“Feet off the table, Mr. Jones,” Cynthia barked. When I looked, I found her glaring at him. Whether it was because of the grease, the boots, or something else entirely, I didn’t know.
“Yes ma’am,” Mr. Jones drawled. His low, gravelly voice sent goosebumps over my arms.
He dropped his feet back to the floor.
“Abby said she was sending two of you,” I said.
“Finn’s waiting in the truck.”
“Why?”
“He’s got a complicated history with women.”
“Fantastic.”
Mr. Jones grunted. “Ready?”
“To find Stella, yes. To find out whether the werewolf thing is true or not? Not even a little.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. We’re just people who turn into wolves.”
“I’m a scientist,Mr. Jones. People who turn into wolves are a pretty big deviation from normal.”
“Maybe normalcy is overrated.”
If all werewolves had legs like his, maybe it was.
“Maybe all of this is a bullshit attempt to drag me into some sketchy underground conspiracy,” I countered. “Maybe werewolves still aren’t real.”
Mr. Jones stood up.
Fuck, he was huge.
He dragged his stained, white tank top over his head and tossed it onto his chair before he turned to face me. The bastard met the stereotypical mechanic description to a freaking T, plus a few inches of height and a metric ton of muscle.
Don’t quote me on that, obviously. I didn’t legitimately weigh his abs.
Though I did kind of want to.
Ahem.
Anyway.
“Please keep your clothes on in our lobby, Mr. Jones,” Cynthia said in a shrill voice.
He ignored her.
I was too busy staring at his abs to look up at his face. But considering he was currently stripping in the middle of a hospital waiting room, I was pretty sure there was nothing official enough about this man to justify calling himMr.
JustJonesfit much better.
My eyes widened when he unbuttoned his black work pants.
“What are you doing?” I asked, finally regaining control of my voice.
Did it sound lower than usual?
I didn’t know.
