Silently, I berate myself for that slip. I’m supposed to remain uninteresting so no one tries digging into my past.
People are always fascinated by violence. I brace for Hester’s prying questions.
Only none come.
“You left that place,” she states, her one shoulder lifting in an elegant shrug. “You left those people because they did not treat you well. A demand does not have to be vocalized to be clear.”
I wait for Hester to say more, but she only picks up her own cookie and bites into it.
“I guess that’s true.” My voice comes out hesitant. One could say me fleeing Bear Valley in the middle of the night was a way of demanding control over my own life.
My mind thinks back to the body-spray bomb I left waiting for Cory in my car.
That move certainly wasn’t nice.
Pressing the little porcelain cup to my lips, I hide my evil, satisfied grin.
Not nice at all.
“Tell me about your paper crafts,” Hester commands. “I want to know how you make your designs. Then you can retreat to your home and try to decide what kind of woman I am.”
As I meet my neighbor’s gaze, the gray-blue color of her eyes pins me down, and I can’t help thinking I’ll never quite have a category to put her in.
She is an un-shelve-able book.
8
RODERICK
Apparently,my wolf doesn’t give up on what it wants easily.
And what it wants is a mate.
Which is why when I run into Sylvia Rodriguez at Sawdust and Supplies, I ask her about going out to dinner.
See?I silently say to my animalistic half.I’m getting you what you want.
My wolf might as well be napping for all the reaction it has.
Sylvia is only a few years younger than me. I passed her in the halls in high school when I was a senior and she was a freshman. Her family is well established in town, and every one of them is a wolf.
Plus, Sylvia has a pleasant personality, bakes the best gingerbread cookies, and started her own taco truck last year. At least once a week, I swing by at lunch for two chorizo burritos and a cup of mango salsa.
All the makings for a perfect mate.
When I ask her to get dinner, she seems surprised but agrees. Probably because I’ve never shown romantic interest in her before. But there’s a first time for everything.
Later, I pull up to the curb of the house Sylvia shares with her parents. Werewolf hearing can easily pick up the approach of a truck, so I’m barely parked when she steps out the front door, looking nice in a bright yellow dress that makes her dark curls stand out. Sylvia strolls up to my truck, which I figured would be a more acceptable mode of transportation for a date over a bike. When she’s just a few steps away, I remember I’m supposed to do gentlemanly things on dates, like open her door for her. I hop out and circle the hood in time to intercept her.
“Hey, Roderick. You clean up nice.” Sylvia smooths down the collar of my button-up shirt. One of the few I own and almost forgot I had.
“And you too.” Complimenting is not my strong suit, even if the sentiment is genuine.
Sylvia smiles and holds out a jug of some golden liquid. “Mom wanted me to give you this. Gift for the pack leader. Some of her best mezcal.”
I’ve heard of the liquor Mrs. Rodriguez brews. Supposed to be smooth to the taste—and so strong that a glass will knock even a werewolf on its ass.
“Tell her thank you.” I accept the home-brewed liquor and tuck it behind my seat, where it won’t roll around.
