Page 8 of Someone Else's Wolf

His smile was rueful and apologetic. "Sure. Cross my heart." He crossed his fingers instead, staring at me, and I wondered if he realized he'd just made the symbol for not meaning a promise, or if he really thought that was the right gesture at the moment. I didn't call him on it.

His smile grew soft and sly. "So, if I offered you food now, you wouldn't turn me down?"

"I...um..." Did I really want to do this? Spend more time with him, with things as weird and complicated and work-related as they were? If I messed things up and chased him off, I'd be sorry for multiple reasons. Also, I didn't want to hurt him. Or for him to realize I'd fantasized about him. That would be worse than worrying about someone else's blood sugar, even.

My traitorous stomach rumbled.

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "It's okay. I won't force you to eat with me! Sounds like you should head home and get something in your stomach, though. I mean, skipping breakfast and supper would be..." He stopped, looking faintly alarmed. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? Sorry. I hate to see anybody going hungry."

Was that all it was? I felt faintly relieved. Maybe he really was just a little intense about food. That would make sense, considering how shifters felt about food in general. They needed to eat a lot to keep up the metabolism that allowed them to shift. I'd read it was painful to go hungry — one of the worst things a shifter could experience.

Of course, at the time, I'd been reading the website of a charity for shifters. But I'd believed it enough to donate to their emergency food pantry budget. Everyone knew shifters needed to eat more than others just to maintain their metabolism; it stood to reason it would be painful to skip meals or go without food. And if he saw the entire world through that lens, of course it would make sense for him to be worried about me, or anyone, going without.

"Why are you staring at me?" He looked uncomfortable. "What did I say wrong?"

"Nothing. Thanks. For thinking of me." Since he could do it without being awkward, I could, too. I clapped a hand on his shoulder and tried not to think gay thoughts. "You're a good guy, Peter."

"Thanks." He looked faintly blown away, as if my opinion actually mattered to him. "You, uh, you too."

I laughed, feeling lighter somehow. "Yeah, sure I am. Okay, wise guy, if you want to feed me, this is your chance. I promise not to turn it down, no matter what weird thing you make."

"Make?" He looked faintly stunned. "You'll let mecookfor you? I thought — no, of course I'd like to cook. I'm great at it. Do you mean you want to come home with me?"

That wasn't the reaction I'd expected. I'd figured he'd tease me a little and offer snails on the menu, or raw meat, or something else that would gross me out. I'd figured on teasing, not this blown-away expression that made him look stripped raw and vulnerable and soft.

I began to backpedal. "If it's a big deal—"

"No." He reached out, caught my hand, and held on to it, meeting my gaze, leaving me stunned. "No, I'd love to cook for you. Get in your car and follow me home. I'll take care of you."

Would he, though? I felt somewhat blown away myself. I couldn't think straight with him staring at me like that and holding my hand. "Sure. Uh...okay." I pulled away, and he released me quickly, as if he didn't realize he'd been holding my hand.

"Sorry."

"Yeah, um. I'll just... Let me get my things." I pointed one way, then back the other, and turned around, flustered, heading back to my locker.

Could I really follow him home? Feeling the way I did? There were some mixed messages going on here, even if it was all in my head. He'd promised to take care of me. He was taking me home with him. It was distracting, to say the least. It didn't feel like this was about food at all.

Was I really going through with this? It probably wasn't about sex, either, but that didn't stop my brain from being really alert to certain possibilities at the moment. He probably didn't have that sort of thing in mind at all. But, hell, if he could smell my blood sugar levels, he could probably tell that I was into him, as well.

So, did that mean hewasinterested in sex? Surely, he wouldn't invite me home knowing I was, if he wasn't. Did that make sense? I was all twisted around, confused and distracted. He was sure sending out some mixed messages. Holding my hand...

I tried to think. If this wasn't about food, and he took me home and we had sex, would it make a mess of things at work? I still didn't want to be the one chasing him off, and I didn't want any more peculiar scenes like today, when everyone had gotten mad at me after I'd hurt his feelings.

Would sex make things better, or worse? It was hard to be impartial right now. And that might not even be what was going on here. After all, he was a wolf shifter, and I wasn't; there were things I didn't get about him, probably never would.

And when had I gotten so horny that a touch of the hand and some intense eye contact was enough to make me feel this way? I must be pretty pathetic. Maybe I should be getting laid more often — with someone outside of work, for instance, who couldn't send my career to hell if something went wrong.

Oh, he wouldn't do anything on purpose; he wasn't that kind of guy, I was fairly sure. But he also seemed to show everything he was feeling on his face. He was big and raw and vulnerable, and he'd be so easy to hurt. And whatever I did to hurt him would almost surely end up boomeranging back to hurt me somehow.

Was that what Sue had been upset about? Thinking I was going to have sex with her partner and hurt him or let him down? But, no, that would mean she knew he was interested in me, and there was a possibility of me returning the feeling. Which wasn't possible — unless he was as open and clueless with her as he was with everyone else.

Which would mean that yes, when he realized I was gay, he'd told her, or had let something slip without realizing it. He struck me as the sort of guy who could do that easily. Either thinking he'd kept it a secret while he was being really obvious with her, or trusting his partner so much that it didn't even occur to him not to share everything with her.

By the time I'd gotten my things from my locker, I was thinking a little more clearly. There were a lot of good reasons not to have sex, and only one good to have sex: horniness.

So, this was going to be about food, as little as I liked that idea. Food, just food, and ignoring any subtext. I would be deaf, blind, and dumb to subtext. Even if it killed me.

CHAPTER FOUR