Page 20 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

"You're gone, man," Tate says, shaking his head. "This far in and you're completely fucking useless."

I don't argue, because he's right. Ever since Maisie kissed me at the fall festival four days ago, my wolf's been in a state of smug, insufferable satisfaction. She chose you, he keeps chiming in during drills, meetings, and lifting sessions. She did it first.

My phone buzzes against the table. It's a photo from Maisie of a flyer taped outside the student center: JOIN THE CU VAMPIRE SUNRISE AVOIDANCE CLUB — WEEKLY MEETINGS, MANDATORY BLACKOUT CURTAIN DISCUSSION, SNACKS PROVIDED (NOT BLOOD, THAT'S A DIFFERENT CLUB).

Maisie: this is either the best or worst club on campus and I need your professional opinion

Boone: worst. their meeting is literally at sunset. that's not avoidance, that's just a scheduling problem.

Maisie: OMG YOU'RE RIGHT. I'm forwarding this to them right now as feedback.

Boone: Please don't.

Maisie: Too late, already sent.

Then, because my wolf's neurotic about making sure she actually eats instead of surviving on caffeine and sheer panic, I send my daily check-in.

Boone: Did you eat lunch?

A minute later, a photo comes through: a single granola bar wrapper next to an empty coffee cup, staged like a crime scene with a sticky note that says EVIDENCE in block letters.

Maisie: Proof. Happy now?

Boone: A granola bar is not lunch, Pope.

Maisie: It’s today's lunch. stop micromanaging my caloric intake Kinkaid.

By Tuesday night, our study sessions have basically devolved into makeout sessions with textbooks open nearby for plausible deniability. Tonight she's curled up next to me on the library couch, wearing my dark grey team hoodie.

She didn't borrow it because she was cold. She swiped it from my locker bag yesterday, and she chose it on purpose. She wants my scent on her. My wolf practically purrs every time she pulls the oversized sleeves down over her knuckles.

"You're staring," she says without looking up from her biology notes.

"It's my hoodie."

"I might've stolen it."

"You gonna give it back?"

She looks up, flashing a small, defiant grin. "Not a chance in hell."

The next afternoon, she tags along to the human transfer orientation program. I run it twice a semester in one of the lecture halls, walking new human students through the chaotic basics of living with creatures.

Maisie sits in the back row, watching quietly while I explain how to read dining hall menus that list fresh blood alongside vegan chili, what to do if your dragon suitemate keeps the thermostat locked at a hundred and four degrees, and the basic etiquette of not flinching when a vampire extends a pale hand in introduction.

There are maybe twenty students this time, most of them transfers who came in after the semester started. Some look nervous. A few look excited. One girl in a yellow sweater asks three questions about the residence halls and writes down every answer on the campus map spread across her lap.

By the time I finish, Student Services has set up coffee and snacks in the student center lounge across the courtyard. The transfers head that way in a loose group while Maisie waits for me to shove my orientation notes back into my bag.

“You’re really good with them,” she says as we follow everyone across the quad.

“Most of them are terrified.” I hold the student center door open for her. “My grandfather always told me integration doesn’t work through laws. It works when people actually give a shit about building bridges. If we don’t make humans feel safe here, the whole point of this university falls apart.”

Maisie looks up at me, her gaze soft and steady. “I like that you care about this. You’re a good guy, Boone.”

My chest tightens with something fierce and possessive. I want to be, I think. Especially for you.

We step into the lounge.