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

Teague’s death scene took on a new character in my mind’s eye. Cooper had bitten Teague, ripped into him, and made him bleed. Teague made it to his truck but was either too seriously injured or too freaked out to drive safely. Cooper had contributed to Teague’s crashing into the ravine and dying a horrible death. I searched my soul and couldn’t find it within me to be disgusted or frightened by that. John Teague was a bad man who did vile things to defenseless women out of no other motivation than greed. The world was better off without him. If Cooper made that happen, all I could feel was gratitude toward him . . . underneath a healthy crust of annoyance and irritation.

What exactly is the etiquette involved when one finds out that her sworn enemy is a mythical creature of the night? Should I tell someone? Start smelting silver bullets? Call animal control?

I burst out laughing as I pictured Cooper getting tranqued and thrown into the pound. My laughter bounced around the alley, the bitter, hysterical edge of the sound grating my ears. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but I giggled again. And then again. Once I started laughing, I couldn’t seem to stop. It just poured out in hoarse, racking guffaws that bent me over and had me bracing my hands against my knees.

“Werewolf!” I snickered. “I think he’s a werewolf!”

I was going to have to ask Evie where a girl could get a quick no-questions-asked prescription for antipsychotics.

Wait, no. Knowing Evie, she would ask me what was wrong and my answer would be I think your cousin morphs into a giant wolf at night, keeping the alleyways of Grundy safe for womankind. There’s a friendship-ending conversation.

I wiped at my eyes, lips trembling a little as one last nervous chuckle escaped. The wolf theory was probably the product of shock, hysteria, and an overdone breakfast burrito. I shook my head. Back to reality. Werewolf hallucinations aside, nothing had changed, really. Cooper didn’t like me. I didn’t like Cooper. If he could ignore the whole kissing-in-the-alley situation, so could I.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and walked back into the kitchen with my well-practiced calm, unaffected face on. I joked with Evie, whose brow remained furrowed and confused for the next few hours. I smiled and poured coffee. I ignored Cooper’s half-empty plate, which sat cold at the end of the bar.

7

Thundereggs and

Doughnut Etiquette

BIRTHDAYS HAD ALWAYS BEEN a weird time for me.

When I was a kid, I welcomed every birthday, as it put me one year closer to my moving out on my own. But birthdays also marked another difference for my family. Instead of celebrating with a cake (too full of poisonous refined sugars) and presents (too materialistic), my mother would come into my room at exactly 3:57 A.M. to tell me the story of my miraculous emergence into this world, as if it was some fairy tale. Although I supposed few fairy tales involved the words “vaginal flowering.”

When I moved out, Mom would call me, again at 3:57, to give me the early-morning audio version. That helped me make friends with my dorm-mates. Given that I was a water birth, I supposed I should be grateful that she didn’t climb in the tub and reenact it every year.

I’d never had what you’d consider a traditional birthday party. As in the case of Christmas, Hanukkah, Easter, and any other tradition celebrated by ninety-nine percent of the population, my parents just didn’t see the point in birthdays. In high school, I’d had small annual celebrations with Kara and her parents. But they’d kept it low-key, in an effort not to offend my parents completely. Kara’s mother would make a German chocolate cake, and we’d go to the movies. When I turned sixteen, the Reynoldses bought me a little silver charm bracelet, just like Kara’s. Every year, they added a charm—a graduation cap for our senior year or a little magnolia to salute our roots. Kara had already sent me this year’s charm, a silver moose to mark my move to the Great North.

The morning I turned thirty was the first time I’d missed out on one of Mom’s dramatic monologues. I just wanted a nice quiet day at work. But when I walked into the saloon that morning, it was dark, which was unusual. I heard the faint sound of hurried whispering, of scuffling footsteps behind the counter. I backed away, thumping into the door, nearly dropping the morning’s baking to the floor as I fumbled for the knob.

No.

No, damn it, this was my home. I was tired of crying, of being afraid. This was my place. I didn’t care if I got robbed again, no one was going to send me running out of here. I quietly set my bags on a nearby pool table and picked up a cue. I rounded the corner of the lunch counter, prepared to swing for the fences when the lights flicked on and a deafening roar of “SURPRISE!” filled the room. I screamed and sent the pool cue clattering to the ground. Evie, Buzz, Pete, Walt, Nate, Gertie, Susie Q, and a few of the breakfast regulars popped up from behind the counter blowing on noisemakers.

My eyes blinked against the flood of light. I could see now that the bar was strung with pink and white streamers. Everybody was wearing silly paper hats and wide grins. There was a banner that read, “Happy 30th Birthday, Mo!” in homemade construction-paper letters. And on the counter was an obscenely large stack of doughnuts with candles stuck in them. The rush of relief, of love toward them all, squeezed at my chest.

“How did you know?” I asked, still shaking as Evie wrapped her arms around me.

“I do actually read the employment forms, you know,” Evie teased as Buzz moved in for his bear hug. “The question is, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m not a big birthday person.”

“Well, get over it,” she told me, holding a powdered sugar doughnut up to my lips.

“No, no, faux pas, Evie,” Gertie tsked, her double chin quivering in mock disapproval. “When a girl turns thirty, she gets the chocolate doughnut. Powdered sugar is for when you turn forty.”

Evie laughed and plated a chocolate doughnut with a flourish.

“That’s why we keep her around,” Susie informed me, strapping a big pink “Birthday Girl” hat on my head. “Her extensive knowledge of etiquette.”

I laughed, dabbing at my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until the first tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped at it self-consciously.

“Aw, hell, boys, we made her spring a leak,” Abner cursed.

“Thank you, all of you, for this. This is the best birthday party I’ve ever had.”

“Well, that’s plain sad, honey,” Walt said, shaking his head.