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“What’s a chode?”
“That little space right between a ballsack and a butthole. Steve Hanson wears glasses. Human dork. I bet he reads books. I bet he’s writing an autobiography about his boring life as a financial advisor.”
Okay, this was definitely Landon.
Lucia narrowed her eyes as things started coming together. “Have you been in my trailer?”
“Did you get my breakfast sandwiches?”
“The ones that had whole bites taken out of them?”
“I got hungry while I was waiting for you. Do you ever spend time in the trailer park?”
Lucia raised her fist, clenched it, and took a three-count break to settle her rage. “So you have been putting breakfast sandwiches on my porch…and eating them?”
“Eating half of them,” he corrected. “I don’t see a single Steve on Bangaboarlander-dot-com.”
“What’s Bangaboarlan—you know what? I don’t care. Don’t even answer that.”
“It’s a shifter dating site Willa created years ago. Bash runs it now. Steve is a human, isn’t he?” There was a growl to Landon’s tone.
“Hey there, psycho. Why are you leaving breakfast sandwiches on my porch?”
“Did you get the mice?”
“You put the mice in my house too?” If she had access to her grizzly right now, the words would’ve come out a snarl, but as it stood, her words came out completely human, like Steve.
“Six of them.”
“What? Your note says three!”
“Well, I wrote that note a week ago. You haven’t been home, apparently. I’ve caught three more since.”
Lucia pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes at the image of Landon Fuller running through the woods catching field mice like a fuckin’ weirdo. She only attracted crazy people. “Stop putting mice in my house! And stop leaving your breakfast on my porch!”
“Our breakfast,” he corrected her.
“And you spelled mice wrong in your dumb note that I am burning!”
“What? Don’t burn it,” he griped. “I wrote the date on it and signed an L on the bottom. You’re supposed to save that shit!”
“What are you talking about?” she yelled.
“In case you want to make a scrapbook!”
Lucia sat there on the bathroom floor of the trailer, dumbfounded. “Why in the actual hell would I want to make a scrapbook of your dumb typos?”
There was a three-count of silence, and then, “You made me do this, Lucia. Leave me alone.”
Click.
Stunned, Lucia stared at her phone screen as it went dark. That man had hung up on her. And told her to leave him alone? He’d called her!
Okay, so her stupid powers could foresee the future of this doomed trailer park, but she couldn’t see Landon Fuller—son of the Cursed Bear, Clinton Fuller—fucking with her head?
These powers were useless, and everything was on fire.
She’d set the phone face-up next to her on the bathroom floor, and a text came through from Landon’s number. Don’t ever text me again.
