Page 4

I glanced at Kaspian as I drove through downtown Salem. As much as I appreciated the tight clothes, I couldn't leave him like that. So, now that the audience to his paranormal performance was in the dust, we had time for some normal shit.

“There are so many signs,” Kaspian said. “These are shops?”

I looked over to see some unexpected vulnerability in his face. Kas, like me, was processing things. Which made him seem even more believable. That ferocity in his eyes was gone, replaced by uncertainty. In short, he looked scared. So, he wasn't lying. Either, he really was from another world or he really believed he was.

“Yeah. Can you read their signs?” I asked, just to distract him.

“No.” He looked at me. “Are they in your language?”

“Yup.” I saw a store I liked and pulled into a space in front of it. It helped that it was an off-hour. “Let's get you some better-fitting clothes.”

“I would like that.” Kaspian figured out the seatbelt himself and got out to stand on the sidewalk and stare up and down it.

By the time I came around the hood, he was peering into the window of the men's clothing store while passersby were peering at him. I caught a woman gawking, and she blushed before hurrying past. How could I get upset when I was the one who put him in those clothes? So, I just stepped past Kaspian, opened the door, and waved him inside. As big as he was, I worried that we wouldn’t find anything to fit him. The guy was massive. Slabbed with muscle and taller than me. And I'm six foot.

“Hey.” I nodded at the salesclerk.

He looked up from his phone, behind the counter, where he slouched on a stool, and grinned in that polite way salesclerks do. The I-don't-know-you-but-I-want-you-to-trust-me grin. Then he saw Kaspian. His grin dissolved into a gape.

“Yeah, we need to get him some new clothes,” I said to the guy's look. “We had a situation, and he lost his. These are mine.”

“Ah, I uh, yeah I get it.” The man cleared his throat and sort of melted off the stool. He came around the counter, looking Kas up and down. “I think we have some things that should fit you. Wow. You lift or what? I bet you can press three hundred. Or is it more? I'll bet it's more. I probably just insulted you with the three.”

Kaspian frowned deeper and deeper as the man spoke. “Lift three hundred of what?”

“No, he doesn't lift weights.” I laid a hand on Kas to reassure him that I'd take over. “He's just very active.”

“Wow. Dude, you won the genetic lottery. I couldn't get biceps like those even if I went to the gym every day. And I totally protein pack. One gram for every pound. You know?”

“Protein pack,” Kas repeated.

“Yup, he eats a lot of protein,” I interpreted. “It helps with building muscle.”

“Ah. Yes, I eat a lot of meat,” Kaspian said.

As I coughed to cover my laugh, the salesclerk snorted. “I'll bet. Okay, come on back. We keep your size in the back of the store. We don't get a lot of big guys like you, but we get large ones.” He looked back at us and lifted his brows. “If you know what I mean.”

“I do not.” Kas looked at me and scowled as if the guy's speech was my fault.

“He means a lot of guys with, uh, well . . .”

“I mean Oregon's a foodie state, brother.” The guy stopped at a rack for big and tall men. “We got some hardworking folk like you who are fit—you know, farmers and loggers, that sort. Then we got the gym rats like me, and we got those guys who just don't care. God bless 'em.” He chuckled. “I'll tell you what, after years of drinking protein shakes every morning, I may give up too.”

“They don't care about what?” Kas asked.

“About how they look. You know.” He motioned his hand out from his body. “They eat what they want and sit at a desk all day. The fat and happy guys. Good for them, I say!”

“Ah. Yes.” Kaspian went to the rack and inspected the garments. “You mean they have more body fat than muscle.”

“Whoa, buddy. You have a nice way of saying things. You from England or somethin'?”

“Somethin',” I said.

The guy chuckled. “Well, have a look around. There are pants over there, hoodies over here, and we even sell underwear, if you need some.”

“He does.” I looked at Kaspian's ass—couldn't be helped. Automatic reaction. “Um. I'm not sure what size.”

“XL at least,” the salesperson said. “Damn, buddy. You must have a hard time finding jeans. Your waist is tight, but you got big thighs and an ass that would make Channing Tatum feel inadequate.”

I burst out laughing and fist-bumped the guy. “Good one.”

Kaspian narrowed his stare at me.

“It's a compliment. He's saying you have a nice body.”

“Oh. Thank you very much.” Kas inclined his head.

“Well, we got some drawstring pants over there. We keep them for the bohemians—AKA potheads.” The man winked at me. “But I think your buddy can make them work with a nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Those will be great, I'm sure. Can you grab him some basic underwear in XL?”

“Yeah, he'd better go for the stretchy stuff.” The guy strode off.

“What is a pot head?” Kaspian whispered to me.

I snorted a laugh. “Uh, you don't need to know about them.”

He pulled out a few shirts, handing each selection to me as he went along. “Pick those which will be best for me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Kas lifted a shirt and peered at it. “The stitching on this is incredible. How does the seamstress get them so tiny and even? And what are these buttons made of?”

“Machines make them, not seamstresses. The buttons are a man-made material called plastic.”

He narrowed his stare at me. “Machines that sew clothing?”

“I swear.” I held up a hand. “I mean, someone operates the machine, but the sewing machine makes the even stitches. The person just has to put the fabric together and hold them in place for the machine to do its thing.”

“Machines making clothing,” Kas murmured. “That is fascinating.” He spotted something on another rack and grabbed it—a sweater. “Ha! Machines could not have made this.”

“Actually.” I made a wincing expression.

“No.” He inspected the sweater, turning it inside out so he could see the seams. “No, this must be knitted.”

“There are knitting machines.”

“That's not possible.”

I shook my head. “We're just getting started. Wait until you see an airplane.”

“An air plane? Is that a machine that uses Air Magic?”

“Again, no magic here. It employs science. And frankly, I don't understand how it works. It boggles my mind every time I fly.”

“Fly?” Kaspian's arms fell to his sides. “Humans can fly?”

“ In airplanes.”

“Inside an air machine?”

“It's . . . yes. It's a vehicle. Like a car. But it has wings.”

“Now, I know you are jesting.”

“The wings are stationary.” I held out my arms straight to the sides. “When the plane moves forward, air currents are split by the wings. Currents over the top are decreased while those beneath get stronger and push the plane up. They just have to go really fast and the air pressure keeps the plane aloft.”

“You have an amazing imagination, Demetrius.” Kas chuckled and returned to shopping.

I snorted and considered showing him a plane on my phone. But I decided against it. Too much, too soon, could really freak him out. And I didn't want to see what Kaspian was like when he freaked out.

So, I went to the pants section and found him a few options, holding my tongue when he muttered to himself about silly humans and their make-believe stories. This wasn't the place to show him how wrong he was. But when I got him alone, I was going to blow Kaspian's . . . uh . . . mind. Right. His mind. That's what I would blow.

I glanced over my shoulder at his tight, round ass, and mentally groaned. He had to be straight, right? What were the odds that a gorgeous, magical man would also be gay? I lifted my brow, hope ever blooming, and thought, Probably about the same as an alien landing naked in a burning forest.