by Tempe O'Kun
Kylie tipped a hand back and forth with fluid grace. “I don’t think she knows yet. You know how it goes.” She smirked up at him and thumped his chest. “Sorry to disappoint your inner fanboy.”
She wasn’t wrong. Getting to see Laura work from up close had been one of the coolest parts of the show and he’d been dying to know where she’d go now that Strangeville was finished. He changed the subject. “What about school? You looking at any colleges?”
She grimaced. “Not really. Still decompressing from the show. Moving across the country got complicated fast.” She elbowed him. “You’ve got that covered, though.”
He shrugged. Covered was a strong word. “Just some classes: this and that, seeing what sticks.” A chuckle. “Liked the writing class I took, but the instructor seemed more interested in talking about his dream journals than teaching us how to tell a story. Kind of put me off.”
“I always liked your stories. You should do what you enjoy.” Her eyebrow lifted in his direction. “As long as it isn’t acting.”
“Hey!” He poked her flank in retaliation.
She flicked him with the tip of her tail. “Just saying, you’re lucky Serge is basically you with a Russian accent and a penchant for dramatic lighting.”
His legs crossed, adding a dapper tinge to his hulking demeanor. “I’ll have you know I have an offer on the table even now.”
The otter smirked. “That Ukrainian kibble commercial?”
“I could get you a part too.” He settled an arm on her shoulders. “I’m told we have chemistry.”
Her paw slipped around his back. “I might’ve heard that somewhere.”
His tail swished against the blankets. “Seriously, though: without you, I would’ve just been a bit part. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that.”
She patted his side. “Hey, it worked out pretty well for me too.” A slight blush crept under her cheek ruffs. “I mean, I got way more screen time than I did as the tagalong kid.”
“You weren’t really a tagalong, since you brought skills no one else had”
“That’s a generous assessment.” She chuckled. “And then you showed up and we hunted monsters. We didn’t have the best track record, but we did our damnedest.”
“You were the audience surrogate too, especially in the early seasons. You’d ask the questions the viewer would be asking. Then the writers reached a point where you’d already have the relevant information, so they started handing the confused lines to me.” He furrowed his brow. “And then they never stopped.” He shook his head. “Serge was kind of dense.”
“It made him cute.” Her phone buzzed. She slid it from her pocket. “Mom says dinner’s ready.”
The husky raised an ear, with a glance to her mobile. “She texts you from downstairs?”
“Eh.” She offered only a shrug and a smirk. “Big house.” She stood, which caused the waterbed to become unstable and left Max in a slow tip backward. She giggled and lent him a paw.
Once he’d managed to scramble off the shifting surface, he followed her down the stairs. “Back home, we just bark at each other.”
Max closed the door to the guest room, alone for the first time since he’d stepped off the train that afternoon. Without Kylie to hurry him along on a tour he could take time to get acquainted with his new lodgings. The room was dominated by a big, plush looking queen bed beneath a bay window. Pale, neutral wallpaper and dark carpet, kind of like a hotel room. An old, massive dresser stood guard in one corner, and it seemed even bigger once he’d tucked his few items of clothing into it. He pondered buying some new clothes after all, just to keep them company.
The bathroom encouraged him: small, but private and comfortable. The ancient plumbing only groaned a little when he went to wet his toothbrush, and while he brushed he couldn’t help but notice how clean the counters were, how bright the steel of the faucets. Most the house he’d seen sat dusty and cluttered, only natural with just two people and such a big space to care for. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make his living space as comfortable as possible.
He returned to the bedroom and pondered his temporary home. He smiled, thinking back to his time staying with the Bevy’s in Hollywood, pretending to be an actor. He wondered if all the time he spent feeling at home in temporary lodging had been what made his permanent bed in Montana feel so strange.
