3. Retail Therapy

-Aline-

I avoided taking my werewolf form for almost two and a half weeks because I don't want the guys to read my mind. Fortunately, the next full moon that will compel the pack back to the polo fields won’t happen for another week. Also, I’m learning to manage my anger so I don’t unexpectedly shift. I just haven’t figured out how to shield my thoughts from the pack when I am in wolf form. I desperately want my moment of weakness with Jian to stay a secret. He's probably unintentionally revealed it to everyone by now, though. The thought of that rankles. I'm hoping the guys won't believe I had a breakdown. Instead, I hope they discard Jian's thoughts to the pile of his other wannabe hero fantasies where I star as the damsel-in-distress.

As if, I snort to myself.

I'm lying on my back, on my queen-sized bed. My thumb repeatedly slides against the smartphone’s screen as I absorb the good news that Will, my brother, just delivered. I am less disgusted with myself for wanting the Hunter to kill me now that Talu, who'd been trying to protect me from my death wish, will make a full recovery.

According to Lance, Talu will live to see another day despite getting torn up by the Hunters. Dr. Tang, Lance’s family doctor, treated him and now Talu is mending at home after a few days' stay at the good doctor’s clinic.

Lance’s grandfather and Dr. Tang were classmates in China. These days, he is an on-call orthopedic surgeon at all the local emergency rooms. Otherwise, he primarily works in his community clinic across the street from Lance’s martial arts studio. Lance sends us to Dr. Tang's office when our self-healing powers aren't fixing our wounds fast enough. If Dr. Tang knows about us being werewolves or suspects something weird about Talu’s human form; he has said nothing. I suppose that’s why he’s been a longtime Jin family friend. Discretion is an honorable thing.

Everyone in the pack keeps telling me I should go to Dr. Tang to get a physical. But I’m afraid of what he’ll tell me. I’m as much an anomaly to myself as I am to my pack mates. As the sole female werewolf among them, they don’t know what to do with me. This is fine, especially since we don’t even know what to do with ourselves. Their reluctance to accept me as a full-fledged member of the pack is also forgivable. Hell, I want nothing to do with the pack either. At least the mind-reading helps me know I’m not the only one who’s scared and confused about what to do now that I have superpowers.

I frown and reach above my head, grabbing a small pillow to tuck under my neck. I only wish Will told me the news before I left to go to the mall, which just re-opened to masked shoppers now that the city’s death count and hospitalization numbers are low. Werewolves seem impervious to the virus. None of us have gotten infected, and we gather mask less all the time. Yet, I’m happy to wear my fashionable masks now that the city is opening back up. The fabric over my nose and mouth keeps my olfactory senses from being overwhelmed by smells and scents when I enter enclosed spaces.

Despite having a limited choice of open clothing stores, shopping bags of various sizes surround me. I find comfort and security ensconced within my vibrantly colored paper fort. Within the confines of these odd-sized totes are dozens of brand new outfits ready for me to wear.

Half of my wardrobe lies hidden or scattered in tatters all over creation - well, actually, just around San Francisco, Marin, and the Peninsula’s parks and open spaces.

My temper put a huge tear into my wardrobe, and I'm pretty bitter about this since I am a fashion whore at heart. Thinking about the rapidly depleting items in my closet has my thoughts wandering to my now equally pathetic shoe collection. Idly, I wonder what the guys do about their shoe issues. Most likely, they just walk around barefoot, like neanderthals. Boys! I curl my lip up in disgust. The mere thought of placing my newly pedicured toes on the roughened ground has me scowling.

I let out a deep, resigned sigh. All my favorite shoes are in bits and pieces, too. These wardrobe mishaps are yet another casualty of my messed-up life, but they help to ease my guilt about clothes shopping. I mentally fortify myself for what’s sure to be my mother’s hours-long lecture about frugality.

We're not hard up for money. She just doesn't like me using it. Dad might have abandoned us, but he was otherwise attentive to our family’s needs. I know he set aside tuition for grad school next year if I decide to pursue my Master's degree in fashion design. Yeah, he must have left us with something. Mom isn’t selling the house. She also doesn’t seem stressed that the pandemic means temporarily shuttering her high-end Chinatown custom-made cheongsam boutique.

I wonder, again, if my dad has some secret family back in China or possibly even closer to home.

Setting my worrisome thoughts aside, I sit up and rifle through the nearest bag to pull out my new Stella McCartney jeans and an American Eagle top. I slip into them and throw my candy-colored, striped Prada mini-tote on my arm. Striding out the door, I fish my phone out from where I stashed it during my fashionista moment.

It's time to face the music. I need to see Talu, but not before I'm well-equipped with a peace offering.

I toss my bothersome hair over my shoulder and order the digital slave living in my smartphone to call my brother. Impatiently, I wait for him to answer. But Will isn't picking up. Scrolling through my contact list searching for someone else to call, I neglect to watch where I'm going. The solid wall of heat that I crash into doesn't seem to be paying attention to what's in front of him, either.

I feel strong hands grab my shoulders. To steady me, or steady himself? I am so close that I hear the rumble of a chuckle starting in his chest.

"In a hurry?" the owner of the rock-hard abs queries. I look up.

