Kindred by J. A. Redmerski Page B

still can’t read him. It’s starting to make me anxious. He looks away from me in some long distant thought and then turns back to me again. “It’s just impossible.” He pauses, averting his gaze so that he isn’t looking me directly in the eyes. “There’s no chance of it happening.”
    I look at him in disbelief, but I realize I’m staring right through him instead.
    I snap back into the moment, “What do you mean?” I say. “Isaac…Look what happened to Sebastian. And the night in March…,” I sigh heavily, almost swallowing the words down. “Okay, it’s my turn to be blunt—it worries me that you’re so sure of yourself.”
    He stares at the floor now, letting his folded hands suspend between his knees, his back arched forward.
    “I don’t know how to explain it to you,” he says, “but I want you to be ready on your own time. Not on mine.  And that’s why I don’t talk about it or try to convince you of it.”
    I look down, absently staring at the zigzag pattern of colors that make up the rug beside the bed. “Because then you think I’ll feel more pressured?”
    He crouches in front of me, placing his arms across my thighs like he did when I sat in the chair.
    “I never want you to feel pressured to do anything ,” he says, his face severe and yet still so beautiful.
    “But why would you think that?” I say, though I’m already feeling somehow I know the answer to this.
    “Adria,” he says, “you still worry I’m going to think you’re a tease. Add this detail and you’ll drive yourself crazy always wondering if I’m frustrated with you.”
    Why is he so good to me? I think to myself.
    I don’t know what to say to him because words really can’t express how I feel right now. I can’t say out loud that he just melted my heart, or that I think I’d die inside without him in my life because last time I checked, I sucked at poetry and we aren’t Romeo and Juliet.
    I smile warmly and I think it says everything for me just fine.
    He stands up and starts searching the room again for whatever it is he lost.
    I decide to drop it. I guess I’ll find out in Portland if his confidence has been misplaced all along.

 
     
    9
     
     
     
     
     

    AFTER A LONG PENSIVE moment, I get up from the bed and slip my feet down into my gym shoes and then move over to the mirror mounted on the dresser to brush out my hair.
    “What are you looking for anyway?” I say, watching him behind me through the mirror.
    “There was a black velvet bag, about this high,” he holds his hands out about four inches apart, “I thought I set it on the nightstand yesterday. I guess not.”
    He starts to pace.
    “Have you seen it around?” he says from behind.
    I scan the room briefly. “I’ve spent most of the time in here today sort of unconscious.”
    He laughs under his breath and stops near the foot of the bed.
    “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” I say, walking toward him. “I’ll help you look. What’s in it?”
    “No,” he stops me. “I’ll find it later.”
    He seems kind of nervous, maybe even a little defeated.
    “Are you sure?”
    The door comes open and Zia and Sebastian are standing at it, looking at us with up-to-no-good grins.
    “Zia!” I say and run over to hug her.
    “Knock next time,” Isaac says, “Adria could be in here taking advantage of me.”
    Zia squeals out a laugh and embraces me in a hug.
    She pulls back then with her hands around my biceps. “Oh, is that how it is now? You’ve become more Alpha than Isaac is supposed to be?”
    “No!” I laugh, “He’s just being a pervert.”
    Zia waltzes right into the room, hourglass hips swaying side to side, hair spiked up with not a strand out of place, as usual. Sebastian is not far behind, though he waits for Isaac to give him that guy approval-nod before he comes in the rest of the way.
    “Besides,” Zia says, “If you were busy, I’m sure you’d be smart enough to lock the door. And if not,” she