Page 13 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

When her shoulder starts aching from that heavy canvas bag, I wait until she complains out loud before I grab the strap. “Treating a medical symptom,” I tell her, hauling it onto my shoulder.

She notices, of course. Maisie notices everything.

“You’ve gotten weirdly considerate,” she said during our third session, squinting over her laptop. “You didn’t use to ask before you grabbed my bag.”

“I’m learning manners.”

“You’re plotting something.”

“I’m helping you study, Pope.”

She let it drop, but she watched me a little too long, her hazel eyes curious and sharp.

The real test comes Friday during our fourth study session. We’re in our usual corner of the library when a guy from her lecture walks right up to our table.

“Maisie, hey.” Tall, human, smiling like he owns the place. “You left your umbrella in Halvorsen’s class on Tuesday. I’ve had it in my bag all week, sorry.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Maisie takes it, laughing.

Something ugly and immediate snaps inside my chest. The wolf sits straight up, baring its teeth.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Why has he been carrying her shit around for three days?

“You’re in my study group for the midterm, right?” He keeps going, leaning over our table. “We should compare notes sometime.”

I don’t move. I don’t say a word. But my jaw locks tight, my hands go dead flat on the wood, and I hit him with a look that usually makes defensive linemen take a step back.

The guy glances at me, blanches, and swallows hard. “Anyway... see you in class,” he mutters, turning and walking away fast.

Good, the wolf snaps. Get lost.

Maisie watches him bolt, then slowly turns to face me. “Okay. Do all werewolves glare at strangers like you’re deciding where to bite them first?”

“That’s just my face.”

“That is not your face. That was your I am actively considering murder face.”

“He could’ve left the umbrella at the lost and found.”

“He was just being nice!” Maisie looks at me, fighting a grin. “Boone. Did you just get territorial over an umbrella?”

“No.”

“Your ears literally twitched flat.”

“They didn’t twitch.”

“They definitely did.” Maisie leans back, biting her lower lip, looking at me like she just discovered a very fun button she fully intends to push. “Fascinating.”

I’m completely fucked.

It turns into a game immediately.

Ten minutes later, she reaches across the table, grabs my favorite blue pen straight out of my fingers, and clicks it twice while staring right into my eyes.

“That’s mine,” I say.