Crap. Jian. And he hasn't let go yet. The heat of his hands on my bare arms reminds me of our embrace the night of the battle. I watch his eyes darken and wonder if he's thinking about the same thing. A rosy blush steals its way up the back of my neck to color my cheeks. I randomly recall that I still have his t-shirt, now laundered, neatly folded, and sitting on my dresser. I don't want to give it back yet, and I don't know why.

Catching my stray thoughts, I pull out of his grasp, trying to appear irritated by his presence. I am bothered he's within touching distance. But I don't want him to know the real reason why. Jian seems amused, but he's bubbling with excitement and doesn't notice my discomfort at his nearness.

"Talu’s going to get better!" he says. "He'll be fine, Aline!" He is exuberant, poised to pick me up and swing me in a wide arc. I step out of his reach.

"Yeah, I heard." My mumbling might be mistaken as sarcasm. The bitterness, however, exists because I simply am not looking forward to my inevitable visit with the recovering werewolf.

I watch confusion wind its way onto Jian’s face as he straightens and regains some of his characteristic stoicism. I am appalled by the power of my voice, strong enough to wipe the joy from his handsome features.

I, however, don't feel I owe him an explanation for what seems like my rude reply to such welcome news. So, I don't offer him one. I shrug, half to myself. As I turn to go, I suddenly realize Jian might just be the guy to answer the question I have about Talu.

Whipping around to face him again, I force a more congenial tone and ask, "Actually, I was on my way to get him a get-well gift. Maybe you can help me?" I shift my weight onto one foot and place a hand on my hip. My purse swings at my side like a pendulum, hitting my thigh at a regular beat as I await his reply.

He seems unnerved that I would do something so uncharacteristically kind.

"Sure, what do you need?" The skepticism drips from his words. I offer him a reassuring smile, which only seems to increase his wariness.

"Do you know what brand of shoes Talu’s looking for these days?" I wait for a heartbeat and add with a smirk, "The more expensive, the better."

My little qualification has Jian throwing his head back with a laugh. It's just barely more than a bark, but the rich, deep sound is lovely. I can’t remember the last time I made someone laugh. I'd forgotten how satisfying something so simple could be.

It is a joke, an inside one among the pack. A werewolf's shoes last only as long as we can keep our tempers. The more expensive the shoe we’re wearing, the more incentive not to get angry. The more pricey the pair, the more painful the parting between the owner and footwear. Werewolf mood swings make it an extreme challenge to keep such treasured shoes in good working order. Such a gift to a sneakerhead like Talu sends a crystal clear message daring him not to get too pissed at me for what I did, or failed to do, in the heat of battle. I don't mind dropping a shitload of cash since Talu saw in his head my death wish the moment he caught me facing the Hunter. I'm hoping to buy his silence about that ugly truth.

"Worried he's mad?"

"In a word?" I reply, cocking my well-manicured brow. "Yes."

Jian’s rare smile displays a straight row of white teeth. His canines glint, reminding me how handsome and menacing he appears as a wolf. The twinkle in his eyes echoes the amused up tilt of his lips.

"And you think an expensive pair of Adidas YEEZY Boost 700s will help him keep his cool?"

"I was thinking more like Nike Airs," I reply tartly. "I don't like him enough to get him those."

Hours later, after a shopping trip that had me dragging Jian into every open shoe shop in town, we sit in my car in his driveway. The shopping bag carrying Talu’s new Air Jordans is in the backseat. I drum my fingertips against the curve of the steering wheel. Jian stares at my coral pink toenails, well-framed in my still-intact braided sandals.

He clears his throat and pulls the mask he’d used during the shopping trip below his chin. I swing my gaze over to meet his. "Um. Aline, it was fun shopping with you."

"Sounds like a lie."

"Well, my feet aren't so happy about being squeezed into every shoe on display." He frowns. "It's not even as if those shoes are for me!"

"Jealous?"

I'm surprised by my teasing tone. I watch, astonished, as his sun-kissed skin takes on a slightly darker hue along his high cheekbones. He swiftly averts his face. So do I.

"Do you want me to come with you over to Talu’s?"

"No!"

The word leaps from my lips. Instantly, I regret the haste and surprising vehemence in my reply. The resulting silence hangs heavy between us. Neither of us seems willing to look at the other. I startle at the touch of his calloused fingertips against the back of my hand. I look down and discover there is nothing feminine about his broad hand.

He strokes his finger against my skin. A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight inside me. My gaze skims down his arm, tracing the ridged muscles there, appreciating the strength and sinew on display. My entire being stills as my gaze climbs up his body, stopping to stare into his rich brown eyes.

Do I detect desire there? My heart leaps into my throat and my breath quickens as Jian’s eyes search mine. Then, he says something so quietly I have to lean in to catch the words despite my ultra-sensitive hearing.

"You don't have to be so alone, Aline."

I can't bear to see the kindness in his eyes. It leaves me incapable of fully comprehending his offer. His words linger, blocking out the very air I need to breathe.

A heartbeat later, Jian seems to realize I have nothing to say. Regret fills me as his heated touch slides away. The passenger-side door opens, letting the summer sounds and cool air into the car's overly warm interior. He shuts it quietly.

Only when he's gone, do I finally release an exhale. I tilt my head to watch him trudge up the front steps of his Outer Sunset house, nestled in a quiet cul-de-sac next to Stern Grove.

I am disappointed that not once does Jian turn to wave goodbye.