Page 46 of Slick Trip

“I know what you’re thinking,” I rushed on, words tumbling over each other. “But building a nest would mean that I’m . . . the presentation—no. I don’t want that.”

“Cooper.”

“No!”

Jon sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s alright,” he murmured. Then he reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“No googling,” I said immediately. “Put your phone away.”

“We need information.”

“No we don’t! This is just me getting comfortable. You know how I like it when things are arranged specifically.”

Jon gave me a look that managed to be pointed and gentle at the same time.

“You live in a state of constant chaos.”

“You don’t know that! You haven’t been in my room for ages. Maybe I’m a super-organizer now. Stop looking at me like that! I could get rid of all this stuff right now, look!”

I grabbed the monkey to throw it away as proof, but the moment my fingers touched the fur, my body objected. I pressed it against my chest as a low warning sound slipped out of me. It was so primal that we just stared at each other in shock.

“Don’t take my monkey!” I said, quieter now, gripping it tighter. My throat burned.

“Cooper,” Jon said softly. “No one is taking it. I’m not threatening your nest.”

“Okay,” I said quickly. “Good.” I wiped my face. “But it’s not a nest.”

“Not a nest.” Jon nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got it. I’m not threatening your random pile of fabric.”

“I’m keeping your hoodie.”

“Yeah. You usually do.”

I blushed. He was right—I had at least three that I’d stolen over the years. As I looked at him typing fast, brow furrowed in concentration, fragments of information about secondary gender presentation started flooding in. I obviously knew that everyone was born with a secondary gender, but it stayed dormant more often than not. The presentation typically happened in early adolescence, which was why the possibility hadn’t even occurred to me now.

“A sensitivity to scents is how it usually begins,” Jon said, looking at his phone. He glanced at me. “You’re inhaling my sleeve as we speak.”

I froze. Then, very deliberately, I lowered the sleeve.

“Was not.”

He raised one brow.

“I wasn’t,” I insisted. “Don’t—don’t flatter yourself.”

Jon showed me the screen. He was reading an article called HELP! I JUST PRESENTED.

“The person who came up with that title is the one who needs help,” I muttered.

“Fatigue. Appetite. Sensitivity,” Jon listed. “All common pre-heat symptoms.”

“So it’s a crime now to be hungry and tired?”

Jon stood up. “I’m going to run a test.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t even like him standing up. Agitated, I clutched his hoodie.

“What test?”