The tension in Finn’s shoulders pretty much disappeared. “Maybe dating is what I was talking about from the beginning. It’s just not really a werewolf concept.”
If those things were what he wanted, maybe he wanted a mate after all. Maybe his horrible experience with it had just given him the wrong ideas about what it would be like.
“Well it wouldn’t hurt to try it. We might have to take a break if I start catching feelings, though,” I warned.
“Alright. Just let me know.”
I nodded, even though he was facing the other way so he couldn’t actually see me.
“The tickets tonight have assigned seats, so—” I started, cutting myself off when my phone dinged with a message.
I leaned over to read the message.
Zoe
I was up most of the night puking. One of the assholes who scheduled a tutoring session yesterday was out with the flu most of the week, so he probably gave it to me. I’ll call Maya and try to convince her to go with you so you’re not third-wheeling with all the couples
I’m sorry
“What?” Finn looked at me over his shoulder.
“Zoe’s sick.” I looked up from my phone to meet his eyes. “Do you want to come, or do you want me to ask Maya?”
“I’ll go.”
“You’ll probably have to stop by your place to grab a shirt, then. If you own one.”
He snorted, turning back to the pan. “I own one.”
“Just one?” I teased. “Did you sell your shirts to pay for all those books?”
“I definitely considered it.”
“What kind of books are your favorite?”
“I read everything, but I like fantasy the most. Do you read?”
“I’m a college professor, Finn. I think enjoying reading is a prerequisite. Did you readDark & Beastly Fae? That’s one of my favorites.”
He relaxed a ton while we talked about books, and the conversation flowed naturally.
By the time he drove back to Moon Ridge to get ready, I’d realized that there was a good chance I was going to fall in love with him.
Very good.
…oh well.
I’d deal with that when I had to.
eight
EMMY
“Come in!”I shouted from the bathroom, after Finn knocked on my front door.
I heard him come inside, and the man was leaning against the doorframe a minute later.
“Sorry, I’m running late,” I apologized, my face nearly pressed against the mirror as I leaned over the countertop while applying my mascara. “I’d say this never happens, but that would be a lie. My friends usually tell me to be there like fifteen minutes before they actually want me there. It’s a poorly-kept secret. At least both of my eyes are going to have makeup on them this time, so you won’t be creeped out.”
