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I hang up with Thorn and finish my lunch. Forty-five minutes is not long enough to do much of anything, but I don’t mind. I love my job, so returning to it isn’t a bother. Working in the city hospital has actually allowed me to meet some amazing people. I love working with my elderly patients the most; they have so much life and experience, which I love listening to, but mostly, I just love that they have no filter anymore. They take every liberty to speak their minds with no remorse! Man, I can’t wait to get to that age. The hospital is large and has a special section just for physiotherapy. I am one of a few therapists who work out of this room. Walking over to the shared desk, I put my coffee cup down and grab the file for my next client. Rose Ashwood. Rose is a favorite of mine; I really shouldn’t have favorites, but just as I am chiding myself, Rose is wheeled into the room for her appointment.
“Paige!” Her excitement puts a smile on my face. She had a stroke a month ago and comes for strength training for her left side. At first, we thought she wouldn’t recover from the stroke, leaving her left side immobile and forcing her to be confined to a wheelchair, but over the past couple of weeks, we have seen the strength in her leg and arm greatly improve. These cases always make me happy. I think it’s the worst when an elderly patient gets a diagnosis that alters their life dramatically, and they can’t do anything about it.
“Well, hello there, beautiful.” I wink at her, and she swipes her hand in the air to wave me off. Who doesn’t love getting a compliment? I sure do.
“Paige, darling, have you met John?” She turns slightly to look at the young man who is pushing her into the room. It’s become a running joke with my elderly clients that I shouldn’t be single and should settle down to pop out cute babies. I mean, I don’t hate the idea—actually, I love the idea. The problem is that the people they want me to meet aren’t really my type. They don’t have muscles for miles—oh, and, you know, they don’t shift into a wolf. That’s kind of a big one for me, but it’s cute when they try. Looking over at John, I see him turn a little red. How cute.
“No, I don’t think I have met John. You must be new. I’m Paige.”
“John,” he says, pointing to himself. I can’t help but laugh a little; he really is cute.
Rose leans over and whisper-yells, “Isn’t he cute?! Wait till you see his backside! I got a good glimpse when I knocked over my cup before coming down here! Ooh-wee, it's nice and firm, too. I grabbed him a little.”
“I feel violated,” John mutters.
Looking at John, I can’t help but laugh and sympathize with him. I know all too well how handsy older people can get. One time, this sweet older man grabbed my hip and said he likes to look at nicely rounded women; apparently, the sticks walking around make him sick. I tried and failed to hold in my laughter, but I had to remind him that touching other people without permission was wrong. He has dementia, so I kind of feel bad for him—his wife stopped coming in to visit him because she couldn’t stand how much he couldn’t remember. She was a bitch, in my opinion, but I’m a professional and kept that to myself…mostly. Okay, I told my co-workers and Quinn.
“Don’t worry, John, it gets easier with time. And Rose, you know you can’t touch people without permission.” I give her my best scolding look, and she feigns embarrassment and apologizes to John. John helps me get Rose into a different chair to start our session, but before he leaves, he pushes his hand through his hair and awkwardly stands beside me.
“Everything okay, John?”
“Um, yeah. I’m new to the area and was wondering if maybe we could hang out. You can tell me about the best places to get food and hang out and stuff.”
Rose has the biggest smile on her face, and I am left in that awful position of rejecting this sweet boy—because that’s what he is, he must be nineteen or something—and keeping it nice enough that it’s not awkward when we inevitably run into each other. It’s not that he isn’t good-looking; he is; it’s just that he's a bit thinner than I like my men. I am a big girl with curves and weight to go with it; I need a man who can handle that. And, again, he's not a shifter.
“That sounds great, but I’m afraid I’m kind of busy. You know, I know someone who would love to help you out. Her name is Janie, and she works as a cleaner. I’ll introduce you to her! I think you guys will hit it off.”
Janie is closer to his age than my twenty-six, and they probably have more in common. After sending John on his way, I get to my session with Rose, who makes it very clear I should have gone for the hottie patatie that is John. Man, I love my job.
