Chapter 12
Twelve
Bailey
H o-ly crap.
My mind is still reeling from that crazy dream. I reach over and shut off the still-blaring alarm on my phone. My heart beats a million miles a minute, a residual hot sweat licking my brow. I fight my way out of tangled sheets and head to the bathroom. I flick the light on and splash some cold water on my face, expecting to look tired as hell, but all that greets me are unexpectedly bright eyes and cheeks flushed with the rosy afterglow of what just happened.
What I dreamt happened.
I splash more water. I need to get a grip. Wolfie isn’t Knox disguised as a wolf. I didn’t just have the most fantastic oral of my life with my dream man. None of it happened; none of it is true. It’s all just my imagination screaming at me to go out and get laid.
With a real man, not a dream one.
I look at myself again and smile. I’m happy I don’t look hideous today. It’s Cassie’s wedding day, and there’s sure to be some single hotties somewhere in her or her husband’s families. And, as the maid of honor, it shouldn’t be hard for those hotties to find me.
I take a shower and do my hair and makeup. Then I put on the blush-colored gown Cassie and I picked out and check myself out in the full-length mirror in my bedroom.
I look HOT .
I gather my purse and keys and get ready to head out. Wolfie is in his usual spot on the deck but immediately sits up from where he’s lying when I open the door. “What do you think, boy?” I ask, and he whines, pawing excitedly at the air before him. “You approve? Good.”
I spin slowly for him, letting him see the dress from every angle. The way he watches me, head cocked and eyes fixated, somehow reminds me of the dream I had last night. It’s weird, when I look into his eyes … I could swear they look exactly like the gray eyes of the man in my dreams.
But that’s the thing with dreams, isn’t it? They pull from your conscious mind, taking bits here and there from your day-to-day life and mashing them together in some nonsensical sequence for your brain to play you later. I must have manufactured the man’s eyes based on Wolfie’s. That’s a fair explanation for the uncanny resemblance.
I do one last spin. “Verdict? Do I look good enough to eat?” Wolfie chuffs loudly. “Good. I need to look like absolute fire tonight. I think there’s going to be at least a couple of hot guys there, and I need to get laid. Like, desperately.”
Wolfie’s ears pin back as he lowers his body to the deck and growls. I freeze, standing across from him on the deck. He keeps growling, his eyes bright with a spark of madness that turns my blood cold and forms a lump in my throat. I’ve never seen him like this or anything but docile. I’ve heard of seemingly domesticated wild animals turning feral on humans without notice.
But Wolfie wouldn’t do that. I know he’d never do anything to harm me.
I don’t know how I know. I just know .
“Settle down, boy,” I tell him, my feet suddenly a thousand pounds each. “I don’t bring hookups back here, so you have nothing to worry about. ”
Wolfie keeps growling as I watch him. I walk over to him cautiously and crouch down, stroking his fur as I stare into his eyes. Then I smile, a gesture which seems to settle his nerves and calm him down finally. He looks at me, but there’s no anger in his eyes. There’s nothing but endless gray pools of … concern.
“Hey, boy. Seriously, you don’t have to worry. I’m never going to bring anyone else back here. Besides, I don’t even know if there will be cute guys. I assume there are. Anyway, you shouldn’t get riled up about it.”
He licks my face, and I laugh. It strikes me as odd that he would even understand what I mean. How would a wolf possibly know what a hookup is? How would he know what it means when I talk about whether or not I ever bring others here? And why is he so opposed? Just out of concern for my safety?
I look into his eyes one more time, their intensity pulling my mind back to the dreamland where I experienced more pleasure than anyone’s ever brought me. But a wolf shouldn’t remind me of such things, and I shake the thought from my mind. I can’t let the lines of reality be blurred with these weird dreams I’ve been having, regardless of how realistic they may feel.
I see my rideshare pulling up and lock my door. “I’ll see you later, Wolfie,” I tell him, giving him a few more head rubs before I get in the back of the car. I turn and watch him as we pull away. He doesn’t move from the deck. He sits there, his eyes glued to the car until he’s entirely out of sight. I’m not sure that poor creature has left the deck once since he found me. And, no matter how much I might think it’s weird or try to deny it, I’ve been happy to have him around.
I never pegged myself for a dog person, but he’s comforting and pleasant to talk to and makes me feel safe. And his presence somehow feels more human than animal to me. He might not be the beautiful man from my dreams, but I don’t want him to leave. I mean, he can’t be the beautiful man from my dreams. It’s impossible.
Isn’t it?