After swinging by my office to grab my lunch bag—fighting with a werewolf is not going to get in the way of my midday meal—I stalk outside. Roderick is on the same bench, manspreading on the thing as the bright autumn sun beats down on his shaved head.
Do werewolves get sunburn?
“Ready?” he asks, head tilting toward his bike.
I gape at his audacity.
“I’m not riding anywhere with you. I already have food.” With a flourish, I hold up my lunch box. “You want something to eat, then go on and get it.”
The wolf leans the top half of his body forward, elbows resting on his knees. Then he pats the bench seat beside me. Calling me to heel.
And I thought he was infuriating when hedidn’twant to be around me.
I don’t sit down.
“If you really want to discuss this”—my hand waves between us—“then we’re moving farther away from my place of work.”
Beside the library is a grassy expanse with picnic tables scattered about. The place is busy in the summer, but not as much when school is in session and the air gets colder. I head toward one of the tables, not bothering to check if Roderick is following.
Luckily, the sun is bright today, and the wood of the table soaks up the warmth. Settling in my seat, I begin to unpack my lunch, placing all the delicious items I brought for myself out on the table in front of me.
Roderick lowers onto the seat across from mine, his eyes watching my fingers move. He waits until I have everything spread out and I take a bite of my turkey sandwich before he speaks.
“I want you.”
The bread sticks in my mouth, and I have to cough a few times before I can swallow. Sexy, I’m sure.
“Youwantme?”
Obviously, he’s attracted to me. But Roderick sayswantlike the word means more than a quick fuck to get it out of our systems.
“Why? Since when?”
His eyes hold mine. “Since pie.”
Fuck. Fuck that fucking pie.
“It wasn’t a flirting-with-a-werewolf pie,” I growl as I quickly pull all my food items closer to me so he doesn’t mistake them as gifts. “It was an apology pie.”
“I know.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he watches my movements. “So was mine. Didn’t stop you from mounting me.”
I scowl at him. “I didn’tmountyou. I kissed you. You were the one who put me in your lap. And, yes, some … rubbing happened. But no mounting.”
He grunts and shifts in his seat.
Oh gods, is he turned on right now?
I try my best to focus on opening a bag of cookies and not on the memory of how good it felt to have my legs wrapped around his hard, hot body.
“You got off,” he says, as if I need reminding.
After sipping my iced tea to try and cool down, I respond, “I did. But that doesn’t mean I want you.”
Roderick’s face goes blank. He’s taken on his stone persona.
Still, I can’t help feeling like I hurt his feelings. Probably because I just utilized the harshest turn-down.
I don’t want you.
