Sawyer thumbs across my cheek softly, wiping away the wetness. “It’ll be okay, Mav. I promise. You can crash with me for as long as it takes. It’ll be alright.”
“When will it be alright?” I ask, voice tight with emotion. I thought Walt and I were endgame. Sure, he bitched aboutnot being able to have the rough sex he’s always wanted, but I thought that was a small thing.
Walt never actually tried to help me with it, either. He just tried to shove his entire dick in me and pound away. Maybe I should have given him?—
No! No, I won’t blame myself because he cheated. It’s not my fault. I constantly asked if he was okay with our sex life, if he had any complaints and he said no. That what we had was fine.
Lying sack of shit.
“I can’t answer that,” Sawyer says. “But some man will make you endlessly happy when you decide to put yourself out there again. I know it.”
I love my best friend so much. When I told him there was no way I could live with Walt a minute longer, he didn’t hesitate to offer me his space even though he lives in a shoebox of an apartment. Sometimes, I wish I had romantic feelings for Sawyer. He’s kind, thoughtful, funny, and easy on the eyes. But he’s straight and we’ve only ever been friends.
Thanking him, I look out the window at the scenery passing us by and wonder what I’m going to do. I have to move forward with my life, but that’s going to be hard. With barely any savings and no family in the area, other than Sawyer, I’m on my own. I have to buck the fuck up and figure my shit out. I can break down when I have my head above water.
Sighing, I pull out my phone and start looking for an apartment of my own.
Life took a turn, and my world is off-kilter, but I’m not the first man to be cheated on and I won’t be the last. I’ll heal.
Eventually.
three
RECLINER
Six monthslater
Blossom opens her garage door,and I can feel the sun’s rays on my leather. After being packed up for months, it feels great to have the cool breeze blowing over me again.
She moves around the garage, using magic to transport the items from our confinement.
I wonder if some lamps and tables and coat racks are shifters too. Too bad I can’t communicate with them to ask.
As part of the curse Blossom put on me, I can only see or smell in this form, not speak. I’m privy to the world but can’t provide any input on what goes on. I’m sure it has to do with how persuasive I am. Decades ago, when I was first cursed, I would have found the first smoking hot man I could, convinced him he was my mate, and he’d have taken me home where I could shift and get the fuck out of my predicament.
Unfortunately, Blossom is a smart witch and thought of everything.
Also, I’ve learned that even though I hate it, I deserve to be where I am.
If I were able to talk my way out of my punishment, I’d have done something else stupid that would have landed me in worse trouble than being trapped in my shifted form.
“Alright, your turn,” Blossom says to me, wiggling her fingers. A lightness fills me as she uses her magic to move me to the end of the driveway. “The first yard sale of the season. Do you feel lucky?”
Nope, not at all. After over forty years in this form, I’m sure I’ll end up dying a recliner. Hopefully, someone sits on me before I perish.
Or I get thrown in the incinerator when I’m too old to be of value to anyone.
Even though it’s early in the morning, many people come out to the yard sale, checking out Blossom’s items. I’ll admit, she has a lot of beautiful things, which is probably why I stand out so starkly. On one table, she has a bunch of lamps that look as if they were made from thousands of crystals: the jewels reflecting off the sun. At the end of the driveway are nice, high-back chairs that look like they belong in some kind of museum. On racks near the mailbox are clothes fit for a runway model.
Then there’s me, a fucking bright-ass, mustard yellow recliner that looks as if it’s barely holding on, cracks everywhere and dust embedded deeply in my leather. Blossom only wipes me down when it’s time for a sale and let’s say that doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.
As soon as I’m a human again, I’m going to take a nice long shower, cleaning every nook and fucking cranny.
The day drones on and people give me looks of disgust or pretend I’m not even there, edging around me without letting any parts of their body brush against my form. They probably think I’ll leave dirt behind if they get too close. I project my pheromones, hoping to attract my mate, but no one gives me more than a quick glance.
I’m hopeful when two women amble over, appraising me. While I’m more partial to men, I’ll never turn down a good-looking woman.
“Does she expect to sell this?” one woman asks her companion as she kicks my foot rest with her heavy boot. If I had a voice, I’d cry out in pain. That shit hurts! Who thinks it's okay to go around and kick furniture?! She probably kicks puppies too.
