Page 6 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

“I’m fine.”

I pull my heavy team hoodie over my head and hold it out. “Take this.”

“No. You’ll freeze.”

“I’m a wolf. Take the damn hoodie.”

She rolls her eyes, takes it, and pulls it on.

It swallows her whole. The hem hits her thighs and the sleeves cover her knuckles. The second my scent wraps around her, my wolf lets out a satisfied, possessive growl that I barely keep behind my teeth.

She pushes the sleeves up. “Same time Thursday?”

“Yeah.”

She looks at me, softer now. “Thanks, Boone. For the notes. And the food.”

“Eat lunch tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Boone.”

“Night, Maisie.”

I watch her walk out the glass doors into the cold.

My wolf wants to chase her down, throw her over my shoulder, and drag her back to my place.

I stay where I am.

The wolf recognized her automatically. That’s biology. That’s fate.

But I like her. I like how stubborn she is. I like that she called me out the second she sat down. I like how smart she is and the way she smiled when she finally understood the biology concept.

She has no idea what she is to me. She’s stressed about a scholarship and fighting to pass a class. If I drop a mating bond on her head right now, I’ll terrify her.

She deserves time. She deserves to make her own choice.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the exit.

Thursday is two days away. I just have to make it forty-eight hours without losing my mind.

It’s going to be fucking impossible.

CHAPTER 3

MAISIE

I see Boone Kinkaid twice before our Thursday study session, which wouldn’t be a big deal if I hadn’t spent the first three weeks of the semester not noticing he existed.

I knew who he was, obviously. Everyone on campus knows Boone. His face is on the athletic posters, his family name is everywhere, and girls in my dorm have analyzed his ass with a level of detail that honestly feels like a privacy violation. But knowing a guy exists and suddenly having your brain short-circuit every time he enters a room are two very different things, and I hate what it says about me.

The first time happens Wednesday morning in the dining hall. I’m digging through my bag for a smashed granola bar because I overslept, skipped breakfast, and stupidly thought I could run on caffeine until lunch. I finally yank the wrapper open, look up, and spot Boone across the room laughing with a couple of guys from the football team. He looks relaxed and stupidly good, and I stare long enough that I walk straight into a concrete support column.

Not a glancing blow. My forehead meets actual solid concrete.

I stumble back, clutching my granola bar like a weapon, and look around in pure terror. Nobody reacts. Either I got lucky or Creature University students are too polite to point out when someone concusses herself over a werewolf. I shove half the granola bar in my mouth and march out, furious at myself. He’s hot. Big deal. I’ve lived twenty years around attractive men without damaging campus infrastructure.

After that, it feels like he’s everywhere—crossing the quad with his gym bag, sitting near the windows in the student center, just constantly in my line of sight.