Swimming was a summer sport, and one not to be indulged in a Prada mini-dress. I was now very certain of that. Dripping little dots onto my hardwood floors, I snuck into the main room of my apartment, looking around, suspicious of whom might be hanging around. I didn't know the story behind my feys' complete lack of personal boundaries but I was determined to break them of the habit before it got ugly. Luckily the room was empty. Dorian was locked up in his coffin, safe until night fall, and I had run of the house. A very soggy, cold, miserable run.
"Quinn?" Grey was standing in the tiny hallway that led into the main room of my apartment. He looked uncertain and I frowned. "I don't have any clothes," he said, shivering. His blond hair was sticking to his face and his lips were blue. He looked like a wet dog and I grinned. The grin was widening as the scenario continued through my poor, sleep deprived brain. "What the hell are you thinking?"
My face went blank. "What do you mean?" I asked, until I realized my mistake. "No! I wasn't... Not because of the clothes..." I mumbled.
"Then the lack of clothes?"
"No!" I snarled. "Go get in the frickin' bath. I'll go get you clothes." I stopped into the kitchen ignoring the trail of water and my violent vibrations. I jiggled the teapot and got a happy slosh so I replaced it and turned the burner on.
"Why don't you go first?"
"Because if you go first you can leave before I get in." I kicked the high heels off and turned the heat up. "And then you don't have to wait for the hot water to come back."
"So you're trying to get rid of me?" He actually seemed hurt, which gave me pause. I had forgotten our conversation. We were supposed to be trying to be friends. What was it he had said? Just because he wasn't me didn't mean he was an enemy. I had always been safe assuming that I was the only trust worthy person around. Knowing how untrustworthy I was made me flinch. I was really messed up.
"Kind of," I spoke, honestly. He had a bemused smile on his face. How did I explain to him my privacy issues?
"Listen, chicky, you're more likely to get pneumonia if you stay like that." He pointed to the soaked dress. "Just get warmed up and in fresh clothes. By the time you are done we'll have food and I'll have my own clothes." I stared at him for a moment, and he stared right back. I had seen what Grey could do if he got mad enough. I was more worried about the fact that I could still admire him in his dripping silk shirt than the fact that in about two seconds I could be dead if he felt like it.
"Fine." I turned on heel and barricaded myself in the bathroom. It wasn't until I was hissing and mewling, trying to get into the bath water that I became curious of how he was planning on getting clothes, here, without leaving... If he left why couldn't he just go home and not bother me? I was scrubbing my skin with soap when it occurred to me... He was worried about me?
There was a knock on the door and I jumped. Useless bedroom lock. "Quinn? Are doing ok?" He asked through the door.
"Fine," I called back.
"Do you have a frying pan?" It took my sluggish brain far too long to process that question and when it finally got through the frozen bits and into the stream all that I could think of was why a werewolf wanted a frying pan.
"What?" Incredulity. Perhaps that would translate over the gap that existed between his brain and mine.
"You know... You fry things in it?"
"I know what it is. Why do you want it?"
"To... fry things?"
"Bastard," I mumbled and thought hard. "I might have one in the drawer beneath the stove." I wasn't certain. I think the last thing I cooked in my kitchen was popcorn. My lifestyle didn't support culinary conditioning. It was more of a "Number six with curly fries and a shake" sort of deal.
The water slowly got cold and the steam was starting to clear from my mirror. Mist carried the scent of my chai bath soap and I felt homey and comfortable, even with the oversized mutt fiddling around my kitchen. I finally dragged myself from the bath and forced myself to look at the damage inflicted by our little tussle.
My shoulder was bruised from the base of my neck to my third rib and I had a long raw looking scratch across the shoulder blade. Note to self: No home run slides off of rickety old docks. I had a gash across my cheek which ticked me off. I was Faerie Queen, by default, and I was starting to think, by blood. Still I was going to get a scar on my cheek bone. Damn it all if I wasn't a bit vain. That was the extent of the damage however. I guess I was a little better off being a tinge immortal.
I wrapped myself in the fluffy violet colored towel and edged into the bedroom. The door was firmly closed, for which I was extremely grateful, and I could smell tantalizing aromas floating in from the kitchen. Perfect, the man could cook. I was starting to run out of reasons to dislike him. Oh, never mind, I think "turns into man-eating monster monthly" covers it. I dressed in something warm, even though the bath had taken the edge off of the cold. The flannel pants and baggy, black, sweater made me want to curl up in bed and fall asleep.
When I walked into the kitchen I was assaulted by the smells of food that I didn't even know I had. There was a paper bag on the island between the kitchen and the front room. Grey's clothes? I didn't ask but instead went straight for the coffee mugs and the tea. Grey spoke without turning away from the stove. "How do you like your eggs?" I was quiet, perhaps a little too long, and he turned to look at me. His face went blank and there was a small line of concentration between his eyes.
