I hop into a chair and watch her. She pulls the low-fat butter and a package of cheese from the fridge.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says with resignation in her voice. “I bought the sweat machine. I’ll worry about what I eat when it gets here.”
There couldn’t be anything in the look that I gave her that would warrant such a statement. I don’t give a shit if she eats four hundred of those stupid sandwiches. I like that she eats. As a shifter, I am used to eating a lot. She doesn’t eat anywhere near as much as we do. If she ate half of what we did, then I would say she overate. One or two measly grilled cheese sandwiches were nothing for me.
Chapter 7
~~~Abby~~~
Time seems to be moving slowly. My encounter with Devan feels as if it happened years ago, though it had actually only been a little over a month. Nevertheless, enough time has passed that I had all but forgotten about him. Okay, that is a lie, but we’ll pretend it’s the truth. Therefore, when someone knocks on my door, interrupting my playtime with Sebastian, I freeze halfway through throwing his favorite plastic ball that has a bell in the middle of it across the room. He doesn’t play fetch like a dog, but he does like to chase the ball, and sometimes he even manages to swat it back to me. I like to confuse him by throwing a second and third ball while he is chasing after the first. He gets all discombobulated and doesn’t know which he should chase after first.
I had spent the last hour on the treadmill and am in the floor playing with my cats. I am supposed to be stretching—something I try to do before and after I walk—but it is obvious that I’m not doing any such thing. When I plopped down in the floor, Sebastian came running up to me and proceeded to attack my hands. Why, I’m not sure, but I think he thinks my hands are separate creatures not attached to my body that are always out to get him, so he attacks them when he is in a playful mood.
Dimitri, on the other hand, has been steadily watching me sweat my ass off on the machine while I watched reruns of LOST . He does this every time I get on the machine. The horrid smell of sweat and my labored breathing must amuse him.
The knock came again. Whoever it is knows I’m home because the television is on, and I had been laughing at Sebastian. Part of me prays it is Devan while another part prays it isn’t. I look like a sweaty mess. I am in sweat pants, a sports bra, and tank top. All three items are sticking to me.
At the third knock, I yell for the person to hold on a second. I run to my bedroom and grab a large, white, sleep shirt out of my drawer. I will look funky, but at least the shirt isn’t clinging to every part of my flabby body. I jerk off the tank and replace it with the shirt.
As I rush back to the living room, I straighten my ponytail. Sweat has matted my hair too much for me to let it down. I purposely avoid the large mirror hanging above the sofa. I don’t want to know how horrible I look.
Per my usual routine, I latch the chain and look through the peephole. I sigh with relief and disappointment at the sight of a tall, beautiful redhead standing on my porch. My ego takes a serious beating at the sight of her. It takes an even worse one when I open the door to get a full view of her.
“Can I help you?” I ask, fidgeting uncomfortably. A woman this beautiful shouldn’t be seen on my doorstep. I actually think there are laws against her being in my presence, or, at least against me being in hers.
“Are you Abby Sinclair?” the luscious woman asks.
“I am. Is there something wrong?” I reply, absentmindedly pulling at my clothes.
“Sort of. I’ve been told that you purchased a cat from Smith County Animal
Wanting desperately to talk to her, to explain everything, something I never thought I would want to do, I hop into a chair and watch her. She pulls the low-fat butter and a package of cheese from the fridge.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says with resignation in her voice. “I bought the sweat machine. I’ll worry about what I eat when it gets here.”
There couldn’t be anything in the look that I gave her that would warrant such a statement. I don’t give a shit if she eats four hundred of those stupid sandwiches. I like that she eats. As a shifter, I am used to eating a lot. She doesn’t eat anywhere near as much as we do. If she ate half of what we did, then I would say she overate. One or two measly grilled cheese sandwiches were nothing for me.
Chapter 7
~~~Abby~~~
Time seems to be moving slowly. My encounter with Devan feels as if it happened years ago, though it had actually only been a little over a month. Nevertheless, enough time has passed that I had all but forgotten about him. Okay, that is a lie, but we’ll pretend it’s the truth. Therefore, when someone knocks on my door, interrupting my playtime with Sebastian, I freeze halfway through throwing his favorite plastic ball that has a bell in the middle of it across the room. He doesn’t play fetch like a dog, but he does like to chase the ball, and sometimes he even manages to swat it back to me. I like to confuse him by throwing a second and third ball while he is chasing after the first. He gets all discombobulated and doesn’t know which he should chase after first.
I had spent the last hour on the treadmill and am in the floor playing with my cats. I am supposed to be stretching—something I try to do before and after I walk—but it is obvious that I’m not doing any such thing. When I plopped down in the floor, Sebastian came running up to me and proceeded to attack my hands. Why, I’m not sure, but I think he thinks my hands are separate creatures not attached to my body that are always out to get him, so he attacks them when he is in a playful mood.
Dimitri, on the other hand, has been steadily watching me sweat my ass off on the machine while I watched reruns of LOST . He does this every time I get on the machine. The horrid smell of sweat and my labored breathing must amuse him.
The knock came again. Whoever it is knows I’m home because the television is on, and I had been laughing at Sebastian. Part of me prays it is Devan while another part prays it isn’t. I look like a sweaty mess. I am in sweat pants, a sports bra, and tank top. All three items are sticking to me.
At the third knock, I yell for the person to hold on a second. I run to my bedroom and grab a large, white, sleep shirt out of my drawer. I will look funky, but at least the shirt isn’t clinging to every part of my flabby body. I jerk off the tank and replace it with the shirt.
As I rush back to the living room, I straighten my ponytail. Sweat has matted my hair too much for me to let it down. I purposely avoid the large mirror hanging above the sofa. I don’t want to know how horrible I look.
Per my usual routine, I latch the chain and look through the peephole. I sigh with relief and disappointment at the sight of a tall, beautiful redhead standing on my porch. My ego takes a serious beating at the sight of her. It takes an even worse one when I open the door to get a full view of her.
“Can I help you?” I ask, fidgeting uncomfortably. A woman this beautiful shouldn’t be seen on my doorstep. I actually think there are laws against her being in my presence, or, at least against me being in hers.
“Are you Abby Sinclair?” the luscious woman asks.
“I am. Is there something wrong?” I reply, absentmindedly pulling at my clothes.
“Sort of. I’ve been told that you purchased a cat from Smith County Animal
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