My anger was so overwhelming I couldn’t process what he did, what happened between us,andsome supernatural bullshit.
And to be honest, I don’t want to.
I’ve washed my hands of the man. I haven’t seen him since Tuesday, and things have been blissfully normal. Boring, and definitely less sexy—no, wait. Definitely less infuriating. But normal.
I know my date with Jameson probably won’t be passionate or romantic, but maybe it’ll be fun. Jameson texted nonstop the past few days, confirming our date multiple times today.
Is that normal? I don’t know.
I suppose I can give Jameson points for enthusiasm. But it feels … excessive.
Ugh, why is this so hard? I’m terrified that our dinner will be super awkward because we spent so much time texting this week.
With a heavy sigh, I run my hand through my hair one last time, then head to the living room to wait for Jameson.
Before I forget, I open the front door and let Louie out. Who knows what the night will bring?
As I stand on the porch, I fix Louie with a stern gaze and say, “Please don’t run off this time and refuse to come back in like the other night. I just want to go on this date and come home.”
Oh, do I really feel that way? Well, that’s too damn bad! I’m going out, I’m going to have a great time, and I’m going to keep an open mind.
While I wait for Louie to return, I survey the edge of the woods and freeze when a figure that looks alarmingly like a goddamn wolfhound with deer antlers stalks out of the shadows.
But the moment I see it, it’s gone.
It’s just a trick of the light … or my mind.
Yeah, let’s go with that.
“Ezra?” I say quietly to no one.
He’s not here. I told him, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off. Now I’m even more determined to go on this date and have a wonderful time, if only to refocus on something other than the utterly strange and downright fucked up shit that’s been happening lately.
I whistle, and Louie bolts through the trees, skidding to a stop at my feet. I scratch behind her ears, my pulse still uneven.
“That’s my girl.”
As I grab Louie a bone to keep her occupied while I’m gone, headlights shine through the kitchen window. With one last head pat, Louie takes her prize and curls up in front of the fireplace while I make my way to the front of the house, digging through my purse to make sure I have my keys and phone.
When I open the door, though, I run into a wall of muscle.
Oh, how chivalrous. Jameson actually got out of his car and came to my front door.
Not a bad start!
Louie abandons her bone and leaps to my side, a guttural growl already rumbling in her chest.
“Oh! Jameson, hi!” My voice is too bright. Too forced. “Didn’t think guys came to the door anymore.”
I fidget with my keychain, suddenly wishing I’d shotgunned that Black Cherry White Claw haunting the back of my fridge.
“Lou, it’s fine,” I murmur, but she doesn’t relax.
She growls again, the sound twisting tighter, harsher, like it’s dragging claws down the inside of her chest. Eventually, she retreats to the fireplace, never taking her eyes off him.
Huh. Louie loves everyone.
“Aurora, hi! I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t know if you saw me drive up, and I thought, since we have reservations, I’d come to the door,” he says with a nervous chuckle.
