What’s worse is, the words felt like a lie as I spoke them.
To distract myself, I dip a chunk of precut apple in some peanut butter. But that’s as hard to swallow as my sandwich.
Then—because, damn it, I feel bad with him sitting there, all stone-faced, with no snack to pretend to focus on—I sigh and slide the container toward him, offering a few slices of my apple to the werewolf I’m kind of dumping.
Roderick’s mouth softens into a smile as he plucks up a piece of fruit, and I realize my repeated mistake.
“I’m not flirting with you!”
Before I can retract my offer of apples, the beast nabs a second slice, biting into the juicy bit while his eyes remain fixed on me.
Damn it, I really did set this all off with my soggy pie, didn’t I?
Soon after Cory revealed what he was to me, he told me about the werewolf’s mating ceremony. How it involves food, and so werewolves view the exchange of edible items as a form of expressing romantic interest. I should’ve known better.
As I struggle for what to say next, Roderick’s expression fades into curiosity. He tilts his head in a dog-like way, sharp eyes searching. “You really don’t want me?”
Even if I do, it doesn’t matter.
I clear my throat. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want anyone. Anyone to sleep with, that is. But … I’m always looking for new friends.” Then I try on my friendly you-don’t-really-want-to-sleep-with-me smile.
Roderick studies me for another prolonged moment, and it takes all my willpower not to squirm in my seat.
“Then why did you kiss me?” he asks.
The blush on my cheeks burns hot. “The kiss was a mistake.”
“Didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s not a mistake. I’m sure jumping off a cliff feels real neat. It’s just that exploding upon impact that really gets you.”
Roderick appears thoughtful, then offers a nod. “Okay. We’ll put a hold on kissing.”
“Thank you.” Then his words fully register. Ahold? “Wait?—”
“But we’ll do this.” His rough, warm hand scoops mine up, twining our fingers together.
My brain goes mushy, thoughts sluggish, as if his touch drugs me. “Do what?”
“Date.” Roderick fiddles with my thumb, staring at the digit like my appendage is fascinating. “A relationship.”
A moment passes before his words register. I’m distracted by the heat rolling off him and the tantalizing spicy smell that clings to his clothes. But then the short sentence clarifies in my brain and sets off delayed, but very important, warning bells.
“A relationship?” My voice is a squeak as I tug my hand free of his playful grip. “No. That’s not going to happen. I’m sorry, Roderick. You’re a good-looking guy, and you seem like a responsible pack leader. And, yeah, your kisses are nice?—”
“Nice?”
“Yes. Very nice. But we’re never going to be in a relationship.”
“Why not?”
“Just trust me.” With frantic movements, I start shoving my lunch back into my bag, giving up on eating near him.
“I want to know why.”
“It won’t make sense to you.”
“Try me,” he presses.
