"Just stay over there and don't touch me, or I will bite you."
"I know. You bit me earlier. That wasn't very classy."
"No," I admitted, turning back to my engine. "But neither am I."
"You can be. You treat the new recruits right."
I shrugged, not looking at him. I never knew how to take compliments, much less from Russ. Perhaps a dig or a zinger was coming. I waited, but he said nothing. When I glanced up to see what he was doing, he wasn't facing me, just looking away, standing quite still.
"And you always work hard at things," he went on quietly. "Even if they're difficult and some people would give up. You don't."
I wondered if he was talking about Sahil or my engine repair work now. I didn't want to ask, not when he was being nice for once in his life. "Thanks."
"Are you warm enough out here?" he said abruptly. "One blanket. It gets pretty cold at night."
I didn't like him looking at my cot and judging it or me, but I didn't hackle. "It's fine. I can sleep in my fur if I'm cold." I avoided looking at him, starting to feel embarrassed rather than defensive. Just what was he trying to accomplish, hanging around me, making conversation? I had the terrible feeling that I knew: he was trying to comfort me. Him! Comfortme! As if I needed his distraction just because Sahil...
But it actually was working, at least a bit. I didn't feel nearly as down as I usually did when Sahil was having sex with his husband. Lots of enthusiastic sex. He certainly did like sex a lot.
How had he managed it? He'd been hurt when he was young, but he'd recovered so much. He had a happy relationship with a man who (damn him) made Sahil very happy when he wasn't travelling or busy elsewhere.
Sahil had strongly suggested counseling for me about my exploitation. So far, I'd felt little benefit from it. If it was meant to get me in touch with my feelings, I supposed it was working; I mostly felt crappy all the time because of the reminders of the past and when I had to talk about it. I didn't enjoy that and was starting to resent the therapist for making me feel all the bad things again when I just wanted to forget, to move on. Maybe I'd never heal the way Sahil had, but I didn't have to live in the past, dammit. I didn't think it was right when counseling could make me feel worse than ever.
"I'll bring you another blanket from the house," Russ was saying.
"For pity's sake!" I snapped. "Stop feeling sorry for me!"
He refused to get annoyed, which was even more annoying. He just gave me a grin and waggled his eyebrows, a smile easing onto his mouth. "I just don't want my buddy to freeze to death."
"I am NOT your buddy!"
He leaned against one of the gleaming cars in the garage. I kept my grease-stained hands and projects safely away from Grant's expensive cars, but Russ showed no worries about leaning against one of them. "Of course you are. One, we work together. We put our lives in each other's hands every single day." He ticked that off on his fingers.
"Not every day."
"Most days. Many days. Two, we're the only two wolves on the team. That means something."
I rolled my eyes and looked away from him, wrenching at a nut a little harder than I should have. It clattered free and fell to the ground. "Shit." I scrambled for it, unnerved at looking like an idiot in front of Russ.
"And three, even when you bite me, you never draw blood."
"Oh, that counts for a lot! Practically bosom buddies, right?"
I didn't know why he was teasing me, why his whole attitude had changed, but he didn't seem to be faking the cheerful and friendly mood. It matched his smell. And whatever this was, it wasn't just pity. Not entirely.
I felt uneasy, although I couldn't have said why. Surely it was good if we weren't fighting? If he wasn't harassing me about Sahil? I refocused on my work, trying not to think too hard, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. Things were changing, and that made me uneasy. But getting along with Russ because he'd stopped picking at the raw wound of my heart — that would be a good thing, right?
I glanced at him again, trying to read him but unable to. He was just watching me.
"You don't need to get me a blanket," I said.
"A quilt, then."
I shook my head but let it go. I could go into the house if I really wanted or needed to. I could.
I didn't want to spar anymore, even with a friendly-sounding Russ. I grunted noncommittally and applied myself to my work, deliberately shutting him out of my focus. When I looked up after a few minutes, he was gone.
Good.
