Page 30 of Real

I’m getting ahead of myself. If I allow myself to hope for all that, returning to my closet at Dorian’s house will be even harder.

Timothy slides his phone back into his pocket. “I have a friend named Manny who is involved in a lot of rescue missions to free trafficked red wolf shifters. He said he can meet us at the beach house in two hours to help us come up with a plan to keep you safe at the Den of Dreams.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He reaches over and laces his fingers through mine again. “Can we talk about what happened during your heat?”

I hold my breath and nod.

“I have feelings for you, Buddy. I shouldn’t. You’re under my care, and I should keep things professional between us.”

“You have feelings… for me?”

He brings the back of my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my skin. “Yes. During your heat you wanted… well, you wanted me. It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. I won’t be angry. I’ll still do everything I can to help you at the Den of Dreams. I just have to ask, how do you feel now that your heat is over? What do you want?”

What do I want? I could give him a list a mile long of everything I want. Wanting is as familiar as breathing to me. The question is: what am I allowed to have?

“You mentioned that you’d, um, make love to me properly at the beach house,” I say. He offered, right?

“We don’t have to.”

I swallow hard. “But could we? I mean, if you still want to.”

He leans forward and kisses me. This kiss is different than the ones we shared during my heat. It’s slow and sweet. He kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek. Then he rubs his nose against mine.

It’s almost like I’m real already. That’s how he’s treating me.

“I guess I better drive us back to the beach house, huh?” he says. He’s smiling, his pretty hazel eyes twinkling with happiness. I don’t know how to handle all the joy in my chest. I think I made Timothy smile like that. He’s happy because of me. Or at least partially because of me.

He keeps a hold of my hand as he starts the car and backs out of the parking spot. While he drives, I can’t help but become a little nervous. During my heat, Timothy only penetrated me with his fingers. I’m assuming that “making love properly” is going to mean more than that.

In some of the fairytale movies I watched with Candlewick, the omega had a fairy godmother that gave them whatever they needed for the perfect night with their alpha prince, whether that was a suit or a carriage.

I wish I had a fairy godmother that could make my body real for just a few hours—just long enough that I could make Timothy feel good while we made love. What if he penetrates me with this dick, and he’s just as revolted by me as Dorian?

“I’m, uh, not any good at sex,” I warn.

He squeezes my hand. “You don’t need to be good at anything. I just want to be with you. Unless you don’t want—”

“I do.” More than he’ll ever know.

I just have to hope that once we get started, he’ll still want it too.

14

Buddy

We listen to Timothy’s slow, sad music on the way back to the beach house. It’s calming, but I’m still incredibly anxious when we pull up to the garage.

The drive only took thirty minutes, which means we have an hour and a half before Manny will get here. That’s a lot of time for me to mess this up.

Timothy opens the garage and eases the car inside. The engine dies and the garage door thunders closed behind us.

This is it.

During my heat, I was too overwhelmed by my need for Timothy to be nervous. I grab the car door handle with trembling fingers and wonder if I can do this. My breath comes deep and fast. I feel a little light-headed.

“Buddy, it’s okay—” Timothy starts, but I open the door and step into the garage. What if we go to the Den of Dreams and they can’t help me? Then I’ll have to go back to Dorian. These may be the last few hours of freedom I have. I’m not going to waste them.

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