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Well, two could play at that game.

“I didn’t know that applied to werewolves,” I said and picked up the pan and carried it over to the trash can in the corner.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked, his eyes going wide.

“I’m dumping it. I don’t want to kill you!”

Before I could tip the pan into the trash, he grasped the wrist of the hand holding the pan. “Wait! I was kidding!”

I blinked at him innocently. “What?”

“It was a joke! Payback for you laughing at my singing!”

He pulled the sauce away from me and set it back on the stove and stood in front of it, like he was afraid I might try and ditch it again.

“I wasn’t laughing at your singing,” I lied.

“Maybe not with your mouth, but I could feel the mockery rolling off you. Superior werewolf senses, remember? So, payback.” The corners of his mouth twitched up.

Fucking werewolf humor. It was the sort of shit Dylan used to pull on me all the time when I first found out about shifters, so Luke joking around with me in the same way? I took it as a compliment. It felt like he considered me more than just his PT. That he thought of me as his friend—or maybe more. And even though it went against my policy of not getting involved with shifters, I found that in this case, I didn’t hate the idea.

Huh.

The lid on the pot of pasta clattered as steam pushed at the edges, and Luke stepped aside, dug around in a cupboard, and handed me a colander. “You’ll need this.” It was unexpectedly considerate, and warmth bloomed in my chest. I smiled in thanks and drained the pasta, making sure to reserve some of the water to add to the sauce—I hadn’t been lying when I said my grandma had taught me all her tricks—and filled two bowls and carried them over to the table.

Luke grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and we sat down to eat. He loaded up a forkful of pasta and took a bite, and the sound he made was downright filthy.

I took a bite and let out a moan of my own. My hunger came roaring back at the first mouthful, and judging from the way Luke was shoveling pasta into his face, I wasn’t the only one. We both emptied our bowls at roughly the speed of sound, and I went and grabbed the pot and dished up seconds without asking if Luke wanted more. Werewolf appetites were big. Halfway through the second bowl, he said, “This is amazing. I’m glad I was only kidding about the alliums.”

I snorted at the reminder. “I do have a question about werewolves and allergies, though.”

He waved his fork at me in the universal gesture meaning go on.

I did my best to keep a straight face when I asked, “If you ever do get poisoned, should I call a doctor or a vet?”

Luke dropped his fork with a clatter, sauce splashing onto his shirt, and his expression was priceless. “Really?”

He stared at me open-mouthed, and I had about five seconds of wondering if I’d crossed a line before his shoulders started to shake, and he let out a honking laugh that could have frightened the birds out of the trees. “You asshole!” he gasped out around more laughter.

I shrugged. “You started it with your onion bullshit.”

He reached out and shoved at my shoulder—and why did that single affectionate gesture feel more intimate than any of the sex we’d had?

After we’d finished eating, Luke loaded the dishwasher while I cleaned up the counter, and then there was an awkward pause before he said, “So, are we going to the stupid agility course?” He sounded about as enthusiastic as I felt—which, for the record, was not very.

Usually I was raring to get my clients on the road to recovery, and I knew that for Luke’s sake, we should work on his coordination. But right now I didn’t want to go back to being PT and client. I was enjoying whatever this thing happening between us was.

It wasn’t quite friendship, and it definitely wasn’t dating, but some weird third, undefined thing—a thing involving mind-blowing sex but with more to it than that—and I found that I was eager to see what it might become if I let it grow.

You want to date him, my brain supplied helpfully.

I absolutely do not, I shot back. I had a hard and fast rule about that.

Luke was still looking at me expectantly, leaning against the counter with his hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie.

I decided on a compromise. “How about this? You tackle the staircase, and if you make it more than halfway, I’ll reward you.”

He straightened up, and I swore if he’d been in wolf form, his tail would have been wagging. “Yeah? What kind of reward?”