He shrugged out of his shirt and emptied his pockets onto the nightstand. First his pocketknife: a sleek, simple thing Kylie had given him on their second Yuletide together. Then a handful of loose change, the ruins that four days of dining carts and train stop convenience stores had made of the hundred dollars his father had slipped him. This he stuffed into his plain, thin wallet and set beside the alarm clock. Last was his keyring, used more for the little flashlight on the keychain than for the pair of battered steel keys to his family’s house.
His eyes caught a flash of brass and he smiled. There, at the base of his bedside lamp, Kylie or her mom had left him a bright, freshly-cut house key. It was as warm a welcome as he could have hoped for. Sliding it in place with the others, he admired it on his keyring for a moment before it joined his wallet and knife in the pile.
The husky flung back the covers and climbed into bed. Even the thin blanket felt too heavy for the summer heat, so he let it drape over just his legs as he stared up at the ceiling. Seeing Kylie again had been really, really good. He’d almost forgotten how well they clicked, how in-sync they could be. The thought of spending a few weeks palling around with her made him smile in the darkness until the days of travel crept up on him and he fell asleep.
— Chapter 3 —
Settling In
Kylie sprawled in bed, waging a war of silent protest with her old nemesis, the sunrise. Every time the light would creep across the sheets she’d whimper and retreat, curling in deeper to the blankets. She finally roused from hazy dreams to find the sun had climbed well above the horizon. A sigh of resignation sunk through the silence of the room. The lutrine rocked back and forth on the waterbed until it propelled her in a slow slither onto the floor. She staggered past various dusty rooms and downstairs, tail dragging. Coffee. Coffee needed to happen.
Staggering downstairs and into the kitchen, she slapped a bagel in the toaster and grabbed salmon and cream cheese from the fridge. As she set it down, she noticed it. There, before her, sat a salmon and cream cheese bagel, complete with dill and tomato. Just the way she liked it.
The lutrine stood there a moment, questioning her sanity. Mom would have corrupted any lox bagel with onion. One webbed finger poked it. Still warm; she hadn’t sleepwalked down and made it herself. Then where—?
A polite cough arose behind her.
Max sat at the counter, ears tuned her way, a fork of scrambled eggs in his paw.
She struggled through a groggy blink.
He wagged, a small smile on his muzzle. “It’s not gonna bite, rudderbutt.”
She returned the smile, grabbing the plate and the empty mug beside it.
His deep blue gaze washed over her body.
Sitting across from him, Kylie chomped at her bagel. She swallowed a mouthful. “What?”
A pause, then he grabbed the coffee pot from its maker and poured her a cup. “I dunno. I haven’t seen you in months and now I’m in your kitchen and you’re eating breakfast in your underwear. It’s like no time has passed.”
A glance at the reflective side of the toaster revealed her wrinkled t-shirt and panties that had slipped a little too far down her hips for decency. “I look like I’ve been hit by a truck.” She rubbed a paw over bleary eyes with a chuckle to cover the sudden wave of self-consciousness. Then she glowered at him. “You look like you’ve been up for hours.”
“Farm kid. Up at dawn, regardless of time zone.” The canine forked up the last of his eggs and ate them. He wagged, a small smile on his muzzle. She thought his eyes might have darted downward, but reality was slippery this early in the morning. “You look fine, th
ough.”
Before she could process that comment, he’d cleared his plate to the sink and started running the tap. As the otter fumbled for a way to tell him he looked good too, great even, her mother bustled past the kitchen.
The elder lutrine chittered a laugh and straightened her rumpled housecoat. “Max, honey? Are you…doing dishes? Sweet fishes, you’ve been here a day and you’re already more useful than my other child.”
Kylie grumbled over her bagel. “Hey!”
Ignoring her daughter, Laura Bevy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over her sketch pad. “Would your parents be interested in trading?”
“Probably not.” White paws buried in suds, he glanced over a shoulder. “They’ve already got more estrogen than they know what to do with.”
Laura laughed. “We should count ourselves lucky you managed to escape the sister swarm to visit.”
He nodded, spying a sly eye at his groggy friend. “Though the trade might be worth it to see Kylie try to do farm work.”
