Page 39 of Riot

He probably would.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I spun to face him. “You’re just standing there looking all…all stoic and mysterious and attractive. How am I supposed to have an existential crisis when you’re leaning against the wall like a model on a magazine cover?”

“You want me to look worse?”

“Yes. No… Maybe.” I dropped onto the edge of his bed, the mattress firm beneath me. The comforter smelled like him, and all I wanted to do was wrap it around me. “Am I dating a wolf? Is that what’s happening here?”

“If you want to be.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Stop asking questions you already know the answer to.”

A laugh burst out of me, half-hysterical, half-genuine. I flopped backward onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The paint was white. Ordinary. Nothing supernatural about it. “You have a very nice ceiling. No cracks. Very well-maintained.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I pressed my palms against my eyes until colors bloomed behind the lids. “Okay. Okay. So you’re a wolf. Fine. Great. I can handle that. People handle things all the time. My mom handled my dad’s death. Niles handles his father’s passive-aggressive tie boxes. I can handle my maybe-boyfriend being a dog.”

“Wolf.”

“Stop correcting me.”

“Stop calling me a dog.”

“Stop blowing my mind.”

I sat up fast enough to make myself dizzy. “Show me.”

Riot’s eyebrow lifted. “Show you?”

“The wolf thing.” I flapped my hand. “The changing thing. Whatever you call it.” My heart thumped against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat. “I need to see it. Otherwise, I’m going to convince myself I imagined the whole thing, and then tomorrow I’ll show up expecting orgasmic food and instead I’ll have a complete breakdown because I repressed everything.”

“You sure?”

“No. Absolutely not.” I pushed off the bed and started pacing again, three steps to the dresser, three steps back. “But I’m doing it anyway. Rip off the bandage. Face the music. Insert third cliché here.”

Pausing at the window, I stared at my reflection. Behind it, the darkness pressed against the glass, and I could make out the shape of trees and the faint glow of a security light near the fence. Somewhere in this place, the puppy was probably sleeping. The regular, definitely-not-a-wolf puppy who ran sideways and terrified me for no good reason.

Except now there was a reason. Maybe my instincts had known something my brain hadn’t caught up with.

“Calvin.” Riot’s voice pulled me back. “You’re shaking.”

I looked down at my hands. He was right. My fingers trembled against my thighs, fine tremors that I couldn’t seem to stop. “I guess I am.”

“Do you want me to show you or not?” His tone wasn’t impatient. Just careful. Like he was giving me an out if I needed one.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and squared my shoulders. My legs felt rubbery, but I locked my knees and lifted my chin. “Do it. Show me. I’m ready.”

“Okay.” He pushed off the wall and took a step toward the center of the room. “You might want to give me some space.”

“Right. Space. How much space?” I was already backing toward the bed. “This much? More? Should I leave the room entirely? Is this one of those things where I need protective eyewear?”

“Breathe.”

I dragged air into my lungs. Then another breath. My calves hit the bed frame, and I dropped to the bed with a bounce.

Riot reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, dropping the fabric to the floor.