Page 63 of Slow Heat

“You saw the other night how bad I am at schmoozing.”

“You were charming.”

“I was silent and I let you down.”

“You are entirely too hard on yourself. You’re nineteen. Give yourself some time to grow into your puppy feet. You’ll be fine.”

“Puppy feet?”

Vale laughed. “Just something I thought of the first time I saw you. You’re still filling out, not quite entirely grown. You move like a puppy, all big feet and hands. It’s sweet.”

“I need to be more than sweet to you.”

“Oh, believe me, you can be. You are.”

Jason’s heart raced and his cock grew semi-hard. Determined not to let Vale think he was an out of control alpha by making this phone call all about sex again, he changed the topic. “What are the magazines you’re sorting?”

“A stack of poetry and creative writing magazines from about five years ago. I always meant to look through them, but never found the time. That’s something I’ve got plenty of now.”

“What about poems? Are you working on any?”

“Some are percolating, but nothing’s grabbed me by the throat and insisted I write it. I’ve scribbled a few words here and there, but nothing good. Why?”

“I loved what I read. I’d like to see more.”

“You can just re-read those for now.”

“I’ve memorized them. I have a photographic memory.”

Vale was silent for a long moment. “That’s unusual. I’m sure that serves you well in your classes.”

“It does. I honestly think it’s unfair. But it’s not like I can turn it off.” Jason listened to Vale’s breath for a moment and then recited, “‘breath of light that falls on sweat soaked skin, wolf-god sings his prayers.’”

“I haven’t thought of that poem in a very long time.”

“I liked it. And this one, too: ‘salamander eyes glisten in time to a pulsing heart i cannot find’.”

“Truly, that’s abominable. I should be ashamed of calling myself a poet!”

“It’s beautiful. No one else would ever think of those words. Only you.”

“Maybe it would be better if I hadn’t.”

“Stop.” A bubble of irritation filled his voice with command. “Be happy that you please your alpha.”

“Oh,” Vale said, a bit breathlessly. “You’re going to tell me how to feel?”

“If you’re being wrong-headed, yes.”

“And ifyou’rebeing wrong-headed, oh, mighty alpha?”

“Feel free to point it out.” He nodded firmly. “I can handle being told I’m wrong. But I’m not wrong about the poems. Have you ever seen salamander eyes?”

Vale still sounded breathless when he replied, “There used to be a variety of salamanders in my pater’s garden. He would capture them sometimes to show me the different colors and variety. I imagine they’ve made quite the home out there now that I’ve let the place go.”

Jason closed his eyes, soaking in the tenderness of Vale’s tone when he spoke of his pater. “No green thumb on you?”

“Urho says I’m lazy and maybe he’s right, but if it comes between reading and gardening, I’ll take reading. Though reading in a garden is always a nice compromise.”