“I’m in lust with the biggest asshole I’ve ever met. That’s all it is. Pure, superficial lust.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yes.” I grab my purse from under the counter. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him smile. Not once. He’s not my type at all.”
“And what is your type?” Sally asks as we head toward the door.
“Nice guys,” I say firmly. “Guys who smile and say hello and actually know my name.”
“Boring guys,” Sally laughs.
I shoot her a look. “Safe guys.”
“Same thing. If I weren’t already married and totally in love with my husband, I would take that one for a spin. I’m pretty sure he knows his way around a woman’s body and then some. It wouldn’t be boring at all.”
“Sally!” I gasp, and she laughs.
We step out into the midday heat, and I deliberately don’t look toward where Grim’s vehicle is parked. I don’t need to torture myself any more than I already have today.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I say as we walk toward the small café down the street where we usually grab lunch. “I’m most certainly not his type, so there’s no use even thinking about it.”
Sally loops her arm through mine. “How do you know what his type is?”
“Have you seen the female shifters on this island?” I gesture vaguely. “They’re gorgeous. All of them. Tall, athletic, beautiful. I’m…” I trail off, not wanting to say it out loud.
“You’re what?”
“I’m short and plain and mousy,” I finish quietly. “I’m several pounds overweight… Okay, more than just several.” I sigh. “I’m the girl guys like Grim look right through.”
“Wren—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off, forcing brightness into my voice.
Sally opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but then seems to think better of it. Instead, she just squeezes my arm and changes the subject to something about a new restaurant opening up near the market district.
I nod and smile and make appropriate responses, but part of my mind is still back at the clinic, replaying the moment Grim looked at me with his cold stare and growled, “Well? Aren’t you going to vaccinate him?”
He doesn’t even know my name.
It’s better that way. It really is.
3
Grim
I swear that the sun, even at half-mast, is trying to kill me.
I wipe my sweaty face with the bottom of my shirt as I guide the old lawnmower across the last strip of Falkor’s overgrown yard. The damned thing keeps sputtering like it’s about to die. I’m shocked that it’s held on long enough for me to finish the job.
Thank fuck!
The sun is thinking about setting, and it’s well past the end of my shift. I couldn’t leave the place looking like it did. So whenI dropped the old male off, much to my disgust, I found myself asking him if he had a lawnmower.
I cut the engine and grab the mower’s handle and drag it toward the small shed at the side of the house.
The door hangs crooked on its hinges, and I have to lift it to get it open. Inside, it smells like old wood and motor oil. I shove the mower into a corner next to a collection of rusty gardening tools. I’ll have to come back on the weekend with my tools and sort this place out.
When I turn around, Falkor is standing on his porch with two glasses. His face lights up when he sees me.
