Page 39 of Finders Reapers

I couldn’t move.

There was no greenery to hide the dark sky, with a moon so fat that it looked like it would fall to the ground at any moment.

The creature came crashing through the trees, hungry maw, rotting flesh, on four legs, with spittle dripping from its inch-long teeth.

It was the last thing I saw before I woke up.

I had hoped that I would feel more comfortable in my new body the following day, but as I woke up to the sun leaking through the parting in the blackout curtains, I realized that I didn’t feel any better. In fact, I felt like I had a hangover.

I kicked the comforter from my legs and scowled at the closet as if it had personally wronged me. A sense of dread filled me at the idea of fashioning another outfit from a stranger's forgotten designer wardrobe.

I wanted to wear jeans. I wanted to wear my Lucky jeans that I had had since high school, not just any jeans. Jeans that were so worn in that they felt like pajamas.

Jeans that I would probably be buried in.

Fuck that noise. I decided. I had given myself twenty-four hours. My pity party was done, and I was going to get up anddosomething.

I wouldn’t say that I was particularly focused or driven, not like my father, who people referred to as ‘the pitbull,’ but I needed something to do.

I had stayed quiet for a day. Laid low. Had a nap.

The basics. Unless you counted that I had also witnessed a massacre in a nightclub and found out that I had been spiked and potentially murdered.

Twenty-four hours to learn the lay of the land.

I’d met my colleagues (and that was what I was going to think of the guys as from now on). I just needed to keep moving, work through the bullshit, and find a new normal.

And a new normal started with clothing that actually fit and some spending money.

I grabbed one of the hotel robes from the bathroom and wrapped it around myself like armor.

First things first, I needed a shower.

I made my way to the bathroom, only to be immediately confronted with a wall of steam and a very naked Fletcher. His back was heavily tattooed with an array of portraits from various films—including Pennywise the clown.

He turned, in the middle of washing his hair, as he stared me down and made no movement to shield his cock from sight. My eyes flicked to the side, and I noticed the connecting door.

I cleared my throat and gestured to the door. “I didn’t realize that—”

Fletcher quirked a brow and tipped his head back to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

“I’ll just—”

He didn’t even look up as I made my escape, breathless.

I pressed my back against the door. The image of his naked body on the inside of my eyelids as I closed my eyes.

My mouth was dry.

My stomach churning and my fingers twitching with the desire to open the door again and to look my fill. To step under the water. To wrap my hands around his—

Damn. Death had made me a horn dog.

I had to get my head on straight. Having a shower was out of the question for now, but I still needed clothing.

Jamal would be my best bet to ask about money or find some women’s clothing. Even if he didn’t know, he probably wouldn’t make me feel like an idiot for asking.

I opened my bedroom door and poked my head around the side. When I saw the coast was clear, I padded my way to the living room and shut my door behind me. The tangy scent of fruit, coupled with warm buttery pancakes, tickled my senses, and I followed the smell until I reached the dining table behind the sectional.