Page 25 of Jacob Michaels is Not Crazy

She waggled her head.

“You could always give Mr. Barkley a call.” I grinned evilly.

“You could always turn that chair over and sit down on it.” She growled.

I laughed.

“Maybe I’ll invite him over, then.” I shrugged as Oma grabbed a plate from the countertop beside her and started making a plate. “He could have lunch with us or something.”

“Text him for God’s sake.” She rolled her eyes as she ladled gravy on top of biscuits. “If he ain’t busy and gets over here soon enough he can have some biscuits and gravy.”

“Is there sausage or anything in it?”

Oma looked up suddenly with a smile.

“What?”

“Considering his dietary needs, huh?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“That spells out caring.”

“I can spell other things if you like,” I grumbled.

Rolling my eyes, I reached into my pocket and found nothing. I had left my cell phone upstairs in my room on the bedside table. For a split second, it pained me to not be able to text Lucas and tell him to come have breakfast with us. That thought immediately coming to mind just pissed me off. I was starting to get pissed that my mind would immediately think such a thing so quickly and easily about someone whom I was just…well, I didn’t know what to call the thing Lucas and I had going on, did I? Were we “seeing each other”? “Dating?” “Fucking?”

No. That last one was crude and we definitely cared about each other as people, so “fucking” was reductive. Maybe “friends with benefits” or something? We were definitely becoming friends, if not already friends, and there were definitely benefits to that, so maybe that was the best term. Then again, I wasn’t sure how I truly felt about Lucas. I knew that my body was drawn to his. In fact, every time he popped into my head, I felt aroused. Not physically of course, but I felt that fluttering in my lower abdomen that was a signal that my body was pleased by the thought.

Also, I was irritated with myself that I was being such a whiny little bitch about the whole thing. Maybe I didn’t vocalize every thought I had, but I definitely had some inner turmoil over the entire situation. That was high school type behavior and I just didn’t want to admit that my brain possessed such abilities. Then I’d remember that werewolves were real and Oma was a witch and wonder why I was wasting valuable thoughts on something like whether or not Lucas and I had a real relationship forming.

Andrew. That was a problem.

Why hadn’t I thought about Andrew and that whole situation more since it had happened? No, plainly said, why wasn’t I spending more mental energy on dissecting the new knowledge that Andrew was a werewolf? That werewolves were real? Why hadn’t I thought about going to see Andrew during the light of day to speak to him? I needed to tell him what I thought of him. I needed to ask questions. Ultimately, I needed to let him know that next time I would ask Lucas—or whoever was driving—to back up and hit him again. I needed to have a confrontation with the guy I had been on a date with who had tried to force himself on me and then, I guess, murder and eat me.

What do werewolves do when they attack someone?

Do they just attack the person?

Do they turn them into werewolves?

Do they eat their victims?

What…exactly…had been Andrew’s intent in werewolf form?

Did he even know?

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, just use my phone.” Oma rolled her eyes as she slapped the plate of food down in front of me. “Text the boy and get him over here so you can stop frothing at the mouth.”

“That’s not what I was thinking about, Oma.”

My grandmother picked up her phone and tapped on it for a second then set it back down in the same spot.

“There.” She put her hands on her hips. “I texted him for God’s sake.”

“Okay.” I shrugged and picked up my fork. “But that wasn’t what I was thinking about, either way.”

I looked down at my plate and saw that it was completely covered in split in half biscuits, drowning in creamy gravy and slices of bacon to the side. Looking at all of the heavy food made my stomach churn a little. Partly in a good way at the thought of Oma’s delicious cooking, but also from thinking about how my gut would feel an hour after eating it.