Chapter 3
Boris
I call Zahrah the moment I step over the threshold while more or less running toward the kitchen. I like to cook, and when I work, I most often work in the restaurant business.
Maybe it's time I start looking for a job. I've lived here for two months now, and I haven't so much as glanced at any ads. Watching Simon takes up all my time.
I don't need a job to survive. Our pack is rich. Not in a gaudy, opulent way. We don't have a palace, and there is no gold decor either, but there are funds, and the pack has excellent economic advisers.
All members get a sum every month to cover the basics. It's too dangerous to have hungry or unhoused werewolves running around, so the pack takes care of its members.
If there is trouble of some kind, we all pitch in, so it's not money without strings, but I would have helped anyway. If a pack mate is in trouble, I'll help.
"Have you been arrested?" Zahrah's voice is droll.
I frown at the phone. "No? Why?"
"I don't know, just a feeling."
"That I'll get arrested? Why?"
She snorted. "Stalking?"
"I am not a stalker."
"Riiight. Soon you'll be brought in for indecent exposure."
I splutter. "Why?" It comes out as more of a whine than I wanted it to.
"I know you. You'll want to show Simon your junk soon, and he, normal as he appears to be, won't know what the hell is going on.
He'll walk out the door one morning, kid in tow, and be met by a massive dick.
He'll have no choice but to call the cops.
He'll have to protect his child from the creep next door, after all. "
I huff. "Thank you for saying my dick is massive. I didn't know you'd looked." She's not wrong. I'm gifted.
"Eww."
"Zahrah." I say her name, so she'll know I'm serious.
"Yeah?"
"I asked him over for dinner in half an hour. What's my best dish?"
"What! You did what?"
"Asked him to dinner, and the kid." Ira, I have to remember his name. Simon will not be impressed if I forget.
"Slow down. You talked to him?"
I sigh. I don't have time for lengthy explanations.
"I was out in the garage." I yank open the refrigerator.
Pasta perhaps? It's quick. "He turned in on the driveway, and then they sat in the car for ages.
I walked over and knocked on the window.
He looked..." I didn't know how to explain it. "Broken."
"Broken?"
"Exhausted. Dejected. Miserable. I don't know. Like all hope had left him."
"Fuck."
"Yeah, so I asked him to dinner."
"And he accepted?" There is surprise in her voice.
"Eh...not the first time I asked, or told him, but then I said he was breaking my heart, which he was, so he said yes."
She groans, but I ignore her.
"So what do I cook? What's child-friendly food?"
"Hmm. I don't know."
"Creamy broccoli pasta with loads of cheese?"
"Do kids eat broccoli?"
I open the freezer. I have broccoli. "Don't they?"
"I don't know. I asked you."
"I have shredded chicken." I grab the pack. "Pasta with chicken and spinach." Luckily, I have a bag of fresh spinach in the fridge.
"Oh, the creamy one you do with pasta penne and Parmesan?"
I hum in reply and grab a bottle of white wine. I always add half a cup or so of dry white wine. "Do kids like wine?"
"Erm...I think it's illegal to serve them. Maybe that's what will make you call me from jail, serving alcohol to children."
"Idiot. I mean, I always have wine in the sauce, but maybe--"
"Make it like you normally make it. Can I come over? I'm hungry now."
"No! You stay away. This is my first date with the love of my life, you're not allowed to come along."
She laughs. "But I can bring garlic bread."
"I have garlic bread." I yank open the freezer again. Thank fuck for garlic bread. Though..."Do you think he'll kiss me if I've had garlic bread?"
She's quiet, and nerves swirl in my belly.
"Boris." The tone tells me everything I need to know. Or not everything, but I know I won't like what comes next. "I'm not sure there will be any kissing tonight."
"But we're on a date!"
"Does he know it's a date? Does he know you're gay? Is he gay?"
I'm frozen to the spot. "What do you mean?"
"Only, I know he's your mate, and I don't doubt you when you say he is. I've never seen you this obsessed, and you haven't so much as looked at anyone since you first smelled him, but...he has a kid. Normally, that means he's been with a woman."
It's hard to breathe. "He's mine. He has to...like men. He might be bi, but he can't be straight, Zahrah. He can't."
"Deep breaths. I'm not saying...Hell, I don't know what I'm saying, but he's human.
Human shifter matings are rare, and humans don't feel the same pull we do.
He doesn't know you're his. If he believes he's straight, asking him and his child over for dinner one night won't change how he sees himself.
Maybe he thinks you mean it in a neighborly way. "
A neighborly way? What's a neighborly way, and how do I avoid appearing as if it's what I'm doing?
"Do I tell him it's a date?"
"No!"
"No?" Why not?
"No, you need to play the long game here. You cannot be clingy, you hear me? Woo him with your cooking, it's an ace up your sleeve. Get him addicted to your food. Listen when he talks and get to know him. And don't forget the kid. No parent will want a partner who ignores their child."
I nod. She's right. I got carried away. I'll have him in my home tonight. It'll have to be enough for now. "Okay, I hear you."
"Good. No kissing, and no showing your junk."
But what if..."If he--"
"No! He doesn't know you're his. You've been there for two months, and he's never initiated conversation. He doesn't want to see your dick tonight. You said he looked tired and heartbroken. Cock doesn't help those things."
I chuckle. "It might." But she's right. Simon needs someone to take care of him tonight.
"Don't flirt."
"What?" No flirting?
"The kid will be there. You have to, I don't know, woo them both. It's not like picking someone up from a bar. Ask about what they do in their spare time, what their plans are for Christmas, try to find out where the kid's mother is, and so on."
"Fiiine."
"I have faith in you."
"No, you don't."
She chortles. "No, but I'll be here to listen to you whine about it when you've fucked up."
"Thanks."
"Love you. Now impress him with your cooking skills."
We end the call, and I focus on making the best damn chicken pasta I've ever made.
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