Sharp Change(2)

“Goddamn, I fucking rock!” Laughter and excitement unlike any she’d ever experienced, not including meeting man-candy Chase, popped and fizzled through her until she was bouncing on her stool, grinning like a fool.

Now that she thought of man-candy Chase, her brain did the usual X-rated stripping of those rock-hard limbs. Mmm, man-candy Chase… He was her biggest temptation. If she had an affliction it was called Furry Beast Alpha, or FBA for short.

Side effects included, but were not limited to: making a woman stop, stare, and drool on the spot; panties somehow finding themselves off and thrown his way; and finally, if said subject were to smile, blacking out from sudden excitement.

She was still unable to figure out how one minute he could be smiling at her, and the next she would be sitting down on a chair counting fuzzy bunnies running across her field of vision.

Thank goodness she still hadn’t gone as far as the panty throwing, but she was tempted…God, she was tempted. Every single time she got near him, her hands itched to tear off the little slip of lace, wave her arm in the air, and yell “pick me, pick me!”

She giggled and bounced in her seat, causing her short hair to tickle the nape of her neck. Looking to celebrate, she turned on the radio at her desk to some dance mix. She stood up and stretched, lifting her white T-shirt in the process and showing her softly rounded belly. All alone in the lab, she didn’t care if she showed some skin.

Her full breasts strained against the cotton while her stonewashed jeans clung lovingly to her generous hips. When she bent down to stretch her back, the move made her jeans ride low, and cold air caressed her lower back enough to show off the one thing she had ever done to be wild—a tattoo of a pink and purple fairy on her upper right cheek. Thankfully, there was no one around to see that.

She started singing along completely off-key to some song that talked about being sexy and knowing it. Snorting to herself, she knew even singing it was a lie. There were no feelings of sexiness anywhere in her—they only happened when FBA was around.

She pulled out two syringes, filled each with both werecat and werewolf chromosome, and laid them on the small collection tube tray. She sang louder as she moved. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear her sad attempt at singing.

She needed to find her special vials so she wouldn’t confuse these specimens with any of her other samples. She put away the older mixed strands she wasn’t actively using in the cold storage only she had access to.

Because she was the head of the genetics department, she was allowed her own work space. It also meant she got a big lab to use for her research. Other than equipment and coded papers, the place was kept immaculate. Large and small machines were strategically placed to make the move of samples from one to the other quick and efficient, along with multiple computers and printers.

The lab was also really cold. Goose bumps broke on her caramel skin as she thought of the heater sitting by her desk. Outside the weather was beautiful, but an iceberg lived inside the building.

She knew complaining would do nothing, since the best way to keep instruments from growing bacteria was to keep them cold. She would have to go to her office, which was located right next door, to write her notes before she left, so at least there she’d be warm.

Bopping to the music, she was careful of the extension cable that crossed the floor. She’d used all the electrical plugs by her computer, so she’d run an extension cord to power the amplification machine.

Holding her precious tray of sharps, she walked toward her other metal table to get to her special colored vials.

Shaking her hips, she lifted one sneaker over the white cord and then the other. The cord caught on her right foot.

What came next she would later tell herself was due to her own stupidity at trying to sing, dance, and walk when she was not as coordinated as she liked to think.

Falling forward in a sickening loss off balance, she saw the floor rush up to meet her face. Instinctively she let go of the tray to stick her hands out and break her fall. Everything around her narrowed to just the sound of her breathing. Distantly, she heard the metal tray clatter across the concrete floor, and she landed on top of it.

Something stabbed her between her breasts.

She winced and picked herself up off the floor. The damn underwire in her bra, it always tended to break through the casing. She wouldn’t have bothered with them if they didn’t make her breasts look so lingerie-catalog good.

“Ouch, dammit!” Looking down at the tray, she saw that the sharps were not on the floor. Panic seized her, and sharp blades of terror stabbed her gut while she scanned the ground. A pinching sensation in her chest drew her attention to where the two long sharps dangled from the area between her breasts.