Page 21 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

I don’t know what I expected. Gossip travels fast in a small town. Throw in the fact that Declan was a member of the Moonshadow Pack and it would’ve passed down to the lowest-ranked shifters in no time. As a prey shifter and the sole proprietor for a junk/oddities shop—seriously, that’s what Roxy called herself when I asked what she was doing these days—she doesn’t stick her snout in pack politics, though she eventually digs out the details.

She must’ve been waiting for me to open to fill her in on my side of what happened. I don’t know if I should be touched or annoyed when she snags a brownie from my sample try, grabs one of the empty seats at an empty table, drops into it backward, and looks at me expectantly.

Knowing better than to shut Roxy down, I tell her as much as I can. She snorts when I mention that Sheriff Lobo and his right-hand wolf are treating me like a suspect, and gets a thoughtful expression when she muses about who would want Declan Rowe dead.

“You’ve been living here a while,” I say.

“Yup. About four years. I couldn’t take living with my sister anymore back home so I searched for a nearby supe town and found Moonburrow.”

Roxy’s older sister Crystal is… well, a frenemy still means you can be friendly. Crystal only has enemies, and even when Roxy was the only one in her corner, my impression was that Crystal treated her worst of all.

Pointing that out might add the -enemy back to what kind of weird relationship we have going these days. Instead, I ask, “What do you think? You know the town much better. Any suspects?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Careful, Honey. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were going to play Miss Marple. You into mystery solving?”

“I’m into clearing my name.”

“Well, if I hear any whispers, I’ll let you know.” She glances around as thought just noticed that we were missing an opossum-shaped lump. “Hey. Where’s the rat— sorry. Gus. He okay?”

I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. It took her a minute, but it’s nice to see she cares. “I thought it might be a good idea to let him rest upstairs.”

I thought it would be. Gus… he had a different opinion. He pouted when I said he could have the whole upstairs apartment—and my bed—to himself, but since I didn’t know what to expect today, I wanted to keep him safe.

Am I being ridiculous? Maybe. I don’t care, and if Roxy teases me about Gus, I’ll move the brownies out of her reach so that she can’t take another one.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t have a snarky retort. In fact, she cocks her head, listening for something. I’m confused… but only until the whisper of pine ticking my nostrils becomes stronger and stronger an instant before the door opens, revealing⁠—

“Sheriff Lobo!”

Because it’s Sheriff Lobo.

He’s wearing a tight dark blue t-shirt and jeans a shade lighter. His badge is hanging on his hip like usual, and he has a delicious amount of stubble on his jaw. Walking into the bakery, he frowns for a moment, shakes his head, and stalks right toward me.

Roxy’s whole countenance changes. She rises up from the seat, her earlier interest and concern transforming to a seductive tease as she locks her gaze on the wolf.

What the…

“Look who’s here. I didn’t expect a wolf prowling around so early. You, Hon? C’mon out. Let’s greet the sheriff.”

What is she doing? Oh. I know.

Fucking with me.

“Roxy—”

She sidles up next to him. “Stop me if you heard this before. A wolf, a raccoon, and an opossum walk into a bakery…”

Let me just say that, if I hadn’t already confessed my shifter side to the sheriff yesterday, I’d be super pissed at her for blowing up my spot like that. So maybe she didn’t know it was a secret. Still. What is she doing now?

Her yellow eyes flash hypnotically, her attention completely on Sheriff Lobo. “Hey, handsome. Did Honey tell you that opossums have an odd number of nipples?”

Oh. My. God.

I’m going to kill her. Sure, she’s a raccoon, but she’s not a big cat or a wolf. I can take her.

“That’s wild opossums, Roxy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Opossum shifters have the normal amount.” I glance at the sheriff. He has a strange look on his face, and I’m not sure if it’s the way that Roxy blatantly hit on him or, you know, the whole ‘opossums having thirteen long, spaghetti-like nipples in the wild’ thing. It’s probably both. “Two,” I blurt out. For some reason—and I’m not examining it too closely while pretending he isn’t my mate—it seems important that he doesn’t think I’m any weirder than I already am. “I have two.”

He nods solemnly.