How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf (Naked Werewolf 1)

“My childhood fantasies involved vaccinations and parents who didn’t see the PTA as some sort of conformist conspiracy. By my calculations, you lived my childhood fantasy.”

“Hippies, huh?” he asked, his face suddenly sympathetic.

“The hippiest.”

“We get a couple of those up here every year, wanting to build a cabin in the preserve and live off the land Thoreau-style. Generally, I end up rescuing them off the top of a bluff because they didn’t spend enough time researching or preparing for life up here. They don’t plan for the right kind of gear, clothes, food, shelter. They go toddling off half-assed and end up getting hurt.”

“Is that what you think I did?” I asked.

“No!” he exclaimed, squeezing my hand. “You’ve got more common sense than most locals, Mo.”

Clearly, Buzz hadn’t told him about my tendency to get cornered by wolves and serial waitress robbers.

Alan moved in closer, and I could smell Irish Spring soap, wine, and the homey warmth of prepackaged tomato sauce. “I think you’re fitting in just right.”

Alan was a first-rate kisser, right up there with Jeff Moser, my date to the senior formal and claimer of my virginity. Alan covered all the bases. Soft, increasingly insistent brushes of his lips against mine. Cupping my chin in his hand and running his fingers along my jaw. Pulling me close enough to show me how much he wanted me without making me feel as if he was grinding against me.

I could have gone on kissing Alan all night. It was certainly a more pleasant way to spend the evening than my solo birthday plans, which centered around Sno Balls and Sixteen Candles. But when Alan’s hands moved to the buttons of my shirt, I stopped him, tilting my forehead to rest against his. I just wasn’t ready for this yet. Alan was a sweet guy, but there were no guarantees that having sex with him wouldn’t turn out to be a huge mistake I would have to cringe over every time he came into the saloon for the next six months. I liked Alan. I wanted more time with him and a lot more kissing. But I couldn’t help but feel that we were falling into this just a little too easily.

God damn it, Evie.

I would spend the rest of my evening in a cold shower, contemplating whether it was a worse punishment to give her a kick in the butt or deny her chess squares for the next week.

I groaned and buried my face in the crook of Alan’s neck. “I’m sorry. I think I should get going.”

“Too fast?” he asked, grimacing.

“I’m not saying never, just not tonight,” I told him. “I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“Neither do I,” he assured me, kissing my cheeks. “As long as we get there eventually.”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime?” I suggested. “I’ll cook.”

“I knew it. Dinner was below your culinary standards.” He shook his head in mock shame.

“Hey.” I kissed him again. “You did your best.”

“I bow to the master,” he said, pulling me to my feet.

“Don’t you forget it.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to ask you out,” he said, sliding my coat onto my shoulders. His long fingers tucked the collar under my chin and remained there for a few seconds, warming the skin and making me smile. “You just seem, well, cautious. And you seemed to be getting so much attention straight off when you got to town, I didn’t want to spook you.”

“I can appreciate that,” I told him. “And you don’t spook me. In fact, nonspookiness is one of your better qualities.”

Considering his biggest competition at the moment was a werewolf, I felt that was a fair statement.

Alan snickered. “Well, something has to balance out the bad cooking.”

Alan walked me to my truck, gave me a knee-buckling kiss good night, and asked me to call him when I got home safely. Sweetest. Guy. Ever.

I pulled into my driveway, glad that I’d remembered to turn on my porch lights. The night was clear and bright, but I felt better being able to see whatever or whoever might be lurking near my doorstep. Humming a silly country tune, I hopped out of Lucille and paused to pick my house key out of the jumble of metal on my key ring.

“Why do I have so many keys?” I wondered aloud.

The moment I stopped moving, I felt it, a familiar presence over my shoulder on the east side of the little clearing that surrounded my house. I turned to see the black wolf standing there, just staring at me, his blue-green eyes burning eerily in the reflected light of the waxing moon. I took an instinctual step toward the door, but I dropped my keys. I crouched down to pick them up, keeping an eye on my visitor to see whether he moved when I was a smaller, more vulnerable target. He simply sat on his rear haunches, watching me with his head tilted at a quizzical angle, as if he was saying, Come on, hurry up, you’re the last stop on my security detail, and then I can take off and chase rabbits for the rest of the night.

I slipped my key into the door and pushed it open, turning toward the wolf to—I don’t know, say good night? But he was gone. The branches where he’d been standing weren’t even stirring. I scanned the rest of the yard. Nothing.