It’s my fault for forgetting that Zoey isn’t most people.
Before I can stop her, she presses both of my palms against her boobs.
“What are you doing?”I choke, snatching my hands back, even as they beg to stay where she put them.
Zoey glances down at her dress, a smile creeping over her lips as she eyes the black prints now marring the pristine white fabric.A snort escapes, and then the next moment, she’s doubled over in laughter.
The happy sound rings through the shop, bouncing off every surface.
I want to laugh with her.I want to moan at the loss of her perfect dress.I want to drag her into my arms and kiss her senseless.
Instead, I hold myself back because I’m still not sure where we stand.Clearly, Zoey isn’t terrified of me, which I take as a good sign.But that doesn’t tell me much.It’s completely possible she convinced herself that night was a dream or a fear-induced hallucination.If that’s the case, I’ll have to decide if the best option is to just let her continue living a normal life, oblivious to what my truth is.
Zoey calms down, shaking her head at me as she walks back to the bike I was working on.I follow, a step behind.
“Sit,” she instructs me, and I drop down on the low crate I was using as a seat.
I expect her to grab the greasy stool, but she ignores it to come stand in front of me.I have to look up at her from this angle, and my eyes are level with the destructive handprints.
“I can’t believe … your dress.”I mourn the loss.
Laundry isn’t one of my skill sets.I’m usually just proud of myself when I separate lights and darks, but I still know that grease and white clothing don’t mix.It’s a shame, no matter how good the shape of my hands look, clasping her chest.
“Don’t worry about it.I got it from a thrift shop, and I think it shrank last time I washed it.Half the buttons are ready to pop off.”
Now that she mentions it, I do notice how the material strains more where it covers her chest.
The sight makes me want to moan for a whole other reason.
“Warner?”A cool finger hooks under my chin, tilting my head up until I meet her warm brown eyes.“Werewolves?”
No selective amnesia then.
I clear my throat.“Yep.Werewolves.”
She grins down at me, the expression sheepish and beautiful enough to make my heart hammer loud in my ears.
“I’m sorry I went robot on you.”
“Robot?”I hesitantly return her grin.
“Yeah.I had some misguided autopilot setting to think stabbing myself was a good idea.”
The reminder of Zoey holding that knife, covered in her own blood, has the happy emotions in my chest fizzling out.My eyes flick to her arm, where the stitches are visible.At least I’m not picking up any scent of infection.
Yeah, werewolves can smell that.
“You were scared.”
“I short-circuited.A robot that lost its batteries.Completely shut down.Youwere scared, and I’m sorry.”
Her fingers play with the hair that curls on my forehead.The movement is so soothing that I almost lose my train of thought.But I catch hold of it.
“You’reapologizing tome?”
How could she think there’s anything she needs to say sorry for?I’m the one who fucked up.
“Yes, and I brought you an apology gift.”
