Her actions bring a much needed smile to my face, and I think I can finally feel the last ounce of anger fizzle out of my blood stream.
I wish more than anything that I could tell her about what I am. I know I could, if I really wanted to, but the lie has gone so far at this point I wouldn’t know how to bring it up.Plus, everything would change, and that’s the last thing I want. Especially now when she needs me the most.
She’s waiting for me to be the first to speak, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I think you should stay here tonight.”
She closes her eyes thoughtfully. “I had a feeling you would say that.”
“Did Mavis predict it for you?” I joke.
A breeze blows in through her cracked window and I catch the scent of her coconut shampoo. I shudder and have to face my window for a moment so I can catch my breath. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“Nope.” She pops the P dramatically. “I saw it myself. I have a sixth sense when it comes to these things.”
“These things, meaning me,” I point out, looking back at her.
She leans in conspiratorially. “Well, yes. What else would it be?”
I shake my head and embrace the better mood she’s put me in. “You’re pretty good at sensing Kit-Kats as well.”
A goofy grin takes over her doll-like features. “You have some don’t you?”
I’m momentarily lost in the details of her face. Typically her dark hair is down in loose waves around her face, but today she styled it into a bun at the top of her head. With her hair pulled back, I can easily study the splattering of freckles across her skin and the everpresent rosy undertone of her skin, her button nose and full lips, and her eyes, the most brilliant shade of blue.
I clear my throat and lean over to open the glove compartment in front of her, my arm brushing her knee. Inside is a pack of unopened Kit-Kat bars and Sour Patch Kids—her favorite candy and mine. “I bought these for the movie, but I guess you can have them now,” I playfully tease.
She grabs the bag of Kit-Kats and clutches them to her chest like a treasure. I love that the simplest gestures bring her joy.
“Come on,” I say, “we’ll stay in tonight. We can finish watching that documentary about cheerleaders.”
“Ooo yes. That brunette had just broken her ankle and she’s definitely not gonna make mat.”
She rushes from the truck and darts for the front steps, practically skipping her way to the top to unlock the door, using the key I gave her a few years ago, for if she ever needed to come by when I’m not home. She throws a look over her shoulder to me, a warm smile lighting up her face.
For a moment, I imagine what it would be like if she lived here. I can see her coming home after closing the bookstore to a home cooked dinner I prepared just for her. We’d spend the evening watching our favorite shows, and then we’d go up the stairs hand in hand to get ready for bed.
Where in the fuck is this domestic shit coming from?
Either I’m losing my cool on Raegan’s shitty ex or I’m daydreaming about being a stepford wife, nothing in between. The full moon needs to hurry up and get here or else I’m going to go insane.
We’re settledon the couch as the credits scroll on the final episode of our current binge watch, and Raegan is fast asleep with her feet tucked into my side. Her head is resting on one of my throw pillows and her mouth is slightly open as she breathes softly in and out into the crook of her arm. I place a hand on her thigh but keep still. It’s the most I can touch her before my dick starts whispering in my ear about other plans.
I don’t have these thoughts often, and I know I can mostly blame my wolf nature, but sometimes I think there’s more to it. I’ve never had anyone else in my life I could consider a confidant. Someone I can tell all my secrets to and not fear they’ll run away screaming. Raegan is the one person I’veconfided in the most, but still, there’s this one little detail about myself I can’t seem to confess.
I want to—so badly that some days the pressure eats me alive.
As a werewolf, we’re told one of our greatest rewards in life is finding our perfect mate. The one person who fits with you like a puzzle piece and supports you as a beam supports the structure of a home. It doesn’t have to be another wolf. Most of the time it isn’t. Things are much different now than when my grandparents were going through the traditions of finding a mate. I’ve known werewolves to mate with vampires and humans. It’s not unheard of in this day and age. There’s someone out there for all of us, and one day the moment will come when I find mine. But as I gaze upon Raegan’s soft features cast in the light of the television screen, I wonder if it could be her.
But wouldn’t I know already if we were mates? There have to be signs—some sort of magical firework moment that occurs the moment we touch. But there’s nothing. Just my hand on her thigh. Just two best friends watching a movie.
I decide it’s time to move Raegan upstairs, because I know she won’t want to stay on the couch all night. Another thing we share in common is lower back pain, but I fear that’s just a sign of being in our thirties.
I carefully shift to the edge of the couch hoping not to disturb her position so I can stand and stretch, but it’s no use. Being the lightest sleeper in the world, she lets out a small moan and rubs her eyes.
“Is it over?” she asks with a yawn.
“You slept through the entire last episode.”
She groans and rolls onto her back. “How did it end?”
