Page 26 of First Kiss with a Mothman

“That’s true. Reginald will protect him.”

Selena continues to study us both with apprehension, and I can’t say I blame her. But I would die before I let anyone in the frat do anything nonconsensual to Arie, and that includes me. How much of that can I convey to his family, the girl before me?

“I guess if the bird is here to pluck your mothboy wings if you try anything.”

I don’t appreciate Selena calling me mothboy, but she’s not wrong. I nod and hoist Arie closer to me so he can stand up. After reentering a much quieter frat house, I point to the room with couches where Selena can sleep over. She appears dead tired and drunk, but not nearly as messed up as Arie. She doesn’t seem eager to stay here, but I understand that she wants to sleep over where her cousin is.

After giving her a blanket and assuring her I’ll protect him, I casually guide Arie upstairs. He mutters unintelligible slurs, and I pray he already threw up everything in his stomach outside.

We make it to my loft, and Reginald swiftly flies and perches himself on the windowsill. The bird is making himself way too comfortable in my room, but I’ll need to tolerate his familiar if I want to be with Arie in the future. I mean, be with him, hanging out. Platonically.

As quickly as I can, I roll out my green sleeping bag and tuck Arie in. “No kiss goodnight?” he mutters.

“No. Sleep this off, man.”

He lays his head on the pillow and whines, “Aw, man. I’m never gonna get that kiss.”

I have no idea what he means, but I wait until he’s snoring before crawling into bed. Arie is sputtering drunken nonsense. His first time having sex shouldn’t be while inebriated, a fact I’ll re-explain to him in the morning. I wait a minute more, watching him as he drifts off. He even sleeps in an adorable manner. With that settled, I feel I can finally go to bed.

I’m in my sheets, and he’s sleeping on the floor, three feet away from me, safe and sound. I never let anyone into my room, but Arie has once again wormed his way closer to me than I thought possible. His first frat party has led to him drunkenly passing out in my house. Still, for some reason, I don’t mind the guy being in my personal space. No, I find I kind of like Arie being near me.

Chapter

Eight

ARIE

Where am I? My mouth feels toxic, and my stomach feels like death. I don’t recognize the floor I’m on. Is this a sleeping bag? I’m on some floor, but it certainly doesn’t feel or smell like my dorm room. Thank the monster god I’m wearing clothes. What happened last night?

I feel the unfamiliar pillow behind me. Breathing in the scent, I try to recognize the aroma. It smells nice, masculine, woodsy, like…someone who spends time in the forest.

Mort. It smells like Mort Rain, the monster who’s on my mind way too often. But right now my brain is pounding with a headache. I need to pee, eat, and wash my mouth, not necessarily in that order.

I feel for my shoes and walking stick, then stand up. Reginald chirps and lands on my shoulder, and I know that I’m alone. “Where are we, buddy?”

He squawks, and it lets me know I’m safe. But safety doesn’t help me find a bathroom. After clearing my throat, I put my hand out, and Reginald glides to it. “Gotta borrow you, buddy,” I murmur.

In moments, I’ve taken over his senses again. I appear to be in some sort of attic apartment. This must be Mort’s room! Vague memories flicker across my brain, sounds of him whispering that he’ll loan me a sleeping bag. For a brief hopeful moment, I wonder if Mort and I had sex. There’s no way, right?

Then I feel my clothes and my whole body. Nothing feels particularly used, so I probably just passed out.

Not wanting to draw this out, I briskly walk down the stairs. I quickly manage to find a bathroom. After placing Reginald on the counter, I do my business, grateful no one in the house seems to be awake. I borrow some frat house toiletries; mouthwash is a godsend, and whoever invented it deserves a raise. With a splash of water on my face, I feel closer to normal. My head is pounding, and my stomach grumbles, but it’s a start.

I take over Reginald again and look at myself in the mirror. My black curls are a mess. I need to add “get a haircut” to my to-do list. As well, I need to apologize to the frat. Did I throw up somewhere last night?

The aroma of eggs calls to me, so I creep down the stairs. I don’t even think about what I’m doing when I come upon Mort. He’s shirtless, dressed only in striped pajama pants. He’s deeply focused on his cooking, and it’s my first time seeing his wings. If I thought he sounded and smelled attractive, it’s nothing compared to witnessing the monster man in person.

Hot damn, his moth wings are sexy. They’re huge and dark, with light circle patterns, an exotic sight for sure. And his back, trim waist, and pert ass in those trousers have me hungry for something other than food. I understand why visual people are always staring at each other’s bodies.

But I guess I’m staring too hard, because now Mort is looking at me. The food is done, and he studies me with a perplexed look.

“Morning, Mort,” I croak in my scratchy, hungover voice.

His look of concern doesn’t go away, and he steps forward. “Arie.”

“Thank you, for, um…letting me sleep in your room. About last night.”

“You…can see?” he whispers.