Chapter One #2
I spat, rinsed, and dried my mouth off. I applied a little tinted moisturizer and some lip gloss before taking off my bonnet.
I shook out my afro, and my kinky curls spilled freely around my face, shoulders, and down my back.
My afro was so beautifully thick, voluminous, and alive in a way that made it nearly impossible to wrangle into submission.
I had learned to love the stubbornness though and appreciated the curls settling where they wanted to.
They were perfect just like her ginger curls falling behind her—
Do not think about it.
With one final check, I rushed into my closet.
Hastily, I pulled out my maroon-red hoodie with SECURITY written in all-white caps on the front and back and a pair of dark jeans.
After slipping those on over my sports bra and boxer briefs, I slipped my feet into some sneakers I wore so often that they were already tied .
I looked fine in my floor-length mirror, but I also couldn’t help noticing how butch I looked, too.
My sister often joked that I transitioned from a man to a soft-masc lesbian, and I couldn’t help but let her have it.
Being a minotaur, I was naturally seven feet tall.
My transition added more feminine curves and rolls to my already plus-size body.
But I had always preferred dressing more for comfort and function than to be pretty.
If my old jersey looked that good on her, I bet my hoodie would look so fucking stunning on her. I had filled out quite a bit since college and my transition. The way my clothes would kiss her body now —
Absolutely under no fucking circumstances are we thinking about it, Tilly. Cut it the fuck out!
After I picked up my phone from the charger, I raced out of my bedroom.
I grabbed my backpack from the armchair where I had tossed it next to my helmet.
I began throwing in everything I needed for my shift, abandoning the pretense of organization.
I ran into the kitchen to grab a few bags of candy and my water bottle.
The dessert-flavored fruit chews were my latest hyper-fixation.
The strawberry ice cream was my favorite —
That’s something that wasn’t in the dream. Did Wrenley taste just like my favorite fruit that she always reminded me of? Was she as wet in real life —?
My fingers fumbled, making me almost spill my water bottle as I was refilling it.
Tilly Rhea Bove. Stop. Thinking. About. It.
I slung my backpack over my shoulders, grabbed my helmet and keys, and left.
The rays of the late setting sun greeted me as the garage door opened.
The soft spring breeze was uncharacteristically cool for a March day in Georgia, but I welcomed its crisp freshness and chill as it nibbled at my cheeks.
I inhaled deeply, held it for a few moments, and then exhaled.
“You got this, Tilly. You’re going to work. You’re going to be normal. You’re going to be fine,” I chanted repeatedly as I threw one of my legs over my motorcycle. Once I started it, she loudly rumbled to life.
For all the ass play that I’ve done, I’ve never played with toys there. What would that kind of vibration feel like? For her to take control over my pleasure just like she did with hers—?
As if I could push those thoughts out by sheer force of my will, I shoved my helmet on.
Unfortunately, because of the spell on my gear, it came off more like trying to slam one of those IKEA anti-divorce drawers.
My helmet was magicked to go over my afro while maintaining my hair.
It also had built-in headphones, so I could blare the “I’m Young, Angry, And I Call My Mom by Her First Name to Her Face” playlist that Wrenley had made for me years ago.
As “Last Resort” by Papa Roach played, I revved my engine and peeled out of my driveway.
I sped toward Blackbell, dodging and weaving through the normal evening traffic as the nocturnal supernatural beings left for work and the day ones headed home.
Blackbell was one of the largest supernatural cities in the country and the supernatural capital of Georgia.
It was divided into four districts: the Business District toward the west, Little Salem in the south, the Shopping and Transport District in the east, and Everlore University in the middle.
Every part of the city was built for a myriad of supernatural creatures, including the roads.
Thanks to the “speed demon” lanes, as many liked to call them, I was able to fly through the streets from my house on the outskirts of the city toward the Shopping and Transport District, where the Labyrinthine Den was located.
Nevertheless, there was plenty of time for me to think on my commute, and I couldn’t escape my thoughts no matter how fast I went.
Tilly, c’mon, you can’t be this sprung over a dream!
But it wasn’t just a dream.
It was Wrenley.
I had had a crush on Wrenley Hawkins since I had first laid eyes on her over two years ago.
My little sister, Ira Mae, had just moved into a new apartment in Blackbell with a friend she had met back in college in Texas.
The place was on my route home from the Den, so Ira had asked me to drop off something that she needed for the next day.
It was well after 3 AM, but Ira had always been a bit of a night owl.
Yet, any teasing retort I had for my baby sister dropped along with my jaw once the door opened.
Her fluffy rusty-copper curls were in a messy bun that still managed to be picture-perfect.
A blush deepened the rosiness of her golden-brown skin, and I wanted to see how far it went along her body.
Where she was sleepy before, her brown eyes were now suddenly wide, bright, and awake.
A dusting of flour streaked across the freckles on one of her cheeks.
Miraculously, her oversized maroon and orange Houston Hunters jersey was spotless from what I could tell.
Not that I was looking at her clothes that much, since her boyshorts just barely peeking out from under her shirt were so distractingly tiny that they showed off nearly all of the perfection of her legs and feet.
There was a sparking hunger and curiosity in those liquor-brown eyes as she drank me in, too, just as speechless as I was.
We stared for a long time, until the oven sang a jaunty tune from inside.
It felt like it was signaling more than one thing was done preheating.
We clumsily made our way into the kitchen.
As I walked past her, I instinctively inhaled.
Being a minotaur-shifter, I instinctively did it when I entered a new place or met someone new.
I expected to smell Wrenley, sure, since she was so close by, but I mostly thought I would smell the newness of the apartment and Ira’s floral scent that I had grown up with.
What struck me instead was the scent of strawberries.
Fresh.
Ripe.
Warm.
Sweet.
Familiar.
Comforting.