Page 14 of Not My Mate

I twitched, an automatic reaction, as if a fly had landed on my nose. He seemed to get a charge out of making me jump, or jerk away from him, or flinch away from his hands. I gave him a medium-sized glare. I didn't have the energy for a full-on burning glare.

He threw himself back on the grass and stretched his arms out wide. I edged away so his fingers wouldn't brush my side. I rubbed at the grass stain on my jeans with a sour twist to my mouth. Of course we'd started wrestling on the way here. Of course we had.

I couldn't help fighting him sometimes, and he seemed to get a kick out of it. Maybe because he was bigger and could always win if he put his mind to it. Unless I playedreallydirty. The thing he didn't seem to get, that he had never gotten, was that I wasn't playing.

"They act like I'm an alien," I muttered.

"Well, be fair. Youare."

I reached over and flicked his shoulder. He flinched a little and laughed, rolling away from me, curling around himself. I could've punched his ass from this vantage point, but I kept my hands to myself. There were certain things I just didn't do. Any physical contact that could even remotely be construed as sexual, for instance.

"Ha, ha. They're always staring at me like they want something. They could leave me alone, how about that?" I groused.

"They're trying to get to know you, ya weirdo. You could actually talk to them. Or, I don't know, let them get a sniff of you in wolf form."

Ew. Some kind of butt-sniffing, tail-wagging nonsense? "Well, I don't do that."

"You talk to me," he observed.

"I tell you what a piece of shit you are," I countered.

He huffed and lay still for a moment, then rolled back to face me. Lying on his side in the green, soft grass, he looked less intimidating and obnoxious than he usually did. He looked almost soft. Evenfriendly, maybe.

Huh. I turned away so I didn't have to look him in the eyes. It always made me deeply uncomfortable, looking people in the eyes.

"You like me a little, don't lie." He reached out and touched my thigh with one finger.

I twitched. "You're a piece of shit," I informed him, no compromise in my voice. I sat up and dusted at the grass stains, paying special attention to the spot he'd just touched, trying to brush off the contact. It felt like I couldn't get rid of either the stains or his touch.

"You know you don't mean that. I know you don't mean that. So, take it back."

He was getting up from the grass now, a rougher sound in his voice, and I gave him an angry, perturbed look. He rose to his knees, looking at me, swaying slightly, like a spider ready to pounce — and then he did.

I tried to backpedal, but he'd aimed true, and knocked me back. I yelped, made my hands into fists, and began punching at his ribs. He huffed and made a growling sound and rolled around on top of me, scrabbling for my arms, pinning me. He was heavy, and forcing the breath from me. I turned my face away, trying not to whimper or growl.

Maybe I should shift. Maybe I should shift right now and bite him.

He was growling, though, and, deliberately, he pressed his face against my bared neck. Or, more specifically, his lips.

They were warm and damp and soft, surprisingly soft; ticklish, too. I froze. He'd never done that before — kissed me, during a fight or otherwise, on the neck or anywhere else.

Now a gutted little sound did escape me. The frozen horror of it melted into fiery fury and ice, and I redoubled my efforts to get him off me.

"Hey — hey — hey." He sounded both alarmed and like he was trying to be soothing at the same time. The asshole.

"You're a piece of shit." My voice sounded trembly and tearful. "Get off me.Get the fuck off me!"

He got the fuck off me.

I sat up and turned away from him, feeling filthy and shaken, like I was probably going to be sick all over the awful, beautiful green grass.

"I hate you," I told him, not looking at him. I didn't want him to see the tears in my eyes. I couldn't stand for him to see me as even weaker than he already had. I got to my feet unsteadily and walked away; I didn't care where. A hollow, hurt emptiness was opening up inside me. It felt like it would never end, like a black hole pulling the rest of me in to follow, swallowing me whole, and it would never go away.

"Charlie! Charlie, come on," he said, half alarmed, half pleading. There was no teasing in his words, though. I guessed that even he wouldn't dare do that right now.

No. Never looking at you again. You fucking prick. I hate you. I really, really hate you.

"Charlie, I'm sorry, okay? Come back. Charlie, don't be like that. I'm sorry, okay? Charlie."