He huffed sharply through his nose and disappeared around the corner again. “No.”
“Have you ever asked him to?”
“Did Roscoe ask you?” he asked, while shuffling around the refrigerator.
I let out a laugh and thought back to those first weeks of trying to improve Roscoe’s hygiene. “No, I kind of forced it on him.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Your fur is going to get knotted like that. Oh, and for future reference, this won’t happen if you keep the blow-dryer on low.”
Austin didn’t reply.
“C’mon, let me brush you,” I said, standing from the table. Only half my plate was gone, but I was too stuffed to keep eating.I stepped into the kitchen and pulled the box of cellophane from the drawer. “I mean, unless you want to go out in public looking like a stuffed animal.”
“I’ll brush myself.” His eyes lowered again. The first time he’d given me that look, I hadn’t thought much of it. This time, it was harder to ignore.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, pouring himself a glass of water. Werewolves were kind of funny when they drank anything out of a glass. They would do this half-lapping, half-sipping thing because their lips were too thin and their teeth were too long to not dribble water all over the place.
“I’m getting the brush.” I wrapped the plate in plastic wrap before placing it in the fridge for later.
“I don’t want you to brush me!”
With the incident from yesterday fresh in my mind, I winced and shook my head. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”
“God damn it, can’t you take a hint?”
“I told you I’d leave you alone, damn.”
“That’s not—” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Never mind.”
“Austin, tell me what you want. If you’re my friend, then just tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll try to fix it.”
“It’s not you,” Austin said, sauntering back into the living room with me following. He grabbed the deshedder that was lying on one of the end tables before plopping down face-first onto the couch. “Fine. Brush me.”
“Are you sure?”
He groaned in response. This wasn’t his usual moodiness; instead, this took on an almost child-like petulance. I supposed it was better than him nearly choking me to death, so I grabbed the brush and set to work on fluffy, damaged fur.
“Jeez. I need to bring out the big guns.”
Austin’s ears lowered. “Big guns?”
“I live in a house with two werewolves. I like to be prepared for these types of emergencies. Plus, spray conditioner is the only way I can get Roscoe to not smell like a garbage can.”
Austin looked pretty handsome in his newer fatigues that didn’t have holes in them, and I had done a bang-up job on taming that mess he made with his mane. In the short time I’d known him, he’d never changed those pants. Even when he shifted into his half-turn form, he didn’t remove them.
After Austin assured me he was okay, I allowed him time in his garage alone, but I gave him a hard limit. He could only stay there for an hour, then he had to come back out and sit with me. When I laid down the rules, he tucked his tail between his legs and nodded without protest. He seemed to respond positively to military-like discipline, and I kind of got a kick out of giving him commands.
My phone rang, the caller ID displayingBratalong with a picture of a crying baby. It had been a while since I’d received a call from Adam, and I’d forgotten about the Carmina Burana ringtone I’d set for him.
“What’s up?” I answered.
“Roscoe and I are halfway there. We’re on a bus.” He growled at that last part.
“Everything okay?”
