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The bed lump shifts.
My heart lodges itself in my throat. “What guy?”
“What guy? You know. The taken one you have a crush on, you delightful homewrecker you.”
A tiny nose peeks from beneath the covers. I boop it.
“Oh. That guy.”
“Is happily ever after on the horizon? Are there still stupid plot points in the way?” She spears a hand straight up, then flicks her index finger toward me. “I will help you hide a body. Just in case you need to know that.”
“I appreciate you so much, A.”
“I take my role as big sister very seriously.”
“As displayed by the fact you only tried to drown me in a kiddie pool once.”
She scoffs. “Well, I didn’t always like you. Mom made you sound like a platinum, deluxe edition, collector’s Barbie. She failed to accurately depict how much spit up you’d produce.” She claps. “Guy.”
I have no idea what to say about the guy. Considering his little nose is a foot away from me, everything seems off limits. Sure, he’s heard half the conversations I’ve had with my sister over the course of the past year, but now that I know he can hear them, things are different.
Prior to my knowing, the idea of him overhearing every raw, unfiltered comment makes me fuzzy inside.
He’s seen me be absolutely mental with my sister and still looks at me as though I’m precious and in need of protection.
Now? Now it’s embarrassing.
Now he knows I know, so he can assume I’m reacting from a place that wants him to hear what I’m saying, and the things I want to say? The things I want to say are manic. The kind of manic that has led to my loss of way too many friends over the years.
I don’t think you can lose a soulmate—if the pillow smothering of Willow and Zy is any indication—but I still don’t want to be annoying. The last thing I’d want is a strained soulmateship.
“Are things that bad?” Alana prompts. “Is the other woman a great person, thus barring you from acting on your feelings due to the sisterhood of female support?”
“No. Nothing like that. Everything’s great. Just…complicated.” Funny. It’s like I’ve inherited Ollie’s role of being discreet with the situation.
“Complicated. That’s never good. Drop him like a rotten tomato and let him become the compost of your future fling.”
I tap Ollie’s head. “What do you think, Oxford? Can I tell her?”
“Yes,” Alana chimes in. “You can tell her everything. Don’t ask the dog that hates me for his opinion.”
Ollie stretches out, turning human beneath me. My heart skips as I find myself seated atop his lower back as he splays his arms across my pillow. For a much longer moment than I care to consider, the only thought in my head is that my bed is going to smell like him.
Resting his cheek on his folded hands, he lets his eyes close. “Even if you tell her everything, it won’t make much sense.”
“But…I’m allowed?”
“Of course.”
Turning to my sister, I grin so hard my face hurts. “Alana. Don’t freak out. I’m not on drugs.”
She pops upright, swings her legs off the bed, and plants her chin in her palms. “What a compelling hook. Do tell me more.”
“Oxford doesn’t hate you.”
“Someone get a breathalyzer. If it’s not drugs, it’s alcohol.”
“Okay. I don’t think he hates you.” I take a deep breath. “It’s just that he’s actually a faerie called a werecanine who can shift into a chihuahua, and he happens to be my mate—as in soulmate—so he’s very nice to me, but he’s not interested in letting just anyone treat him like a little puppy, because I imagine it’s embarrassing. It’s probably even embarrassing when I do it, but I have some kind of soulmate immunity that compels him to allow it begrudgingly.” I pat him between the shoulder blades. “Is that right?”
