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“Batfink?” Rowan asks.
“My dog.”
“That was a dog you were carrying in here?” Linden asks in disbelief.
“Yes,” I reply stubbornly. He doesn’t need to know that I’m just as confused as everyone else about Batfink. I don’t care what he is; he’s mine.
Naked new boy has raised his hand like he’s in school or something.
“Yes?” I ask him slowly.
“It’s me. He’s me.”
“Huh?”
“The dog. I’m, errr, Batfink.”
Shut the front door!
“What the fuck?!” I whisper-yell.
“Can you grab me some clothes? There’s a blue pickup outside. You’ll find some in there,” Batfink asks Rowan, who nods and disappears. Linden, the bastard, just stands there with a shit-eating grin on his face like he’s about to enjoy the show.
“You slept in my bed!” I accuse.
“You made me get shots in my ass!” he fires back, crossing his muscly arms over his chiselled chest.
“Yeah, well, if I ever see you as a dog again, I’m taking you to the vet and he can shove a thermometer up your—”
“Assuming that you’re not in any immediate danger, I’d say that my brother and I can leave,” Linden interrupts with a drawl.
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply tightly as he leaves.
“I’m not a dog!” Batfink cries indignantly.
Just then, Rowan sticks his head in and throws a pile of clothes at Batfink, who catches them expertly.
“What’s your name and what are you?” I ask suddenly feeling foolish for calling him Batfink and for not knowing he was a goddamn shifter.
“Ash,” he replies. “And I’m a fox.”
“I feed a family of foxes in my garden. You’re not a fox.”
“I’m a fennec fox.”
“I don’t know what they are.”
“Well, you thought I was pretty cute.” He rubs a hand through his hair and gives me this lopsided sheepish grin that’s all boyish charm and cute. Fuck me, he has dimples.
“That was before you conned me into spending two hundred dollars on supplies for a new pet dog that I now don’t have!” My hands are on my hips and I’m staring at him fiercely, trying not to ogle his hot body or swoon over his dimples.
“I’ll get you a dog,” he promises.
“I don’t even know you, I’m not letting you buy me a dog!” I scoff.
“How about a drink tonight instead? To explain and apologize.”
“I’m going out with Rowan,” I quickly invent.
