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Spatially UnawareWolf

Page 36

by Sarah Honey

Hunter fell asleep before I did, but I wasn’t far behind him. My last thought before I passed out was that I only wished this wasn’t temporary.

CHAPTER 10

HUNTER

When I woke up from my unscheduled nap, Luke was still asleep, plastered to my side. I eased out from under him and got out of bed. I’d slept hard, and I was in that foggy state where I wasn’t sure what time, what day, or even what year it was. A glance out the window showed me the late afternoon sky, with pink and orange streaks lighting up the underside of the clouds and decorating the horizon. The sun hadn’t quite set, but it was preparing to clock out for the day.

I ducked into the bathroom and showered to wash away the last traces of sex and sleep, then dressed in my jeans and dug a faded UMaine tee out of my backpack. Luke was still sleeping, a slight smile on his face, and I wondered what he was dreaming about. I hoped it was something good.

Then I remembered that I shouldn’t care what he was dreaming about because he was a client and this was a professional arrangement.

As if he sensed me watching him, Luke’s eyelids fluttered open and he rolled onto his back. “Hey.”

“Hey. Sorry if I woke you.”

He shook his head and sat up, checking the time on his phone. “Holy shit, we slept for three hours.” His face creased into a mischievous smile. “That intense workout must have worn me out.”

“Must have,” I agreed.

Luke climbed out of bed, scratched his belly, then wrinkled his nose. “I’m gonna shower.”

He padded off toward the bathroom, and I sat on the side of the bed, unsure what to do with myself. My stomach growled, reminding me we’d skipped lunch.

I went out to the living area and opened Luke’s refrigerator with vague thoughts of making something for dinner and found a package of ground beef. Further investigation turned up a box of pasta and a jar of sauce and, surprisingly, a selection of fresh vegetables that weren’t on the verge of turning into slime.

Before I started cooking, I went and opened the bathroom door a crack. The notes of a tune I couldn’t identify due to it being sung in the key of terrible echoed off the tiles as Luke belted it out with gusto. What he lacked in talent he made up for in enthusiasm—which seemed to be Luke in a nutshell, really. “Hey,” I called, raising my voice to be heard above the alleged singing. “Mind if I invade your kitchen and make dinner?”

The singing cut off abruptly.

I cleared my throat, careful to keep my tone neutral when I said, “Pasta okay?”

“Yeah, I—yeah,” Luke said, and then he went quiet.

“Don’t stop singing on my account,” I said. And okay, I didn’t quite manage to keep the laughter out of my voice that time.

“Fuck you,” he muttered.

“Maybe later, if you’re up for it.” I closed the door and walked away, still laughing to myself.

By the time he emerged from the shower, the sauce was simmering and the pasta was almost done. He stood at the end of the counter watching me with a strange expression, like he hadn’t quite believed me when I said I was going to cook. Finally, he said, “Smells good.”

The wooden spoon clattered against the sides of the cast iron pan as I stirred the sauce. “Thanks. It’s my grandma’s secret recipe.”

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Oh? Was your grandma’s secret that she shopped at Hannaford? Because that’s where that sauce is from.”

I laughed. “Okay, you got me. But she taught me the importance of browning the beef and adding extra onions and garlic, okay? Trust me, this spaghetti is so much better than jar food.”

Luke’s smile disappeared and his shoulders slumped. “That would be great, except I can’t eat it.”

What? I froze, my wooden spoon midair. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Alliums. Can’t eat ‘em. They’re poisonous for wolf shifters.”

My first reaction was to believe him. Of course he couldn’t eat onions and garlic. I had vivid memories of the time my cousin’s dog had ended up at the vet after stealing an entire lasagna.

But then my common sense kicked in. If Luke couldn’t eat onions and garlic, why did he have them in his kitchen? And how many times had I eaten Dylan’s lasagna before now?

Obviously, Luke was fucking with me.