12. Sedrick #2
Phil gave a hesitant nod before he just as hesitantly asked, “Is there . . . I mean, is there a budget, or . . .” Phil’s cheeks flushed that enticing shade of pink that nearly matched his wings.
A gentle breeze caught the edges of his magenta hair and tossed it across his lower back.
He pulled the sides up and left the remainder down.
The play of shaded pink was mesmerizing.
“No.” I coughed to clear my thoughts. That vein of palladium Oliver had promised came through. It was even bigger than Oliver had predicted, something he couldn’t stop marveling about. I’d lost count of how many times Burt had told Oliver to “shut the hell up.” But it was always said with a grin.
Money wasn’t an issue. Despite the cost of Ray’s retainer and Phil’s paycheck, I didn’t think I’d ever have financial concerns again.
Phil still seemed hesitant, but he finally acquiesced. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
I waved him off and made my way across the street. When I turned to check on them, Phil was heading the kids down the sidewalk toward a store that would have at least some of what they needed. My wolf gave a happy sigh at the sight. Phil with the kids just seemed . . . right.
* * *
T he fitting was just as miserable as I anticipated.
Suits were for lawyers, not jockeys like me.
I squirmed in my long-sleeved shirt. I could still feel the evil collar Beezie had cinched around my neck.
She could call it a tie all she wanted, but the thing was what it was, and that was nothing short of a ball and chain.
Werewolves weren’t meant to be collared, at least not alphas.
My mind swiftly veered into dangerous territory when I pictured a collar wrapped around Phil’s neck.
But it wouldn’t be made out of fabric. Pink sapphires mixed with drops of diamonds all set in a platinum band .
. . That’s what belonged around my pixie’s neck.
A platinum chain dripping from the middle with the name Sedrick’s made my dick hard.
Great, now I was uncomfortable for a whole new reason.
“Look at that pixie. Goddess, what is he wearing?”
My ears perked, and I cocked my head in the direction I’d heard the comment come from. The voices grew louder as two pixies passed me, their toes lifting off the ground as they fluttered by.
“Haven’t you ever seen Phil?” The two pixies’ colorations were vastly different. The one who seemed to know Phil had rainbow-colored hair, and her wings were a blur of visual explosion. Her companion was pure gold, from the hair to the wings to the flowing fabric adorning their petite body.
But as different from each other as they were, they were more similar to each other than they were to Phil.
“Phil?” They’d flown past me but slowed as we collectively drew closer to Phil and the kids’ position outside a store I’d barely noted in the past. I had no reason to ever enter a clothier specializing in pixie attire.
“That can’t be his true name. No pixie parent would be that cruel,” the golden pixie said in a hushed whisper that was loud to my werewolf ears.
The rainbow pixie giggled. “No, but his true name isn’t much better. It’s short for Philodendron.”
“He’s huge,” Golden said with awe. “What on earth is he wearing, though? And are those were children with him?”
They slowed as we got nearer to Phil. From the looks of things, he hadn’t noticed us, and I was glad. My wolf and I agreed that the two fluttering pixies needed a good swat. One wave of my arm would send them careening into a building or two.
“I have no idea,” Rainbow answered. “But it’s ghastly.”
“The children?” Golden gasped.
“No, of course not. Phil. Those clothes are . . . I don’t even have the words. He needs to do more than stand outside Petal’s Posh Pants. He needs to go in and purchase something.”
We were almost on top of Phil and the kids. The moment Phil registered the other pixies, his shoulders stiffened as he gripped Ruthie’s hand tighter.
“I don’t think there’s anything in there that’ll fit.
” Golden seemed certain of that fact and said it louder than necessary.
He wanted Phil to hear, and damn it all, he got his wish.
Phil’s shoulders rounded, and his wings drooped.
Maybe I hadn’t known Phil long, but I’d never seen his wings do that.
They were always up, alert, and . . . happy. This looked anything but happy.
Rainbow’s irritating giggle went up an octave or twelve, and my teeth ground. The screech of that noise was nothing like the soft, soothing laughter I loved to hear Phil make.
Pixie dust flew around me, and I sneezed. Dillon sneezed too. His a softer version than the honking noise I’d made. Rainbow and Golden flew closer together, their grating laughter nearly as irritating as the pixie dust they’d left in their wake.
I was nearly on top of Dillon when his low growl met my ears, a quieter echo of the one sounding from my chest.
“Those pixies did that on purpose.” Dillon furiously scrubbed his hand across his nose, and another sneeze erupted. Ruthie had drawn up her shirt and covered her nose. My niece was smarter than Dillon or me.
Phil tugged his gray t-shirt away from his body and used the edge to wipe the snot from Dillon’s nose. “Don’t mind them,” Phil said, but his tone was clear that it was one of those “do as I say, not as I do” moments.
“What kind of pixies were those?” Dillon craned his neck so he could see around Phil.
The pixies in question were several stores down. I was still contemplating swatting them into a building.
“Social pixies,” Phil answered neutrally. “They, uh . . . They can be a little . . .” Phil struggled, and I thought he was probably searching for a kind way of calling them the assholes they were. I appreciated his restraint in front of the kids.
While Phil helped Dillon get his sinuses back to rights, I took a minute to look through a window I’d probably passed but never done more than glance at.
The inside of the store looked like a well-planned color explosion.
I’d never seen so many hues in one location, not even in a garden.
It should have overloaded my senses. It didn’t.
There was order to it. The colors were grouped together and flowed from one end of the store to the other in harmony.
Even from this distance, I could see the lightweight nature of the fabric.
It was typical pixie wear, and there was no mistaking the look of longing in Phil’s eyes.
Had I really misjudged Phil? Were Burt and Oliver right? I’d only seen Phil in the dull, dark grays and blacks of his t-shirts and jeans. The boots were similarly drab. In a way, the muted colors made his pink wings and multi-shaded hair stand out. They were a splash of eye candy in a sea of blah.
They were the clothes I’d met Phil in. I’d assumed they were what he wanted to wear.
At the time, I’d found Phil’s style sense beneficial.
I’d taken the clothes as the measure of the pixie and judged him to be far more practical than your average pixie.
I’d found it a good quality. I was starting to second-guess that first impression.
I had no idea if the rainbow pixie had been right when she’d said nothing in the store would fit Phil and asked, “Would you like to go in? Is there something you’d like to shop for today too?”
Phil’s grass-green eyes blinked, and his light pink lashes fluttered against his cheeks. Usually, I liked Phil’s smiles, but the sadness in this one tightened my chest.
“No.”
It was a simple, one-word answer, yet I didn’t think it was nearly so cut-and-dried.
There was no mistaking the longing I’d seen in Phil’s eyes.
It was something I’d need to contemplate.
When you got right down to it, I didn’t know much about pixies.
It wasn’t like pixies and werewolves ran in the same circles, not that I’d ever run in much of any circle unless it was with my pack.
As we walked away from Petal’s Posh Pants, I decided my poor pixie knowledge needed remedying.
Dillon and Ruthie had taken to the pixie far quicker and better than I could have hoped.
Phil was quickly becoming a member of the family—pack.
And werewolves took care of pack, even when that pack consisted of a larger-than-average pixie with impossibly pink hair and wings.