Cooper stared at his laptop screen. Heart beating just a little faster, he opened a search window and typed “good alpha behavior,” face flaming even as he hit enter. The first couple of links were specific to animals, and he skipped over them. Then came pages and pages of links that were geared toward people.
Cooper tried one hesitantly. It listed long, detailed descriptions of what it claimed were the top traits or characteristics of an alpha. It was...rough. Intensely misogynistic, cissexist, heteronormative, for starters. It also didn’t sound like Cooper at all. Not a worrier? Can shoot the shit? Be able to walk away from hot girls? Well, he supposed that wasn’t inaccurate, per se, but it certainly wasn’t relevant to his situation. He couldn’t think of a single person who should be reading this, honestly.
He clicked through a couple more links, growing increasingly dismayed, and was just about to try new search terms when Boogie jumped off the couch top and scrambled onto the arm.
Cooper slammed the laptop shut, startled and guilty. Just the thought of being caught looking at one of these sites by someone—anyone, a passing squirrel, Michael Myers—made him want to curl up and die. But he didn’t hear anything.
Still, Boogie’s head was held alert, ears and tail twitching with concern. Her pupils were enormous and unmoving, staring toward the large picture window that faced the front yard. Cooper followed her gaze, half expecting to see someone standing, watching, but of course there was no one there.
“What is it, killer?” he whispered to Boogie. Worryingly, she didn’t even react to his voice. Cooper turned off the small lamp by the couch, tipping the room into darkness. He made his way over to the window and carefully pulled back the curtain to peek outside.
Nothing. Porch, driveway, yard—empty. The only movement was one of Park’s two pitiful attempts at the “common man’s” holiday decor: a hideous plastic skeleton hanging from the porch eave, shifting slightly in the wind.
Cooper relaxed against the sill with a sigh. Boogie wasn’t the only one having a hard time adjusting to a home outside the city. It was so quiet here, interrupted by sounds louder and more brutal than anything he’d ever heard in DC. At least it seemed that way in their unfamiliarity. Cooper had grown up in the suburbs, but it had been almost twenty years and he had long since forgotten the screaming, screeching sounds of the cycle of life coming to a bloody end—or a bloody beginning—just outside his window, and the way a squirrel suddenly possessed the weight and gait of a full-grown man when it found its way into your attic. They’d only been moved into the house for less than a month and Cooper was still waking up most nights positive they were under siege, only to have Park roll over, still half asleep, and identify the “attackers” for him.
Jus’ a fox.
Same owl as last night. Come back to bed.
Frogs. Yes, I’m positive. Yes, that one, too.
Cooper didn’t remember nature being this loud. Partly it must have something to do with being in a new house he hadn’t quite relaxed in yet. The numerous large windows and wood floors seemed to complain noisily whether someone was touching them or not—relatable—and while it was nothing like the temples of greed Park had first taken him touring, the house was still too large for one man and his cat alone at night.
Cooper shouldn’t complain. Overall, they were both happy about some things, unhappy with others. They’d mostly landed on the place for the property. A half hour out of DC, the house was set back from the road and nestled on the edge of an animal preserve, ensuring lots of privacy for Park to run around in fur. Cooper was the one who had championed the house itself.
“A unique labor of love,” the Realtor had called it.
“Some failed architect’s personal testing ground” was what Park said. But the mishmash of classic styles with, ah, daring new takes at modernity that had never taken quite taken off—for undoubtedly good reasons—amused Cooper. Made the house a whole lot less Architectural Digest. More livable and—
This time Cooper heard the noise, too. A thud and creak from the back porch. The living room was still dark, but he could make out Boogie’s silhouette on the arm of the couch. She was arching her back slightly, tail twice its usual size.
Cooper made his way to the kitchen where there was a door to the outside, grabbing a poker from the fireplace as he went. Holding it up like a baseball bat, he peered out of the back door window.
Again, he saw nothing. Empty porch, empty yard. The dark tree line was uninterrupted by looming figures, ax-wielding or otherwise.
Carefully he opened the door. His heart was pounding hard. He tried to remember what Dr. Ripodi had said. Is this a useful emotion? Well, if he was about to be attacked, he would never hear them coming over the sound of his own rushing blood, so no, it wasn’t particularly useful. Now what could he do to calm down? They hadn’t talked about that bit yet.
Cooper stepped out on the back porch, scanning the yard for any trace of movement, for any shadow that was a little too dark, a little too still. Knocked to the bottom of the porch steps was Park’s second attempt at holiday decorations—a jack-o’-lantern he’d carved last week without any tools he didn’t already have sprouting from his fingertips. He’d done it purely for his own amusement, as their house was too far set back from the road to actually display them. Now it had split open and its irritated expression—Park’s attempt at Cooper’s face; he swore he was going for thoughtful, but he couldn’t even get the lie out without laughing—had morphed into a gaping sort of scream.
Cooper took another cautious step forward. It almost looked like something had been digging at it. Another animal?
A loud, violent buzzing broke the silence, and Cooper jumped and bit his lip hard. “Shit.”
He hastily went back inside and locked the kitchen door behind him before heading back to the living room. Boogie was nowhere to be seen. His phone vibrated again, obnoxiously loud against the low wooden coffee table.
Cooper answered it, snapping, “What.”
There was a second of silence. “And here I was thinking my fiancé might be happy to hear from me.” Park’s droll voice was an instant balm, as little sense as that made.
Cooper let out the breath he’d been holding. “Sorry, who is this?”
“Just a hot single in your neighborhood, looking to chat. You busy?”
Cooper snorted and put the poker down, leaning against the table. “Busy pining for the lover who abandoned me.”
“Mmmm. He sounds like a fool. You can do better.”
“Are you better?”
“For you? I better be,” Park murmured.
Cooper laughed, poured himself another glass of wine and relaxed back on the couch. Even with just the sound of Park’s voice in his ear, the house felt fuller, more familiar. “Speaking of finding better men in your life...”