Chapter 7

Shay

My loins are begging me to rub another one out after Jayce tossed me over his shoulder and forced me into the seat next to him. I resist the urge to squirm through the discomfort.

Ugh, Priscilla mentioned they can smell our arousal, and ever since I’ve been stupidly self-conscience about my loins and their reaction around him.

The cheesy grin on Jayce’s face confirms my body’s betrayal.

I’m reminded of my therapist’s advice when I’m stressed. I slip off my flip-flops. I shimmy my butt to the back of the seat and lift it while raising my back and leaning slightly forward.

Dr. Lanny’s visits give me hope. Hope that I’m still battling giving into Jayce.

I’ve had four out of twenty sessions with her.

Apparently, my body carries all my stress in my pelvic floor muscles. I have a tense vagina, which is the source of my sexual pain and why my vagina isn’t in the right place.

I’m determined to fix myself whether it’s for Jayce or some human male. The devil on my shoulder insists it’s more likely some other man will experience the benefits of my therapy.

If I keep up with my stretches and all the tips the doctor’s given me, my body will heal itself.

With Jayce’s face at the center of my thoughts, I haven’t missed a day of stretches.

“Are you okay?” Jayce asks.

“What makes you think I’m not okay?”

“You’re sitting funny. That doesn’t look very comfortable.”

I shrug. “My therapist suggested this position when I need to calm down.”

One day, I’ll probably have to admit everything to him, but not today. I’m fine with him thinking I’m seeing a shrink for now.

“I don’t want to be a source of angst for you.”

I don’t respond to his comment. What can I say?

Anjal and Priscilla whisper in the backseat. If I concentrated, I could make out what they are saying. I never understood how I could hear what other people couldn’t hear. Not until I learned advanced hearing belonged to me because of my demigod heritage.

It annoyed me I overheard things I shouldn’t have. At some point, I learned to tune the whispers out.

Knowing what I know now, it surprises me I never heard my parents discussing my adoption. It would seem they would have worried about me finding out and wanting to know where I came from.

I still haven’t confronted them. I don’t know how. And I’m afraid. I have so many questions, but will the answers really change anything?

“Are you a teacher like Priscilla?” Jayce’s voice shakes me from my stupor.

“Goodness, no. I hate kids.” Did I just admit that to him?

I steal a glance in his direction, certain I’ll see disdain on his face. All I see is that look of longing that rarely leaves his expressions.

“Well, then, what do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“What do you write?”

“I’m a freelance writer for a travel magazine, but I also write novels.”

“Does that involve a lot of traveling?”

“This is the longest I’ve been home since I started the job.”

Worry coats his brow. “When do you leave again?”

“I’m not sure. I have nothing planned right now. Maybe when I finish my current novel.”

“How many novels have your written?”

“I’m on my third.”

“Are they published?”

I nod and curl my legs up under me. He’s right about the posture position to calm my pelvic floor. It’s not the most comfortable way to sit. Dr. Lanny promises it will feel natural the more I train my body.

“Yes, I publish them myself.”

“Can I read them?”

“If you like cozy mysteries.”

“If I’m honest, I don’t read at all, but I’d read a book you wrote no matter what it’s about.”

“You don’t have to. Not even my parents have read my stuff.” I can’t hide the sting that truth inflicts. They don’t want to support what’s clearly, in their minds, a dead-end dream.

He turns toward me, away from looking at the road. “I’m not your parents.”

No, you’re not.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m the herd’s accountant.”

I scoff. “How does that work? Doesn’t the IRS wonder why you all live so long?”

“That’s why we need an accountant. We can’t file taxes for two centuries. We funnel our money through other accounts. Filing taxes with the IRS doesn’t happen, since none of us have birth certificates and social security numbers.”

“Do you have a driver’s license? What if we get pulled over?”

“We have an expert forger.” He says with a wink that sends shivers all the way to my toes.

“Do you have to move when people question why you don’t age?”

“Nah, we’re close enough to New Orleans, the city known for hauntings, witchcraft, and voodoo. It’s a fair assumption that our neighbors are more of a don’t ask don’t tell mentality.”

“That’s seems awfully risky to trust someone won’t investigate, eventually.”

“If you noticed, the older men all have beards. They’re good for hiding our true age. The women use makeup. But many of us stop leaving the labyrinth once we have grandchildren. My parents leave when they feel the urge, but they travel outside of Chackbay for their needs. They don’t go to town anymore to avoid anyone their age that is still living. We don’t go to school in town or to their churches or events. The humans only know us when they come into our shops. None of us have formed close relationships with any of them. It’s worked for us so far.”

If I stop aging, what am I going to tell my parents? What’s Cill going to tell hers?

My questions stay in my head as not to give Jayce a false sense of hope. How can I ever be anything more than one of his sweet butts?