Page 14 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

“It’s a tax on existing near me.”

The wolf doesn’t even care that she stole it—the wolf is thrilled she wanted something I touched.

A few minutes after that, she slides out of her chair and leans right over my side of the table to check my notes. Her shoulder presses hard against mine, her body heat radiating straight through my shirt, and her hair falls forward so close I catch the scent of vanilla, rain, and clean skin. It punches straight through my head.

My throat goes dry. I stop writing completely.

“You okay?” she asks, not looking up from the page.

“Fine.”

“You stopped talking. You made a weird little rumble.”

“I didn’t rumble.”

“Sounded like a growl. I’m pre-vet, Boone. I know animal noises.”

“Focus on the recessive traits, Pope.”

She grins at my paper, knowing damn well what she’s doing.

Then she brings up Wesley from our ethics lecture, casually asking if I think he’s cute. I grip my notebook until the spiral binding bends, demanding to know what the hell she means by “objectively cute,” while Maisie laughs so hard she has to cover her face.

The breaking point happens twenty minutes before the library closes.

Maisie twists in her seat to grab the heavy textbook stacked on my right. She doesn’t realize how close she is—she reaches across my chest, and the soft curve of her breast presses flush against my upper arm.

She doesn’t pull back immediately. She lingers there for a second, grabbing the spine of the book, her breath warm against the side of my neck.

Every muscle in my body locks like iron.

The heat slams into me so fast and violent I feel it in my teeth. My pulse hammers in my ears. Every instinct I have screams at me to grab her hips, pull her onto my lap, bury my face in her neck, and sink my teeth in until she smells like me and only me.

I grip the edge of the table hard enough that the wood groans.

“Okay,” Maisie whispers.

She hasn’t pulled away. She’s staring right at my face from six inches away, her hazel eyes wide, lips parted, looking between my eyes and my mouth.

“Your eyes just did a thing,” she murmurs.

“They didn’t.” My voice is a disaster—rough, low, vibrating with the wolf.

“They turned bright gold, Boone. I’m looking right at them.” She stays in my space, her chest rising and falling fast, studying my face with a mix of curiosity and heat that makes my vision blur. “What does that mean?”

“It’s just... an emotional reflex.” I force each word past my teeth, fighting for control. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Maisie holds my gaze for another heavy second before she slowly slides back into her chair with the book. “So you’re basically a giant mood ring.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re terrible at keeping secrets when your face literally glows.”

“Study chapter five, Maisie.”

She laughs softly and opens the book, but her cheeks are flushed pink, and she doesn’t look at me for the next ten minutes.

I walk her back to her dorm in the cold autumn air.