Page 28 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

I stare at my phone.

Then at my notebook, still open on my desk, at the line connecting food provisioning behavior to a half-dozen examples.

Maisie: That’s fine.

Maisie: Very thoughtful of you.

He sends a thumbs up and a wolf emoji, which I’ve found inexplicably charming for weeks and am now viewing in a completely different light.

By the time I head to his apartment, it’s getting cold, leaves blowing across the old stone paths. I walk with my hands in my pockets, running through everything I read, everything I noticed, and the specific strategy I’ve been working out since I left the library.

He opens the door before I knock. “Hey.” He’s in jeans and a henley, sleeves pushed up. I catch the smell of Thai food from the kitchen, and underneath it something else—warm and steady, the same scent I’ve been breathing in off his sweatshirt for two weeks without knowing what I was doing.

I know now. "Hey," I say, dropping onto his couch. Okay. Let's see.

"Food's in the kitchen," he says. "It should still be⁠—"

"I'm actually kind of cold," I say.

He's already reaching for the sweatshirt draped over the couch arm before I finish the sentence. He holds it out. I look at it for one second, then at his face. He looks completely normal. Like handing me his sweatshirt is the obvious response to me being cold. Like this is simply what you do.

It is what he does. Every time.

"Thanks," I say, pulling it over my head.

He nods and sits across from me. "So we should probably get through the reproductive biology section before⁠—"

"Oh, I completely forgot to eat lunch today," I say. "I had an eight-thirty and then back-to-back classes. Just kind of missed the window."

His phone is in his hand before I've finished.

"I ordered Thai, there's plenty," he says, already heading to the kitchen. "I'll get you something now, the main course needs five more minutes⁠—"

"Boone, I'm fine, we can just⁠—"

"You've been up since eight and it's almost six." He comes back with a container of spring rolls and sets them in front of me like this is the most natural thing in the world. "Eat."

I eat a spring roll.

I look at him.

He looks satisfied in a way he's completely unaware of, settling back against the cushions and reaching for the textbook.

I let it go for about four minutes while we perform a reasonable impression of studying. Then I say, very casually, "Oh—you know Donovan? From my Bio section?"

Boone looks up.

"He asked me yesterday if I was going to the Halloween thing on the main quad," I say. "The big one with the bonfire."

Boone goes still.

"He was pretty nice about it," I continue, watching him in my peripheral vision while pretending to read a paragraph I've absorbed zero words of. "I think he might have been asking as a⁠—"

"What did you tell him?"

Perfectly measured. Totally even. Except underneath it I can hear the effort.

"I said I wasn't sure yet." I look up. "Why?"