“I shift naked
! What do you want, a werewolf in tearaway pants?”
She blinked. Considered it. Honestly? I think she liked the idea.
More knocking, and then a key turned. Was Doris using her landlord key? She pushed the door open, but the latch lock caught the door before opening farther than three inches.
“What’s going on in there?”
I scrambled for cover. The closest object within arm’s reach was a small potted fern. I snatched it up and clutched it to my groin.
“Stall her!” I hissed. “Distract her! I need five minutes to vacuum and find pants!”
Maggie groaned and stomped toward the door. I pressed myself against the wall behind the coat rack like a man caught in the dumbest possible crime.
She opened the latch lock and cracked the door just enough to wedge her body in the gap.
And there she was.
Doris Cranberry. Clipboard in hand. Binoculars hanging around her neck. Cardigan buttoned all the way to the top. She smiled like she’d just caught two teenagers peeing on her prized rhododendron.
“You must be Maggie,” Doris said, eyes narrowing. “Why are you here? Don’t you work?”
“I’m a graphic designer. I work from home,” Maggie chirped, about two octaves higher than usual.
“Mm. You don’t host wild parties, do you?”
“Oh, um, nice to meet you, too. And no. I don’t even like medium parties.”
“Have you seen anything unusual since you’ve been living here? Hairy guests? Growling sounds?”
Maggie threw a glance at me over her shoulder. I mouthed,
Distract her more. My knees were turning into Jell-O.
“Um, nope! Just me and my extremely average, completely human roommate… who’s out. Getting groceries. Fully clothed. As usual.”
I tried to sneak behind her, fern still in place. My hip slammed into the end table. Loud. Painful. Obvious.
Maggie fake-laughed so hard. I was sure she was going to give herself an aneurysm. “Old pipes! Very haunted. Super charming, though!”
Doris sniffed. “Is that fur I smell?”
“Nope! Felt! I have a craft side hustle. I make, uh, felted taxidermy.”
I winced. Even
I wouldn’t have gone with that one.
“You do know you’re not allowed to harbor animals? I’m extremely allergic to animal fur.”
“Really?” There was a dangerous curiosity in Maggie’s voice. “What happens when you’re around fur?”
Doris hesitated. “Well, it depends on the animal. But typically”-her voice dropped to a whisper-“I get horrible UTIs.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“Wait. Are you… are you rubbing the fur on your nether regions? Or how exactly does that happen?”
Even from my hiding place, I felt Doris combust. She straightened her clipboard like she was going to smack someone with it. “I prefer not to discuss my private areas with new tenants. You understand, don’t you, dear?”
Maggie slapped a hand to her ear. “Oh no! Sorry, that’s my boss calling. Zoom time! She has twelve cats and no soul. Gotta go!”
Doris narrowed her eyes and tapped her binoculars like a Bond villain polishing her scope. “Well. I’ll be watching.”
“Oh, I definitely think of you as twenty-four-hour security.”
The door shut. I sagged to the floor, the fern rolling away like it, too, had been traumatized.
“I owe you my life,” I said solemnly. “Also, a new fern.”
“You’re the weirdest man I’ve ever met.”
“And yet…” I gestured around the apartment.
“I haven’t moved out,” she finished for me. “I’m strongly considering it.”
“But you won’t,” I said smugly.
She sighed and took the vacuum out of the closet.
“If Doris finds one hair,” she muttered, “we’re both getting evicted. And I am not explaining your weird ass to my sister when we have to move in with her.”
I reached across the counter and grabbed one of the muffins she’d baked this morning. Blueberry, still soft.
I took a bite and grinned around a mouthful. “Worth it.”
Maggie
The bakery logo I was working on looked like an angry toddler had taken out their feelings on the computer screen. I’d spent two hours tweaking typography and debating between peach and mauve, all while sipping a lukewarm oat milk latte and reminding myself this was the life I’d chosen.
Freelance freedom. Designer dreams. Branding artisanal sourdough empires from the comfort of my laptop. Woo.
I was scrolling through a folder of croissant illustrations when Roman burst into the room. “Let’s go be disgustingly domestic in public.”
“I have work.”
“You also have one outfit that screams take me to a farmers market,
” he said, flopping down on the end of my bed like gravity didn’t apply to him. “I saw it when you were unpacking. The overall skirt get-up. Put it on.”
“I have deadlines.”
“Breakfast tacos,” he sang. “And focaccia. Fresh, flaky. Slightly erotic.”
He was already halfway to the door before I sighed and shut my laptop. “This better be the best goddamn focaccia I’ve ever had.”
The aroma of cinnamon bread and sun-warmed tomatoes wafted toward me. Somewhere nearby, a street performer’s saxophone drifted over the murmur of the crowd. The lazy jazz felt like summer. I tucked my sunglasses higher on my nose and stared down a bunch of heirloom carrots priced the same as heirloom jewelry. A cable car bell clanged faintly in the distance, and the salty hint of the Bay mixed with all the other market smells. Roman leaned into my space, close enough that I could feel the stupid warmth radiating off him.
More Kickass Werewolf Reads
Dive into our collection of free werewolf romance novels—where fierce Alphas, daring heroines, and heart-stopping twists await. Every story burns with forbidden desire, loyalty, and destiny. Don’t wait—here’s a world where love bites hard and nothing is stronger than the call of the mate.
Leave a Reply