Page 12 of Bewitching the Wolf

But the truth is, Jax Summers owns my heart. Has done for years.

Correction: human Jax had my heart. But now he’s ruined all that.

Because he chose not to tell me an important truth. He’s werewolf, not human.

And if I had to choose between him being a programmed human without free will and a werewolf with agency, I’d choose the first.

Wouldn’t I?

My racing pulse reveals the lie.

Because if I’m honest, there’s something about finding out that Jax is wolfen that thrills me.

And it shouldn’t.

I snap my mind away from these illicit thoughts and back to the present.

“So, where are you taking me?” I bat my lashes at Larry, as if doing so will silence my errant thoughts.

“Bait and Tackle.” Larry beams.

“Oh wow, the competition, eh?”

He nods.

Bait and Tackle is the new trendy spot to be seen on level one. It only opened a month ago. It’s run by a selkie whose ancestors used to reside on a huge expanse of water called the ocean, way back when. They are trying to mimic it here, with a small wave pool against one wall and a huge blue expanse painted above. It’s kind of weird and funky, and definitely the new cool place to hang out. Digger’s has taken a slight hit since Bait and Tackle opened, but we’ve always been a family place, so we tend to close early, which left those wanting to party on at a bit of a loose end.

Bait and Tackle has filled that gap. It’s the place to schmooze. To hook up, even.

Egh. This is going to get awkward.

It was stupid of me to accept, but I was acting on my emotions. I just wanted to get back at Jax, but now it feels like I’ve gotten in way over my head.

“I’ll just finish off here, and then… sure, let’s go,” I chirp.

Larry waits patiently, his eyes raking over me as I busily clean up the counter. The last customers leave with a wave and a smile.

Digger is still in the kitchen. I go up to the hatch and check if he wants any more help, hoping he’ll say yes.

“You can go, Tip.” The old goat grins.

I hand the last dirty plates through to the kitchen. “Really, I can stay, help you clean up.”

Digger glances past me. “Larry’s pawing at the ground, ready to whisk you away.”

I grimace. “Yeah, I said I’d go out with him tonight, but now I’m kinda regretting it.”

Digger grins. “If you need an excuse to escape, I’ll be here prepping for tomorrow’s breakfasts. You can tell him I need help.”

“Thanks, Digger.” I smile gratefully. The fawn is like a father to me, and since my fox shifter father ran off soon after I was conceived (a common problem with foxes, they rarely commit to parenthood), I don’t have a real father to rely on.

With a sigh. I take off my apron and walk out from behind the counter.

Larry’s eyes flick to my legs, and I see his nostrils flare, making me wish I’d worn leggings. As we leave Digger’s, he looks like he might put an arm around my shoulders, but seems to think better of it as I swerve away, and grins sheepishly. Even so, I know those big nostrils are scenting me, getting as close to my neck as he dares.

“I smell of hot dogs,” I warn.

“You smell perfect to me.”