Page 44 of Jacob Michaels is Not Crazy

Swallowing hard, he looked at me, his eyes not quite staying on mine for any length of time.

“I’m sure you do.”

“And I want to ask them in a safe place.”

He looked down at his feet.

“I’m not dangerous now.”

“Were you ever?” I scoffed. “Admittedly, a truck is a big weapon.”

He shuffled his feet.

“I’m not going to attack you.” Andrew looked up briefly, then glanced around. “The moon is waning.”

“Okay.”

Andrew looked thoroughly chastened. Of course, losing control of himself close to the full moon, getting hit by a truck, having to heal, having Oma chew him a new asshole, and getting punched in the face for all of his efforts was probably enough to do that to a person. A lot of activity in a few days’ time, when you think about it.

“There’s a coffee shop.” He gave an upward nod. “We can talk there. It’s usually busy enough that you would feel safe.”

“I feel safe now.” I shrugged. “But okay.”

I’ll blast your ass with my finger. Apparently, I can do that. Did you know that? ‘Cause I didn’t until recently.

Hopping down from the planter, I allowed Andrew to lead me down the sidewalk in the direction he had been headed, though I made sure to keep plenty of space between us. I wanted plenty of room and options if he decided to get handsy again or—I didn’t know if werewolves could randomly get furry. Wikipedia wasn’t really helpful when it came to situations applicable to fantasy colliding with the real world. But, whatever happened, I wanted to be ready to make my escape. After punching him again, obviously.

The coffee shop was around the corner from his office building and while there were plenty of empty tables and booths, there was still enough people about that we were safely still in public. If Andrew did anything, it would be witnessed by several people. Of course, that could also mean collateral damage if it came to that, but, and this was cold-hearted, but I didn’t mind if others got hurt if it kept me safe.

“I’ll buy you a coffee,” Andrew said, but it was a suggestion.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Please?”

“Fine.” I looked at him and his wounded expression. “Just a black coffee, please.”

Andrew nodded and headed to the counter while I selected a booth that was private but still in the line of sight of the baristas and a few other customers. It also had an excellent straight shot to the front door if I had to bolt. I watched Andrew as he ordered, paid for, and grabbed our coffees. He had asked for two black coffees, either to make things easy or to not show weakness by ordering something like a frappe or something frou-frou.

“Black coffee.” He said simply as he put my cup in front of me and slid into the booth across from me.

“Thanks.” I dragged the cup across the table towards myself.

Andrew and I stared at each other for a moment as I brought my coffee to my lips. It was barely warm. That wasn’t Andrew’s fault, so I just set the cup back on the table.

“I really am sorry.” He began.

“I’m not here for an apology,” I said, keeping my eyes on his. “I want to know why you said I smelled intoxicating.”

Andrew looked down, embarrassed.

“That means something,” I said. “And I think you know what I mean. You meant I smelled…special. Like you’d never smelled another person who smelled like me.”

Andrew sipped at his coffee, his eyes stayed lowered.

He wasn’t going to be forthcoming easily.

“I’m not scared of Oma.”