Climbing the stairs to my floor in the apartment building is a habit I have gotten into since moving to this city. I hate elevators. If there is an option for taking an elevator or the stairs, I will always take the stairs. The metal box hanging by a rope is not safe, and no one can tell me otherwise. The inability to escape puts me on edge; too many years of being backed into a corner makes me skittish about small spaces. My apartment is on the third floor; I’m thankful it’s not higher, because after a long day on my feet at work, my legs are tired.
Walking down the hall, I find my door with my cute little sign hanging on it. It says “Come in, we’re awesome.” Quinn got that for me a few years ago as a Christmas present. She said that it was a known fact I’m awesome, but now everyone knows it. I was more concerned with it saying “we’re,” like there's more than one person living here, which there isn’t. She thought it was good not to let people know I lived alone, which just made me laugh and also feel stupidly loved.
Today is a day to order in, so I put my stuff down and place a food order before jumping into the shower. The timing was perfect, because my food arrives right after I finish showering and changing into comfy clothes.
My apartment has two bedrooms—well, one bedroom and an office, but I turned it into a bedroom so Thorn can stay over whenever he needs. My apartment has windows lining the east wall, letting in a lot of light during the day and also showing the city lights perfectly at night. I have a cozy little living room/dining room with a small kitchen off to the side and a small hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. It’s a really simple place that has become a haven for me when I am stressed or want some alone time, though I don’t really want to be alone most days; I want to find someone to share my life with.
I grab my food and a glass of wine to watch the same shows I always watch. The silence that fills the apartment, besides the episode playing in the background, is deafening. I never wanted to be alone, I don’t think my personality was made for being alone, but it has taken me a long time to work through my childhood shit and get to a place where I am genuinely happy. Part of pushing Quinn into joining the mail-order app was to see if it was worth taking a chance on. Yes, I used my best friend as a guinea pig, but I was scared.
I know I show this very happy, bubbly, carefree personality, but that’s just a facade I wear to hide the pain that still lives under the surface. I was told all through my growing-up years that I was worthless, that I didn’t bring value to our pack. Being a plus-size shifter was uncommon, to say the least. Shifters are strong and athletic-looking, but not me. I was a bit shorter than the average female and had a much larger figure than the other shifters. Wider hips and tits that need special bras from special bra stores. I’m curvy and happy with how I look…now. It’s taken me a long time and way too much therapy to get over my insecurities. They aren’t solved or anything, but I’m actively working on it, and I can honestly say I’m happy with myself now, and I know that loving the body I have is a good step forward. But my old pack was not of the same opinion. I was at the bottom of my old pack; my weaknesses made me a target for those who prescribed to the idea that the weak need to be beaten to make them stronger. I don’t miss that, for sure.
Almost two weeks ago, I took the plunge into the great mail-order app that I kind of coerced Quinn to join. To my surprise, I matched with someone really quickly. I’ve really enjoyed talking to him! He seems to get me better than anyone I have ever known—well, except this one guy, but I try not to think about him. Opening the app, I see the message I have become accustomed to for the past couple of weeks.
Sexywolf: Hello sunshine, how was your day? :) What are you up to tonight?
I can’t help but feel the butterflies in my stomach. He says the same thing every evening when we talk. It’s so cheesy, but I love it.
Wineowolf: Hello, Sexy Wolf ;) It was a pretty good day, actually. I got to work with one of my favorite clients. She even tried to set me up with one of the porters.
Am I possibly seeing how he will react to that? Yes. Do I secretly want him to not like it? Also, yes. Listen, I've never said I make the greatest decisions, but it feels nice when someone wants you all to themselves.
Sexywolf: ………… Am I going to have to kill someone?
I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. All a girl dreams of is wanting to be wanted, and Sexywolf has always made me feel wanted. I just like poking the wolf on occasion.
Wineowolf: Ha ha, no. He was a child. Plus, I have this thing for sexy wolf shifters…you don’t happen to know any of them, do you? Big muscled ones with the ability to ravish a poor girl in the city.
Sexywolf: If I were there, you wouldn’t need any other muscles but mine, and as for ravishing, I’m not sure about that, but I’m damn sure I can make you lose your voice by screaming for me for hours.
