Unlearning

CHAPTER 11

August 2016

Samantha, age 26

Summers in Redwood had to be among the most magical ones in the world. I was mesmerized while walking through these woods, surrounded by the tallest trees on Earth, as my footsteps were muffled by the carpet of moss and ferns, and lounging under the dense branches that formed a canopy to shield me from the sun. Alone in this ancient forest, I felt like I was on the cusp of discovering the meaning of life. Just before I managed to grasp it, James handed me a bunch of wild strawberries strung together on a rye grass stem. I was beyond touched; the sweetness of the fruit coupled with the unusual way James had of serving it had quickly made this my favorite work snack. Today we were spending all day hiking the James Irvine Trail to Fern Canyon Loop as part of our patrol, starting from old-growth redwood forests, before entering the spruce forests on the coast and going all the way to the Ocean and back – I still couldn’t believe this was my actual job .

I inhaled deeply, savoring all the different olfactory layers that the forest had to offer: the cold wet of the moss and an elk in the distance mixing with cut grass and sweet strawberries. James and I often went on patrol together these days. We didn’t talk a lot on our hikes, and yet we enjoyed spending time together. I don't know if it made sense, but I liked to think of it as quiet camaraderie. We often tried outdoing each other, for instance, seeing who could climb a tree faster, and we regularly had running and hunting challenges in our wolf form. Once he’d let out his wolf, James behaved like a carefree child, often tackling me, splashing me with water, and using sly tricks to win. But not for a second was I able to forget that he was the most dangerous animal to roam these woods; his huge wolf had dark gray fur and his muscles rippled underneath it with every movement, his ears twitching since he was permanently alert, whereas his eyes were striking in their curious intelligence.

“Thanks,” I smiled at James and he gave me a shy one back.

“That's the last of them for this year, I think.”

“Too bad. But I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder,” I shrugged and he nodded.

“Not in the case of me being absent from the office,” he grumbled “Thinking of strawberry season ending just reminded me that we have to go to the city soon.”

“Oh come on it's not that bad. I've done most of the reports, all you have to do is put on a suit and read the slides for 20 minutes,” I teased.

“I guess, doesn't mean I have to like it. Are you still coming with?”

“Yeah, I gotta buy a few things in the city anyways. And you know you need protection from Shawna,” I laughed, thinking of the middle-aged clerk who shamelessly ogled him every time he came into the office. I really couldn’t hold that against her. James just shook his head and continued walking.

“Look, a yellow warbler,” he pointed at the beautiful tiny bird on a branch above us. He always did that, drew my attention to tiny beautiful things around us. It made me wonder whether he was secretly doing the same gratitude exercises I was, or if he was trying to find anchors of beauty around us in order to ground himself and remind himself of just how lucky we were to be here. I didn’t say any of this since I didn’t want my sometimes broody boss to think I was some New Age nut. I wanted to seem grown up, serious, professional, responsible.

I saw him watching me, waiting for me to look at the bird, to acknowledge his offering to me. And I did, I looked at the bird, and then at him, and just like that, my stomach knew if I didn’t start running right now, my heart might come to the conclusion that this huge male who was capable of noticing and appreciating the tiny yellow bird might also take said heart in his big warm hand and maybe even build a nest for it. So I yelled, “race you to the Canyon!” and I ran until all I felt was burning in my calves.

???

“How can you be so good at this?” James grumbled for the hundredth time since we'd started working together.

“My mom is a clerk at my old Alpha's office,” I tried to seriously answer his question. “And in school I've always been good at tasks that had been clearly outlined for me. That's never changed. I like knowing what is expected of me, and I like instant gratification for my work, like a grade or a reward, so paperwork is something I not only don't mind, but also kind of enjoy,” I admitted, sipping my Coke. He seemed to be mulling it over for some time.

We were sitting at a sports bar in Crescent City on a Friday night, our week of office work behind us, so we’d decided to get some dinner, relax a bit, and drive back to Redwood the next day.

“Did you buy all the stuff you needed? Samantha?” he tried again.

“Sorry!”

“Are you actually watching TV right now?” he laughed in disbelief.

“It's not what you think! Well, in a way. I think that's my ex boyfriend, number 27,” I pointed at the game playing on the TV. I hadn’t even heard that he got traded to the Minnesota Timberwolves.

