The Selection Shenanigans

1. Let’s Get Naked – Equipment Check!

1

Let’s Get Naked – Equipment Check!

The morning started so well.

Gorgeous weather, good food. I was sucking down a mango smoothie that I hadn’t lifted a finger to make.

Food made by others was the very best sort of food.

Wembley, my ex-Berserker roommate, was a complete softie. The bearded teddy bear loved feeding me, and since I loved almost all of the concoctions he whipped up, it worked out pretty darn well.

And Wembley would always be my teddy bear roommate, even if he’d gotten all fit and ridiculously cut when he decided to date my mom. Ugh, Wembley and my mom. When she alluded to crazy shenanigans in the bedroom or to any of Wembley’s physical attributes, I plugged my ears and sang the toddler tune. La-la-la-la wasn’t quite enough to wash the images from my mind, but it sent a message—here be dragons—and she changed the subject.

My brain could be a weird place, but it wasn’t any great stretch for it to squirrel hop from Wembley to my mom to s*x (ick!) to my own love life.

And that’s when the morning took a turn for the worse.

“What’s that look?” Wembley asked. He sat across the kitchen table from me reading the paper and drinking…something.

Not blood.

Blood I could smell, even in small quantities. That came with being a vampire. I might be a broken, not-quite-right, possibly even mutated vamp, but I still met some of the criteria.

Vamps had no problem detecting blood; ditto for me.

I, unlike most—okay, all—vamps, had a thing about blood. Some people liked to throw around the “phobia” word. I’d disagree, but either way, I was working on it. For now, Wembley kept his blood stash in the garage—he definitely did not partake at the breakfast table—and I didn’t ask too many questions about what he was consuming or where (who?) it came from.

“Oh, now you’ve got to tell me.” He waggled his eyebrows. Another aspect of my teddy bear roommate that had changed lately: his personal grooming habits. My mother would say for the better. His formerly shaggy eyebrows were now neatly trimmed, as was his beard.

I shrugged, because no, I didn’t have to tell him. I didn’t have to share every aspect of my life with him…especially not this particular aspect.

He discarded his newspaper. One hundred percent of Wembley’s attention was not what I wanted right now.

“Whoa. Say it isn’t so.” He leaned forward. “Is there trouble in paradise?”

As I sipped on Wembley’s latest vegan shake concoction—thank you, mangos; thank you, coconut milk. Was that perhaps a touch of coconut cream, as well?—I considered possible responses.

Alex and I weren’t having trouble.

Things were good.

Complicated, but good.

Steamy. Hot.

Frustrating.

“No.” I made a dismissive sound. “Of course not. Please.”

Maybe three varieties of denial had been overkill.

His blue eyes lit up. His rabid curiosity was probably partially due to the hole my mother’s recent trip to the Bahamas had left in his schedule. A bored Wembley was an overly curious Wembley. “Don’t tell me the lovebirds have hit a snag? Except do tell me. Tell me everything.”

What was that saying about protesting too much? Dang it. Three times was definitely too much.

Now that Wembley knew something was up between Alex and me, he wouldn’t leave me alone until I spilled. Worse, he might withhold yummy shakes. I clutched my mango, coconut milk (maybe coconut cream) smoothie closer.

I liked my Wembley shakes.

“Right. So here’s the thing…” Ugh, I didn’t want to share, but I wanted my shakes…but I didn’t wanna share. I could feel my inner child surfacing, and that wasn’t good for anyone.

He leaned his elbows on the table and then propped his chin on his hands. “What trouble has naughty Alex gotten himself into?”

Which made me laugh, because that was the problem.

Or rather, wasn’t the problem?

I used to be convinced that my boyfriend had slept with the majority of the female enhanced population in Austin. Not true.

He did all things in moderation: food, exercise, sleep, even s*x. Something to do with meeting basic needs and not being in a situation where he was weakened by illness or fatigue or—I don’t know—excessive lust?

His motivations I understood. My man had some dark secrets that weren’t so secret from me, and his “moderation in all things” strategy was one of the ways he dealt with his troubled past.

But Alex’s past wasn’t the issue. It was Alex’s present that was currently driving me slowly mad.

I groaned. “I really don’t think this is a topic we should discuss, Wembley.”

“Look, something is obviously bothering you. Don’t let it fester. Talk to me, or better yet, talk to Alex.”

Talk to Alex? Um, no. Even the thought made my stomach do all sorts of fluttery things. Bad fluttery things. The I-might-puke-if-I-think-about-this-much-longer kind of bad.

Small problem with the avoidance strategy, I was trying to be a grown-up these days. Taking on Society cases, saving people’s lives, revamping the wonky justice system that existed within the paranormal community.

What was a little direct conversation when compared to those big bad goals?

Wembley was right; speaking with Alex was the mature choice. I should get right on that.

And there went the fluttering.

“Are you going to puke?” Wembley asked. “I swear there’s nothing new in that shake.”

“Pfft. No. Of course I’m not going to puke.”

I also wasn’t going to have this conversation with Alex, so… “We haven’t slept together.”

Wembley blinked. Slowly.

As well he should. Alex and I had been together since late October, so over three months now.

And always one to babble when nerves hit me, I said, “We’ve cuddled, we’ve kissed. I feel like we’ve grown closer, but…” I shrugged.

“But no nooky.”

“Ew. Don’t use that word.” My mom used that word, which was probably where Wembley had picked it up.

He grinned. “You’re thinking about me having nooky with a certain family member, aren’t you, Ms. Andrews?”

Darn him, yes, my thoughts had drifted in the vague direction of my mom, Wembley, and nooky, and that was just wrong. So wrong.

Thankfully, a knock at the front door provided a reprieve from this unwanted—dreaded, even—conversation about Alex and my lack of vigorous, acrobatic, chandelier-swinging s*x.

Not that my lust-fueled imagination had been running in overdrive or anything…

Before I could get up to answer the door, Alex’s voice called my name. And the sound of his voice, while welcome, chased away the brief feeling of relief I’d felt at the interruption.

I turned to Wembley, shot him the glare of death (or more accurately, the glare of I-will-slice-you-with-Tangwystl-should-you-breathe-a-word-of-this-conversation), then called out, “In the kitchen.”

I wasn’t expecting Alex today. He was supposed to be working on a case—without me, thanks very much, Cornelius—and I’d planned a chill day at the house with Boone.

When I turned back to Wembley, he had a grin plastered to his face.

“Seriously, not a word, you big overgrown man-child.” I’d have threatened to tell my mom he was making my love life miserable, but Alex’s hearing was absurdly good. So I whispered, “I’m gonna tell on you,” and left the rest to his imagination. That wiped the smile right off his face.

Since my mother and Wembley were doing the dirty—ick, I needed to bleach my brain—that should carry some weight with him. My mother was quite keen on me having some kind of love life, and up until recently she’d about given up on me.

As Alex joined us in the kitchen, my soon-to-be-dead roommate said, “Hey, Alex. Take your pants off.”

To Alex’s credit, he didn’t flicker an eyelash. “Why am I undressing in the kitchen?”

“Figured you were due an equipment check.”

Alex looked confused—thank god—but I didn’t care.

“Tangwystl!” I was going to kill Wembley. Ex-Berserker or not, I was taking him down.

She appeared in my hand with a squeak of joy.

Stab, stabby?

Alex’s gaze flew from Tangwystl to me and then Wembley. But it was me he addressed when he said, “I don’t have a clue what kind of bizarre roommate argument I’ve just walked into, but we don’t have time for you to maim Wembley. We have a case.”