The best part of being an adult is being able to eat
half a dozen cupcakes for dinner. The worst part of being an adult is the
awareness of the fact that eating half a dozen cupcakes for dinner is bad for
you. I decided to focus on the positives in life and go for it. You only turn
twenty-nine once, and these birthday cupcakes weren't gonna eat themselves. Or,
if they were, I was damn well going to beat them to it.

It was one week past my birthday and, quite frankly,
I was surprised I had any cupcakes left. Yes, even considering the fact that my
baby brother, my best friend, and a werewolf I hated had each sent me enough
baked goods to feed ten children’s birthday parties. After all, I’m aces at
taking down pastry in ways that would shame a lesser woman. The only reason I’m
not bigger than my house is that my best friend-slash-assistant Chloe forces me
to work most of it off at the gym several times a week.

My mother had begged me to come home to Montana for
my birthday but, as I do nearly every year, I had given my reasons for why I
couldn’t. This year, my reasons were entirely valid, which wasn’t always the
case. I love my family, but it’s safer for my father and me if we stay a few
states apart.

At the moment, though, I was counseling a woman in
the middle of a divorce, and taking time off to eat cake and blow out candles
seemed unfair to Loraine. Any therapist worth her salt feels for her clients,
but I’ve got an edge that allows me to literally experience what they’re going
through when they sit in my office and pour out their hearts.

Sensing Loraine’s sloshing, thick sadness fill the
room twice a week was more than enough to make me feel guilty at the thought of
missing even one appointment for birthday festivities. While all my clients
matter to me, I felt a little something extra for her, considering her
circumstances. So, rather than flying home to be squeezed and coddled by my
mother, I was on the couch in frumpy pajamas watching reality TV. Family party
or not, though, I was going to put my all into enjoying my birthday treats.

I felt Chloe at the door just as I was taking my
third and final bite of a chocolate cupcake and panic seized me. She didn’t
know anyone else had sent me fattening food. If she caught wind that I was
eating more than my fair share—hell, more than President Taft’s fair
share—of cupcakes, she’d double or triple her efforts to keep me healthy.
I’d be eating kale and broccoli and whatever else is green for weeks.

“Coming,” I said around a mouthful of contraband as I
scrambled to hide the evidence. Panic jumped in my throat again as I felt the
smoky edge of suspicion puff through her contentment.

I scooped up the box of cupcakes and made it to the
kitchen before Chloe realized she didn’t have to wait for me and walked right
in.

“What are you eating?” she asked, a note of knowing
accusation in her voice. The suspicion had grown, no longer a wispy leak but a
full-blown torrent. I might have let out a terrified squeak.

“Nothing!” I protested, tossing a dish towel over the
box as if that would do any good.

“Gwen,” she said as she leaned through the kitchen
doorway. I winced as her suspicion solidified enough to be an ooze of
disappointment. I whipped around to grin innocently at her, but found myself
immediately distracted.

“You have chocolate on your teeth,” she said. I
ignored the fact that she had a valid point and looked her up and down.

“Why are you dressed up?” I asked.

“I’m not, really,” Chloe replied, looking down at her
outfit. Chloe is small, sleekly muscled in a way that I'm always jealous of
when we hit the gym. Her hair is a light blond, cut boy-short around the back
and sides but left long in the front. Her bangs were swept across her forehead,
pinned to the side with little clips that held shiny red baubles. They matched
the four piercings in each of her ears and the skinny scarf-necklace draped
around her neck. The red managed to bring out the blue in her eyes.

She’d pulled leggings in the same deep red over her
short legs and had somehow managed to walk gracefully across my living room
despite the fact that she was wearing shoes with heels so long and sharp I was
sure the TSA would have tackled her to the ground had she entered an airport.
The cable-knit baby pink sweater she wore over it all draped heavily down to
mid-thigh, but didn’t manage to hide the fact that she’s in great shape. I
pointed.

“You look… not fancy, but nice.”

“I always look nice,” she said, slipping past me to
lift the towel and peer into the box at my illicit sugar. She didn’t say anything,
just twisted expertly on her heels to smile my way and wag her brows. “Come on,
let’s go out.”

“But… cupcakes.” I pointed at the box, then figured I
might as well just reach a little bit further and grab a treat. She blocked me
before I could get what I was aiming for, pulling my arm until I had no choice
but to move as she wanted. The next thing I knew, my back was pressed against
her chest, my forearm over my belly like we were dancing.

“No more cupcakes, Gwen. We haven’t been out in
awhile. Let’s get you dressed. Come on!”

“I don’t—” I started to argue but realized it
was fruitless. She was already shuffling me out of the kitchen, around the
corner, and down the hall to my bedroom. I probably
could
have argued if
I was really invested in the idea of staying home, but I couldn’t think of a
reason not to let her have her way. While my empathy means I don’t do so well
in crowds—all those emotions zinging around like Nerf darts shot at my
face by caffeinated children—Chloe knows what I can handle. Sometimes I
think she knows me better than I know myself, which is how she always picks out
more flattering outfits than I can pull together. I let her fuss over me,
putting on what she handed me and making small talk as she gussied me up.

As Chloe stood in front of me next to the mirror and
started working her makeup magic, I considered my reflection. I’m pretty cute,
though not in the same way Chloe is. I’m a smidge below average height with
dark hair I keep ruler-straight at my chin and across my brows. Chloe’s exercise
regimen can only do so much, so while I’m not straining to get through any
doorways, I
am
a bit pudgy. On the plus side, I’ve got a great rack.

“I don’t even remember buying these jeans,” I mused. “They
make my ass look pretty good, though.”