“I don’t have to sit here and take this abuse.” The younger otter took another bite of her bagel and struggled to keep up a scowl as the perfect amount of cream cheese melted over her palette. She made sure to slurp her coffee extra loud, in retaliation.
Her mother cleaned her glasses on her worn-in t-shirt. “Been dating anyone?”
Kylie choked on her bagel.
Max placed a concerned paw on her back as she recovered. “Um, well, I wanted to be treated like regular old me when I got home, so I really just hung out with family and old friends.” He slouched under the weight of shyness. “So no.” He looked around for a place to divert the conversation and his glance fell on Kylie. “What about you, rudderbutt?”
“Me?” She looked up from licking the last of the bagel toppings from her finger webbing. Her hands flew to her lap, getting it all over her shirt. A thin laugh covered up the cream cheese catastrophe. “No way.”
He nodded sagely. “Slim pickings?”
The otter struggled to maintain her dignity while scrambling for a napkin to wipe her whiskers. She puffed out her chest and dabbed regally. “High standards.”
“Good.” The husky wagged. “Someone’d have to be pretty stupid not to see how awesome you are.”
“Thanks, Maxie. You too.” Kylie felt the heat of a blush under her fur and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I seem to be slathered in cream cheese.” She rose from the table and slunk upstairs before she could embarrass herself further. Cool bathroom tile slapped under her paws. Her clothes hit the floor. The steamy water of the shower helped wash away her indignity. A waterproof fur coat took a little extra time to clean, then fluff air back into. A short stopover to brush her teeth, hair, and whiskers, then back to her room.
As she crossed to her dresser the wall mirror caught her eye. The otter staring back at her looked cute and friendly, perfectly approachable. But she fell short of seductive.
She’d need to be more than cute and friendly if she was going to seduce Max.
In hindsight, she probably hadn’t done herself any favors by rolling out of bed and staggering around the kitchen like a drunk, either. A plan of some sort would’ve helped too. Why hadn’t she cobbled together some kind of plan for romancing him? Oh right: because reliable plans were Max’s department. Kylie, by contrast, had just sort of assumed the right idea would come to her. Fat lot of good that had done her so far.
The lutrine looked her reflection up and down. She liked her body and couldn’t think of anything she’d change, but a plunging neckline wouldn’t do her any good. Nice hips, sure, but she’d put up with tight jeans on the show for years and hated the way they bunched up her fur. Her paws traced up her legs to her waist. She looked good naked: otter genetics had given her plenty of subtle curves, and a swimming habit kept them subtle. Not the kind of body that got you onto magazine covers, but enough to turn some heads in Hollywood. Plus, she’d always prided herself on what she considered a truly stellar vagina. Not that it’d do her any good in romancing him unless she decided to be a whole lot more forward.
She pouted at the mirror, but that only made her cuter. This whole business would’ve been easier if she were sexy instead of adorable. She’d heard she was cute from enough makeup artists and marketers that she believed it, but she was beginning to doubt that was going to be enough. She couldn’t help noticing, as soon as she hit the age where she might be considered “sexy,” whenever the studio provided promo shots to a magazine or TV talk show, the in-house graphic artists had always added a few inches of height and at least a cup size.
If only movies hadn’t gotten her hopes up. The stereotype for otters was that they were either cute kids or sultry sexpots, and Kylie wasn’t having a whole lot of luck with the transition. She longed for a scene where the childhood friend shows up in a slinky dress and everyone falls over her, but suspected she’d look like an idiot. She ran her paws down her long torso, smoothing the imaginary garment. Not many excuses to dress up in a supernatural tourist town.
Maybe she just had to rehearse. She slipped into a fresh t-shirt and panties, then posed a few different ways, wondering which would constitute sexy for a charming but obtuse husky.
She dipped her hips, trying to put a sexy sway in her tail. “Oh Max, you sure know how to butter a girl’s bagel.” The comment hung in the air, just long enough for her to really listen to it. “Ugh! What’s that even mean?”