“You used to date Andrew Olson?”

“Yeah, in college. He is originally from Minnesota so I bet he's over the moon right now playing for them. That was probably his dream scenario. And his wife is Minnesotan as well, so win-win.”

“How long were you guys together?”

“Almost a year. He was my first boyfriend ever, actually, after everything happened with, you know,” I grimaced slightly.

“Wow, first boyfriend ever and you immediately get yourself a professional basketball player,” he teased, obviously trying to lighten the mood, which I was grateful for.

“Well yeah, he was the only human who didn't look like prey,” I laughed.

He laughed too, then turned his entire body to me and leaned forward conspiratorially, “I bet you were the one who broke it off.”

We were sitting next to each other at the bar, so once I turned to face him my legs were between his, a mischievous grin on his face.

“And why would you say that?” I felt my face heat, it was like there was no ventilation in this bar all of a sudden.

“Oh, come on Samantha, it's not like human men can outdo a shifter in that department,” he winked.

It was a weird conversation to be having with professional, serious James. If I hadn't heard him order lemonade I'd think it was the drink getting to him.

“I wouldn't know,” I looked away.

He frowned, puzzled.

“I've only been with Andrew.”

His head jerked back. I looked away.

“My mate didn't,” I had to force myself to say this out loud, but I felt it needed to be said, because it was true, “he didn't want to sleep with me. I guess he saw being with his true mate as cheating on his pregnant fiancée. And afterwards, I never tried dating wolves. I am not interested in sex without a relationship, and since I don't want to be a placeholder until someone meets their mate, and I'm no mate stealer, it's humans or nothing,” I elaborated.

“What about wolves who've lost their mate?” he asked, pensive.

I put my head in my hands. “I don't want to be someone's second choice. A male who marked and mated the person who is perfect for them will always have that ideal in his heart. I am not that desperate yet.”

He nodded, deep in thought. Just then our wings arrived, and we started eating.

“What about you?” I inquired between bites. I actually knew very little about James’ private life. I knew some of his professional quirks and a lot about his daily life, but almost nothing about his past and circumstances. I’d seen many pack females shooting him looks, sitting too close to him during meals, or casually brushing against him in the halls, but I'd never smelled a female on him, and we worked together almost daily. Maybe he simply went outside of the pack for his needs during his days off.

“Well,” he finished chewing, swallowed, and wiped his mouth. “Part of it I'll tell you some other time when the setting is more appropriate. Short story is, I've tried going out with a few humans, and with some females – neither has really worked out for me. I've been alone for a while now and I'm used to it. I don't love it, but it is what it is.”

“I guess I don't need to ask you which species performs better,” I teased and immediately regretted it. This wasn’t me. Where the hell did that come from?

He seemed to be seriously considering his answer. “If it's all emotionless and only one night hook-ups, in the end it doesn't matter that females can physically handle me better, it all gets old pretty fast.”

I just nodded, desperate to get away from this conversation with my boss.

Later that night, we said goodnight and went to our respective bedrooms in the apartment that the Parks Department provided for our occasional stays in the city. James had plaid pajama pants and a gray shirt on, and his hair was wet from the shower. The flannel of the pajamas looked so soft. In bed, my mind went over the events of the evening – how James' eyes darkened when he asked me about sex, how his gaze darted to my lips so quickly that I might as well have imagined it, the lonely drop of lemonade on his lip after he took a swig from the bottle, the way his throat bobbed while he swallowed, how his fingers curled around the bottleneck – before I could make a conscious decision my hand was in my panties and my legs were spread. I frantically rubbed my clit and arched my back. I was already sopping wet just from remembering how close to each other we were at the bar, I imagined leaning over to lick the lemonade off his lips and, a moment later, and I felt my orgasm shaking me while I pressed my lips firmly together to remain quiet.

A knock on the door woke me up, and I realized I'd fallen asleep with my hand between my legs. I'd overslept; with no time left for a shower, I cleaned up as best as I could (and as fast as I could), hoping he wouldn't be able to smell my late night adventures on me. The ride home passed mostly in silence, with James deep in thought, his jaw clenched almost angrily, as I read my book in the passenger seat.