“Will your shirt still be wet by the time we get to your parents’ place?”
Hmm. “I really don’t know. But I would totally wash my shirt in a bathroom sink because I got chicken grease on it, so they won’t think twice about it.”
“Or lycanthrope blood.”
“Chicken grease, lycanthrope blood… close enough.”
As I didn’t want to shame myself or Sebastian with my wet shirt problems, we hit up a fast food joint and got enough to tame our stomachs before heading to my parents’ house, arriving a little before midnight. We could have gotten there faster, but I had needed an hour to convince myself to finish the final twenty minutes of the drive.
“This is the first time you’ve brought someone home to see the family,” the lion guessed when I pulled into the driveway and parked the truck at the end of the line of vehicles, of which there were many. “Honestly, I’m surprised there aren’t more cars and trucks here.”
“A lot of the litters share vehicles, especially the ones who are just learning to drive. It keeps costs of insurance somewhat down. And my brothers end up having to buy their own vehicles. It’s expensive enough feeding the dependent kittens. Anyway, my family usually brings men home to meet me, they run away because of my face, and I pretend I don’t cry or get mad, somebody gets beaten, and it goes to hell in a hurry. If you’re carrying the sewing machine, you’ll live longer.”
Sebastian chuckled, got out of the truck, and headed for the bed.
After some debate, I left the yarn and quilting supplies in the cab and went to help him free the stand, which I would carry, as it would help lengthen my lifespan, too.
Every light in the house was on, and I bet the only reason a stampede of brothers wasn’t running out involved my dad growling a threat of death and murder should they swarm me.
Them swarming me led to one inevitable outcome: a cat fight partnered with a hissy fit. The hissy fit usually outlasted the actual fight, but the last thing I needed was to spend until the wee hours of the morning hissing at the entire clan for being, well, cats.
It took us ten minutes to free the stand and ease it off the bed without damaging it, and I took over carrying it while Sebastian freed the precious Singer from its carry box and carried it in his arms. “All right. I’m ready. Hopefully the sewing machine will discourage my outright assassination.”
“It will, or I’ll be destroying them all with my sewing machine and making them pay the obscene amounts to repair it.”
“I just thought you should know that’s blatantly flirting with me, Wells.”
Damned lion. “If I walk out of this with any substantial bruising, as I absolutely will fight with every last one of the bastards if they get mad I brought home a lion, you will owe me.”
“Do I owe you dinner, pampering, a calmer trip to a yarn store, or all of the above?”
“All of the above. I’m greedy, and I don’t want to choose between those options.”
“You’re hardly greedy. Wells, you’ve never once asked for a raise. Not once.”
I stopped and stared at him. “That’s an option?”
“And I’ll be making sure I prompt you as appropriate for you to ask for raises,” the lion muttered. “When your uncle asks how we met, just tell him we met at a coffee shop, and that you would go for a rare indulgence getting coffee because the shop offers catnip for a fraction of the price of pixie dust.”
As I’d forced him to meet me at a coffee shop for our first meeting to get through it without wanting to claw his face off because he was male, lycanthrope, and in my territory, I chuckled. “Not even a ghost of a lie on that one, but it was hot chocolate. I even got my first roar out of you in like ten minutes flat. And the baristas didn’t even care.”
“One of the baristas at that shop is a lioness, and she’s related to me on my mother’s side. It is friendly towards cranky lions, which was why I had suggested that you meet me at that specific shop. She was rather surprised you’d gotten a roar out of me.”
I regarded him with a frown. “Really? But you roar often.”
“I roar often for you. I roar significantly less often for anyone else. I was using my nose, Wells. You smelled miserable, and when you started to annoy me, and I allowed my annoyance to show, you got progressively more lively and no longer smelled as miserable. I gave you a roar to see what you would do, and you flat-out purred at me. And then caught yourself and stopped purring, but I had you figured out from the start. I should be more concerned than I am that someone finds making me miserable is enjoyable, but I am a lycanthrope.”
“You are such a lion.”
“I really am. I’m shameless, too. Assuming this goes well and we get through our upcoming activities unscathed, I’ll take you to meet my family. You will be encouraged to beat the snot out of all of them.”
“That is the greatest pitch ever, Mr. Mane. Come meet my family. Or meat them. How would you like your family served?”
He chuckled. “Thoroughly tenderized but still kicking.”
“Bold preparation choice, Sumners.” Giggling over the idea of taking out an entire pride of lions, I hauled my sewing machine’s stand to the front door, and as I didn’t have a free hand, I yowled, “Open up, you furry freaks. And don’t you dare scratch my baby.”
My father opened the door. “You do realize it’s midnight, right? Don’t wake the neighbors.”
“Dad, we screech and yowl at each other at night often. They’re used to weird sounds coming from here. Someone screaming to open up is tame compared to our normal.” I set the stand for my sewing machine down and gestured to it. “Marvel at its beauty.”
“It’s a desk.”
“No, Dad. It’s a stand for a vintage 1901 Singer. My new pet lion is carrying the Singer, and he has joint custody rights to it.” I moved the stand so Sebastian could join me. “Dad, this is Sebastian. He is a lion. He is my new pet lion. He made his suit, Dad. He made it. Then we went to a yarn store, and we found this Singer.” I bounced on my toes and waited for Sebastian to ease the sewing machine into place. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
My father didn’t even give the sewing machine a cursory glance, instead eyeing Sebastian from head to toe. “I’m going to require proof you can sew, son.”
“I haven’t used the Singer yet, but if you have a modern machine and the fabric, I’m sure I can put together something for you to demonstrate I do have the ability to sew as claimed.”
“He helped me pick yarn, Dad.”
“That doesn’t mean he can sew, my little kitten.”
“He helped me pick yarn, Dad,” I repeated through clenched teeth.
Sebastian chuckled, reached over, and flicked my hair out of my face. “If it makes him happy, I’ll sew something. How about a pillow? Those are quick and easy, and you can claim it as your territory and beat someone with it. I’ll make it extra durable for said purpose, and I’ll make sure you have a good place to grip it. It won’t take long, and he can see I’m a man of my word.”
“Put a few books inside so it has some heft,” I muttered.