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She pressed her breasts into his chest.
He shifted them, coils moving, pinning her and parting her thighs and undulating into her, never breaking the kiss.
She moaned on his lips.
“Shit.” He slithered away from her, going for the ladder. “I can give you a ride into town,” he called as he descended.
“Um?” She crawled over to look down. “Do you mind letting me out down by the train tracks?”
He grinned up at her. “Don’t want to be seen with me?”
“We said we were going to—”
“Yeah, sure thing, Dahlia.” He was still grinning but there was something different about it.
She liked it, she found, his jealousy, in a strange, electrifying way. Wasn’t she always sort of trying to make Tommy jealous and always failing? But it also sent a darker, unpleasant current through her, and she felt guilty for doing that to him.
He was in the shower, then, but for barely three minutes, and then he was rubbing a towel through his hair and draping a new scarf over his shoulders and he was ready to go.
She kissed him before they got in the car, and she shot little glances across as they drove in the bright, morning light back into town.
But when he dropped her off, she didn’t touch him, just got out and waved and said, “See you later at the shop.”
“Yeah, later,” he said, staring at her in that intense way of his.
She walked back three blocks to the building where her apartment was. It was on the first floor, and she unlocked the door and let herself in. Tommy’s bedroom door was open. He was sprawled out, asleep, hugging his pillow, his hooves sticking out from the bottom of the blankets.
She pulled his door shut.
He stirred. “Hey.”
She paused. “Hey.”
He got up out of bed and came across the room. “You didn’t come home.”
“Well, you don’t come home lots of nights.” She felt defensive. Had he been accusing her?
He seized her and pulled her close, breathing in lungfuls of her scent. “Same guy.”
She pushed him off.
“It’s that naga at the shop, isn’t it?” Tommy leaned against the door jamb of his bedroom. “He’s like forty.”
“He’s thirty-one,” she said, backing off, even more defensive.
“Okay,” said Tommy. “Hey, it’s cool, you know? We’re us, Dahlia, nothing changes that.”
She stopped moving and looked up at him.
He scratched his stomach. “You know, you, uh, you’re not a satyr.”
“Satyrs are perfectly capable of monogamy, you know that?” Was she angry? Shit. Where was that coming from? She didn’t like conflict. She fled, running from him, going back into her bedroom.
He came after her. “Is that what you want from me?”
“No.” She was opening her closet, looking for something to wear to class.
“We’ve talked about this, and you’ve always said you were cool with what we have—”
