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CODY
"I haven't smoked in years," said Robert, as he smoked one of my cigarettes.
"Don't start bad habits on account of me," I told him, a bit irritated that he'd asked for one if he didn't smoke. "I don't want to be bad for you."
"You aren't." He handed it back after a couple of puffs. The look he gave me was one of pure warmth. "I have the feeling you're going to be great for me. I haven't felt so alive in years. Maybe ever."
He stretched deliciously, and I let my eyes wander. He was worth looking at. A fine body that had been lived in, not sculpted perfection. He'd gotten hit by the genetic lottery as far as I was concerned. I would never look like him, even if I worked out every day of my life. (And I absolutely knew myself well enough to know that would never happen.)
He was perfect, to my eyes, but not in an airbrushed sort of way. Even the slight "imperfections" about him—a little scar here, his slightly crooked nose, or the place where his chest hair had a few grays mixed in—it was all perfect to me.
"Listen," said Robert. "It's not an easy topic, but it needs to be said. I don't want you to have to quit your job to follow me. If someone has to quit, let's talk about it first, okay? Maybe it should be me."
I stared at him. "We were both thinking of quitting, but nobody has to, right?"
"Sure. But if it's, well, if it starts to matter, I want us to talk about it first, okay? Because maybe it should be me, not you."
I had a funny feeling down my spine. "You, um, think we won't do well if we're separated?"
"I don't know," he said.
He met my gaze now, steady, saying without words what neither of us had said out loud: he might be my mate. This was all happening so fast that it was possible. If it was, he didn't want it all to be on me. He wanted to share the burden of the complicated world we'd have to navigate, if I was that attached to him.
This was the most considerate thing he could focus on—and the scariest, in a way. I felt my face heat.
"I don't know," I said, trying not to stammer. "I'm not sure it's— Anyway, why are we talking about this?"
He didn't back down. "Because I want us to be equal in the ways that matter. And if you have to change everything for me, but not vice versa, that's not equal. So I'll be more flexible if I need to be. I'll do what it takes to keep you in my life, if we're serious. I need you to know that."
"All right," I said. My face was still hot. But I had the feeling he was right, and I'd needed to hear that.
If it turned out he was my mate, he was clear-eyed about it. He didn't mind. And he wouldn't use that fact to get me to do what he wanted. It was shocking how much of a message his few words—and his poignant look—had communicated. It left me reeling.
"And I gave you a cigarette," I said, disgusted, putting it out carefully.
"Well," said Robert, a laugh in his voice, "I did ask for it."
He opened his arms for me as I tunneled back into bed with him. A soft chuckle greeted me as I started to kiss him again. I felt too emotional to talk anymore. This was better, anyhow. I could say what I felt better with my body than with words right now.
The fact that he was okay with it if he was my mate? That he wanted me to know he'd be considerate and strive for equality? It blew me away, to be honest.
How was this guy so damned perfect, and why hadn't he been snatched up by a wonderful partner long ago? Maybe I shouldn't question my good fortune there, just enjoy this. After all, if it was just a dream—
No. A dream would be over by now. He had to be real.
Somehow.
#
He left. I saw him to his car and kissed him goodbye. There was a tinge of unreality about it, as if I felt like I wasn't really there, or this wasn't actually happening, and he'd be there again tomorrow morning.
I went to work. I didn't know what to do with myself. Sometimes I found myself smiling for no reason. And sometimes I felt like crying and wasn't sure why.
Despite me thinking that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't that serious yet, neither of us had to leave our jobs unless we wanted to, and it was fine, I was fine, I could do long-distance just fine, it actually really fucking hurt.
Why, I wondered, did I have to attach myself to someone who traveled all the time? Shouldn't we have more time together to settle the newness of our relationship, maybe work out a few things, before we had to figure out the long distance thing? It wasn't fair.
But, what also wasn't fair (but in a good way) was me actually falling for someone as wonderful as Robert and having him like me back. Unless I was in complete rose-colored-glasses land, he was a pretty great guy, steady and kind and trustworthy, a man of honor—and damned hot as well. The fact that I'd fallen for someone like him, instead of a rotten egg? Pretty amazing. The fact that he liked me back? Unheard of.
How could I make this right? Should I quit after all and follow him? Should I just grit my teeth and get through a little time first so I was sure I wasn't acting just from hormones? Or should I tell him he needed to quit his job for me? Despite what he'd said, that was the thing I least wanted to do. It would be asking too much.
Just before my lunch break, Tomas came over and brought me a bag of food truck tacos. They smelled wonderful. He patted me quietly on the shoulder, a look of sympathy in his eyes, but he didn't try to say anything, just left me to eat. I remembered to say thank-you, at least.
Unexpectedly, Riley was there just before I finished eating. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, looking nervous—but that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was him actually standing by my desk waiting to talk to me.
I gave him a questioning look but didn't say anything because my mouth was still full. Was it possible the tacos were supposed to be for him and he wanted them back? Well, if so, it was pretty much too late. I raised my brows.
"You shouldn't have to stay here just because I can't do the work," he said, all in a rush. "I know it's my fault. But it's not—maybe it's not—" He stopped, gulped. "It's not worth losing out on a mate connection. If—I mean, if that's what..." He couldn't go on, but stood there looking like he was getting ready to hyperventilate.
I took pity on him. "Thank you for saying that. Don't worry, I get it. I don't blame you for my job. Thanks for what you said." I looked him in the eye. "I might quit, it's true. I don't blame you—but I think your husband will blame me."
He looked startled at the thought, and blinked a few times, before jerking his head in an awkward nod, and turning to leave.
"Thanks," I told his hulking back. He was trying to be kind—and surprisingly, I felt better after his words.
Of course, when put in perspective, no job, no amount of pride to not be seen rushing after a man, was worth losing out on that once in a lifetime chance at a mate. It wasn't really a choice between one thing and the other right now. It was a question of if, whether, and how much, how fast. But when he put it into simple words like that—a job or a mate—it was no contest, really.
I would have to call my Robert this evening and level with him about how much I missed him already. I would have to be honest with him. After all, if it was going to be a mate connection, he needed to be kept up to speed. He needed to know what I was dealing with—because potentially, he'd be dealing with it soon, too.
I thought about it all the way through the work day, and towards home. In the end, I wasn't sure it was a mate connection. A lot of shifters seem to just know, but for me it felt complicated with a whole bunch of mind chatter, things I just wasn't sure about and didn't quite want to trust.
I got out of my car at home, still thinking way too hard about all of this. When I slammed the car door, I heard a cough. An embarrassed-sounding cough—and a familiar one. I turned, heart beating wildly. "Robert?!"
He stood there, arms crossed, looking at me. He looked almost shy. He straightened up and walked towards me, his steps deliberate. I was grinning too hard to hide now. I leaned into him, molding my body against his, and gently played with his collar, smiling.
"What are you doing here?"
"I have some personal days. I thought maybe it would be better to use some of them than to rush off right away."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're perfect?"
He cleared his throat, scratched at the back of his neck. "No."
"Well, you are." I kissed him.