“That’s why you bought them,” she sighed. “You don’t
remember because you bought ice cream right after and froze your brain cells. Now
look at me or you’ll end up with eyeliner on your ear.”

I did as commanded and Chloe got back to doing
something that made my green eyes look big and innocent. It wasn’t long before
I was all dolled up and Chloe was handing me a pair of heels and doing an
excited little hip wiggle.

“This is gonna be fun!”

“Where are you taking me? You know I don’t do clubs
or discothèques, or whatever places you crazy kids are hanging out at these
days.”

“Kids? I’m three years younger than you.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I promise you’ll enjoy it. I’ll buy you a cocktail,
something with sugar on the rim.”

“But I have sugar in the—”

“No arguments. We’re leaving and you’re going to have
fun. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

I wracked my brain for some example that would allow
me to finish my cupcakes, but nothing was coming to mind. Chloe doesn’t back
down when she wants something and it might do me good to work on my shielding
some. Maybe I’d be able to enjoy being around hordes of angry miscreants by my
thirtieth birthday if I tried hard enough.

***

Chloe and I were draped across a white couch in the
corner of Mettle, a vegetarian lounge in the Fremont neighborhood of Seattle.
True to her word, she’d bought me a sweet, baby blue cocktail with matching
sugar on the rim. I sipped it slowly because, as good as it tasted, alcohol and
my empathy don’t mix. If I get more than a bit buzzed around others, every
emotion is amplified to excruciating levels. Eternally smarter than I am, Chloe
had a mocktail version of the same thing, though she’d opted for no sugar on
the rim. Jerking her chin towards someone behind me, she winked.

“Go say hi. He looks like your type.”

I glanced over my shoulder and spotted a man in nice
jeans and a slate grey vest leaning up against the bar. He
was
pretty
cute, but it seemed like too much effort to get up and go over to him.

“Eh,” I grunted, turning back to Chloe.

“He’s cute!”

“Then you date him.”

“I need to leave someone for you,” she teased. “It’s
been a few months since you’ve been on a date.”

“I’ve got Sonny,” I said, taking a sip. “I’m fine.”

“He’s a bird. He can’t fulfill every one of your
needs.”

“Yes, but he’s adorable and he doesn’t complain when
I eat cupcakes for dinner.”

“Speaking of rotting your insides, how many other
sweets do you have hidden around your place?”

I cleared my throat delicately, then took another
long sip in an attempt to avoid answering. Chloe’s not an empath like me, but
she
is
a body language polyglot. No matter what your body is saying, she
can understand it. Fiddling with my drink was the only safe response.

“I know you got a dozen from your family and I know I
sent you a half-dozen. Those were neither of those batches.” She nudged me with
her knee. “Did Madeline send them?”

I wanted to lie, since it was totally plausible that
I’d gotten the cupcakes from the café that takes up nearly the entire bottom
floor of our office building. I’m at The Internets almost every day and
Madeline, the owner, had indeed given me free birthday sweets, though it had
just been a Chestburster—a spicy Mexican hot cocoa—and a slice of
cake.

Chloe’s smugness was rooting around in my brain and I
could tell without looking that she already knew the answer to her own
question.

“Oh fine. Mel sent them,” I admitted.

“I knew it!” She laughed, clapping her hands together
around the stem of her martini glass. “So naturally you’re going to thank him
with sex.”

“Gross,” I whined, rolling my gaze down to look at
the last of the liquid in my glass. Talk of sex with our attractive but
insufferable work neighbor had made me lose my appetite. “Why do you hate me?”

“Gwen, honey, I love you. That’s why I think you
should give him a shot. Believe me, he’s worth it.”

“I really don’t want to hear
it.” I thought for a second before morbid curiosity
got
the better of me. “When did you sleep with him?”

“Maybe a year ago? It was
right after you hired me, before we opened. I ran into him at The Internets and
he seduced me with his cheesy pick-up lines.”

“That’
s just disgusting.
”

She laughed, her whole body
shaking with it.
She was happy as a clam to
tease me about Mel Somerset. Despite my desire to remain grouchy due to the
subject, I felt her glee bubbling against me, fizzing into my brain pleasantly.
Being an empath has its upsides. After a few seconds, she shook her head. “
You
’ll fall prey at least once. I don’t know why you’ve
resisted this long. You’ve seen him shirtless; it’s awesome. Besides, after you
sleep with him
,
he kind of lays off.”

“
Doesn
’t look that way to me.”

“
Eh, he
’s all talk now.” She lowered her voice, accounting
for the fact that most of the population has no idea that the supernatural side
of the world even exists
. Hell,
I
’m technically
part of that world and I barely know the extent of it, though that’s mostly by
choice.
“I think it’s a werewolf thing. Don’t get me
wrong; if I showed up at his office with no panties on, he’d sweep everything
off the desk and we’d go at it like bunnies, but that train has left the
station, you know?”

“I really don’
t. He
’s all over you all the time.”

“Not as much as he’s all over
you
. Next time he comes by, watch how he acts with you and then with me.
It’s a whole different ball game.”

“I thought it was a train.”

“Maybe there’s a ball game going on
in
the
train.”

I took the last swig of my drink and set it down on
the end table next to me. “Let’s just get out of here. I’m getting a headache
from being around all these people.”

“No, you’re not, but we can leave.” Chloe pushed to
her feet, took my hand, and yanked me up. “I need to stop by the office before
I take you home, though.”

“It can’t wait until morning? It’s late.”

“It’s nine-thirty, Grandma. You can handle it. I’ll
be quick. Come on.” Chloe slipped an arm around my shoulder and led me toward
the door before pausing. “Oh! One second. I forgot to tip.”

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