Gathering her composure, she tried again, leaning one arm against the mirror’s edge. “Max, that little guest bed has such thin blankets. You might be more comfortable in my bed. You know, with me…” She shook her head.
Clearing her throat, she cupped her breasts, lifting them together. “Hey Max, do you think my boobs are small enough that I could get away with not wearing a bra? Well, maybe you need a closer look?” A pause, then a frustrated sigh deflated her.
She draped herself onto a chair and cast a gloomy look at the mirror. “Max, you’re a total hunk and, like, the nicest guy ever. If you could just throw me on the bed and ravish me for a while, that would be really great.”
With a sigh and a flick of her tail, she flopped back onto the chair and stared at the ceiling. She must, she decided, be the least smooth otter ever.
A knock rattled the door. “Kylie?”
Shock tumbled her off the chair with a squawk. Snatching up her panties, shirt, and jeans, she scrambled into them, struggling to support her weight on the thrice-damned waterbed. “One second!” Clothed, she fumbled to the door, opening it to see Max standing at a polite distance. They smiled at each other as Kylie struggled to calm her hammering heart.
The otter stepped back from the doorway and gestured for him to enter. “What’s up?”
He followed a few steps, paws folded as he surveyed her room. “Your mother has volunteered you to show me the local sights.”
Kylie could think of a few very local sights she’d like to show him, but instead grabbed her favorite vest from the chair. “She would.”
A shrug rolled his massive shoulders. “I think your mom just doesn’t want me to get lost.”
“Yeah, you’ve always been her favorite.” She stuck out her tongue. Her webbed fingers zipped up the vest, verifying her wallet was in its usual pocket. “Wanna start with the giant albino lobster or the house everyone says is haunted?”
“Haunted house sounds up our alley.” He stood a little straighter. “Let’s start there.”
She swept her hands out. “Good choice! You’re standing in it.”
He perked his ears, but said nothing.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “The tour’s moving right along. Come on, you’ve only seen the livable parts.”
His eyes caught on the various pieces of colored paper pinned to the wall behind her door, then peered around for a better look.
She stepped between him and the door. “Ready?”
The husky straightened at the obvious deflection, ea
rs turning back to her as a question formed. Then he dropped it, gave her a wag of trust, and nodded.
With a paw on his chest, she turned him around and shepherded him down the hall, ignoring the flutter of paper as she closed the door after them. “Down the hall is Mom’s room. Biggest habitable room when we moved in.”
“Habitable?”
“Not covered in thirty years of dust and dead bugs. The otter soul can stand only so much cleaning.” She padded down a fork in the hallway and opened a door. Beyond lay a columned walkway around a massive open space. A wooden floor below bore decades of dust. A scattering of half-packed boxes and cloth-covered furniture had been cast adrift in the cavernous chamber. Out the window, a massive swimming pool sprawled across the back yard. “My family used to have parties here.”
Wide-eyed, he took in the entertaining room with a slack jaw. “For the whole town?”
She chuckled. “Pretty much.” They rounded the corner to tidy, dusty, and ancient bedchamber. Windows looked out on the back lot and stream. An ornate wooden door opened to a sprawling balcony. “This was the governess’s room.”
“Why’s a nanny’s quarters bigger than the master bedroom?” Max quirked an ear. He looked so out of place in his hoodie and jeans against the backdrop of the Queen Anne house. He touched a peeling strip of wallpaper to expose a spidery scrawl of charcoal.
Slipping between him and the wall, she set her paws on her hips and tried to act casual. “What would it take for you to be willing to raise a pack of otter kids?”
The husky looked around, as if imagining a flood of tiny Kylies barreling down the hall from the nursery at him, then nodded. “Touché.”
Kylie eeled about the musty room before slipping past him and back out the door. “At one point they hired an Old English Sheepdog to herd them, who was apparently very good, but she quit after they dyed her fur while she was sleeping.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
She shrugged and tried to keep her smile from fading. “Oh, you know, family history.”