"Where's the shampoo?"

"There should be some in the bottle," Chrissy said to him, her eyes traveling to his dripping wet chest.

"Chris. I love the way your hair smells, don't get me wrong, but I don't want to smell like a girl."

Her eyebrows raised and she spoke very slowly. "It's all I've got. So your options are like a girl or strawberry thickshake."

He tugged at his towel, looking annoyed and I struggled not to laugh at him. He looked very suddenly like a pouty toddler, shuffling back into the ensuite.

Chrissy turned back to me then and I felt stupid about my sappy speech.

Had I been too obvious about how Caleb might not be the best one for her?

"I'll just go now," I said, outlining a chain of interlocking hearts on he table. "See you tomorrow, Chrissy."

"Yeah. Bye, Jake."

"Hippolyte et Aricie was Jean-Philippe Rameau's first opera," I said, looking over my shoulder at Chrissy. The dim, yellow light threw sparkles into her hazel eyes, making them shine and seem darker then before.

"We know, Simmons," Caleb snapped. "We did the goddamn project together."

I frowned. He hadn't done anything on the project, other than type his name at the bottom with mine and Chrissy's.

"Look! It's starting," Chrissy said hastily, blocking my chance at retaliation.

I settled back into my chair, ignoring the way that Caleb slung his arm around her, the way she snuggled in close. I was jealous of him, that was for sure. Not of the way he was her boyfriend, but of how easy going he was around, so sure that he was the only one who had any claim over her, which was crap. I cared about her too. Chrissy was like my younger sister; I worried for her.

I winced at the note the performer on stage had just hit. It was unnaturally high, and painful to my ears. Unfortunately, she was getting progressively higher and louder, working her way up through the notes.

It was the type of noise where you expected a bunch of windows to crack and shatter. But they didn't. What she did achieve though, was to make me clutch at my ears, clamping my hands completely over them. The sound seemed to pierce my actual brain and it hurt like hell. I was certain that my eardrums were going to pop or something.

I couldn't take it any more and stood up suddenly, practically running towards the door.

It wasn't so bad outside. The building had been partially soundproofed and that dulled the sound of it considerably. But my head was still throbbing with a violent headache.

I sat down on the sidewalk, letting my head drop between my knees, counting the seconds as they passed. One . . . two . . . three, four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . .

"You okay, kid?" A man's voice said. "You look a little roughed up there."

"I'm fine," I replied. "Just a headache."

He was an old guy with in a long, dirty tan coat. Obviously, he was homeless and loving it. I'd always been able to understand that. To have no ties, to be free to do whatever the hell you wanted; I would love that too.

Would have loved that. Now, I was more than happy to have a tie, a bond, whatever you wanted to call it. I was more than happy to have Chrissy.

And, I was only a little disgusted at the soppy, mushy mess that she was turning me into. None of the other guys had changed after imprinting, other than a slight priority rearranging. It was only me who had been turned upside down, twisted inside out and thrown into the middle of this mess.

"I saw you with that school group. You were looking at that girl – the blonde one – and she was looking at the blonde boy. I think your pains come from girl troubles."

"You're observant, for an old guy," I said, not really caring about how that might make him feel. I knew I should, but I really didn't.

"Yes, I am. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

He looked up from his hands, staring at me with penetrating blue eyes. "You tell me your problems, get them off your chest. I know nothing about your situation and will be able to comment from a completely neutral perspective."

I ignored him.

"Look, godammit," he hissed, springing at me, clutching my shirt collar in his fists. "My only child died a year ago today and I need this distraction, okay?"

He wasn't scaring me, but I felt bad for the old guy. "Her name is Chrissy."

And so I told him everything, leaving out the parts about how I was really a mythical creature. He sat and listened, completely absorbed in my issues.

I'm not sure of the actual notes and such of Hippolyte et Aricie, but it IS a real play/opera and it really was Jean-Philippe Rameau's first. Google it you're that curious.

If you haven't already, go read Poughkeepsie by

Review?

Chris is staying in Houston with her MOM b/c her Mom is there (Why?) so she runs off to her hotel/Mom's apartment?

Jacob is just an idiot who "somehow" misses the school transport back to Galveston . . . she notices him laughing with a homeless guy and is all WTF ARE YOU DOING?!

Chapter ten:

And so he meets her Mom who promptly cuts his hair nice and short and hott - Taylor Lautner style. He also stays at the hotel/apartment with Chris while her Mom goes out to meet insert important name here like Jean-Pierre

They get to know one another while watching movies in the lounge part of wherever they're staying . . .

Zey kiss - MWAH. ((PROS - dramaaaaa . . . They'd have sexual tension between them which is fun to write . . . - She could get a hint that he isn't exactly human - aka his overwhelming heat . . . - TENSION . . . Every time they see said movie (which Cal HAPPENS to want to watch . . .) they feel guilty/blush hardcore. - tension - doubly awesome.))

Momma walks in on-? Possible cliffie ending.