Chip Foster gripped his briefcase so tightly, the handle pinched the folds of his palm. He switched the case to his other hand. Tried to calm himself, tried to relax. Today wasn’t going to be good.
If Eugene didn’t have four legs, he’d be the type of person who rode a Harley, had porkchop sideburns, and sported battered leather jackets. Or at least people thought he would be that type of person.
I didn’t even learn to shift until I was thirteen. It was painful, and Grandmother said it would likely always be difficult for me because my mother was foolish enough to get involved with a non-shifter.