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Not that there were really many people in that boat, anymore.
I wasn’t going to think about that either, though, because that shit was painful.
“Come on,” Elliot protested. “You’ll regret skipping it.”
“I definitely won’t. If I was going to celebrate, I’d go eat my weight in ice cream, or watch four movies at the theater in a row, or spend all day playing laser tag or something. All of those things would probably cost less than the damned graduation gown, and I’d make memories I’d never forget rather than wasting my time sitting in an uncomfortable chair while some chick who graduated a decade ago rambles on about where she used to sit during the ‘best days of her life’.” I took a violent bite of pizza.
Yeah, my memories of my high school graduation weren’t my favorite.
“Damn. You’ve got strong feelings about this,” Dax said, then drilled some shit into a chunk of wood.
“Rise against and all that.” I shrugged.
Wolf-Rocco was eyeing my pizza, so I held it out to him. My fingers remained on the food while he took very human-like bites from it, and then I tossed him the crust. He caught it in the air, and gulped it down quickly.
My lips quirked upward at that.
“You’re adapting to all this really quickly,” Elliot remarked.
“Eh. I’ve just learned to deal with whatever shit life throws at me at this point. A fuzzy dude to snuggle with is a hell of a lot better than some of the crap I’ve had tossed my way.”
Elliot nodded, looking contemplative as he continued putting the dresser together.
The room lulled into a comfortable quiet while the guys worked, and I fed wolf-Rocco another slice of pizza. He licked my fingers as much as he licked the pizza, but I pretended not to notice.
“So do you guys ever give your wolves different names than you?” I checked, curiosity getting the best of me as I scratched Wolf-Rocco’s head again. He set it down on my lap, and I resisted the urge to lie down and snuggle up with him.
While the other guys were in the room, that would’ve been weird.
“Nah. Our wolves are used to going by the same names we do,” Elliot explained.
“Some guys’ mates give their wolves nicknames to separate them, though,” Dax added. “Or they give the men nicknames, so they avoid the mix-up.”
I nodded.
I’d come up with a nickname for Rocco’s wolf, then, because I was currently much more attached to the wolf than to the deliciously-hot skyscraper of a man.
What should I call the wolf, though?
Fuzzy? Softy?
Something told me the wolf would roll his eyes at those name suggestions.
I’d keep thinking about it.
I tried to come up with all of the werewolf words I knew.
Mate… growl… snarl… bite… snap… alpha…
Alpha?
That one was from movies and tv shows and shit.
“Do werewolves have alphas?” I checked.
“Yup. That would be me.” Elliot gestured to himself.
“They’re not like in the movies though. The alpha’s not the boss. He’s more like the… den mother,” Dax explained.
