Chapter 26
LOGAN
Why did there have to be so many types of teas? And who was buying or even bothering to check them all?
I’d been staring at the shelf of dirty hot water for at least five minutes, a piece of paper clutched in my hand and a shopping cart overflowing with everything else I needed.
“Here.” I looked up to find a sales associate standing next to me, holding a chamomile box out to me. The brand and name matched those on the scrap of paper that I soon intended to rip up with pleasure.
“Thanks,” I said with a lazy smile. “I was lost for a moment there.”
She giggled. When I turned back to her, I thought she’d exposed more skin. Not that I cared.
“I’m Paula.” She smiled, extending a hand toward me. I looked at it, then back at her.
“And you already know who I am,” I hummed, shaking her hand. Her confidence faltered a bit, her hand trembling in mine.
I was used to that. Not that I wanted to be or was bothered by it. It was what it was, and it always had been.
I dropped the tea box on top of a pack of chicken nuggets. Today was my turn to supply the lair with food. We ordered a lot online, at least what could be stored, but fresh produce like meat, fish, and more meat had to be bought weekly.
“Your girlfriend must be lucky that you’re so thoughtful. And she has beautiful handwriting.”
Great way to investigate, Paula. Clearly, she’d peeked at the paper I was holding.
“It’s actually for my sister. She has cramps,” I said, pushing the shopping cart in front of me. I walked to the cash register with her on my tail.
The imaginary one. The real one was tucked away.
“Oh, poor thing. How’s her season going?”
I felt her eyes on my bare arms. Again, nothing new.
She twisted the end of her light brown braid around her finger, but instead, long hazelnut hair with red streaks flashed through my head.
“Oh, wait. Forgot something! One sec!” I was already jogging toward the aisle before she could answer. The sign for hair products hovered above me.
I inflated my cheeks with air, eyes scanning.
“This is worse than picking tea.”
Rows and rows of bottles stared back, pink, gold, and blue ones, all promising hair miracles.
My gaze halted on a bottle with honeysuckles and two goofy bees smiling on the label. Jackpot.
I snatched it up, my thumb flipping the cap open. I inched it closer to my nose and sniffed.
“Not the right one,” I huffed.
I grabbed another one with honey on the label and tried again.
“Nah.”
And another.
Four bottles in, I knocked half the shelf backwards with a loud clack.
“Oops,” I muttered, half laughing.
Look at me, sniffing shampoos that contained honey. I didn’t mind being this way. I just went with it—and actually enjoyed it.
None of the shampoos were right, though. Her hair scent had been softer. Sweeter. Not fake-sweet.
“Maybe I can mix these two.”
Was I a creep? Yeah. Did I care? Nope.
When I came back, two different honey shampoos in hand, Paula blinked.
“Oh! You like honey shampoo?”
“You have no idea.” My lips curled up, showing too many teeth.
She looked slightly alarmed but started chatting again, something about split ends. Without doing it on purpose, I zoned out and missed half of it.
After she’d scanned all ten pounds of different meats, five gallons of milk, and ten juice bottles, I handed her my black Visa, but she shook her head.
“Don’t worry about it. On the house this time,” she purred, though she averted her eyes as soon as I looked at her.
Free shopping. Sweet.
That was the second time this month. At first, I insisted on paying, but then they seemed to get offended when I did.
Unfortunately, my friends had gotten used to the treatment and tried to find excuses for me to go to the supermarket instead of them.
Lazy cheap fuckers.
There may have been some other little things here and there…
The girl who worked at the faculty café had insisted on offering my daily black coffee for free.
Callum had had to pay for his, and Killian had been charged double since he’d messed with the owner’s cousin.
Then there was the old couple that always refused to return my laundry if I didn’t take back my cash, just because I helped them unload their truck sometimes.
Getting away with parking or speeding tickets because the policemen were wereball fans was easy…
Oh, and the plumber who stopped by our apartment regularly never charged, even though Callum’s hair always got tangled in the drain.
There also may have been the occasional free burgers at Grease Factory, the free drinks at the Rumpant Donkey, and the free sushi from Mr. and Mrs. Iakushino.
“Bye, Thor! Good luck with the game! I’ll cheer you on from the stands.” She beamed at me, her pierced nipple prominent.
I gave her a thumbs-up.
With three bags of food in each hand, I returned to my apartment. The familiar streets teemed with students or groups of friends returning home or going out.
As usual when I was alone, my mind drifted off to her. The most beautiful girl I had ever seen and would ever see.
A hundred emotions had crossed over her cute face when she’d recognized me standing right behind her at the party. I would have laughed at her expression if those sparks hadn’t shut me the hell up.
For once, I’d been left speechless.
And I always had something to say.
I had never wanted to annihilate someone as much as that bastard who had hit on her right under my nose.
My hands balled into fists. I shook my head like a dog to control myself.
The only thing that had calmed me down? That ass had spent plenty of quality time with my fists.
I smirked at the memory. After I’d left my sweet little mate, I had scented him, hunted him down like an animal, and reminded him that sometimes, werewolf healing properties just gave me more opportunities to indulge.
Hopefully it would help him remember to keep his hands for fondling himself and not molesting girls with them. Especially my girl.
Ah, the kiss. Our first kiss.
I’d never needed or wanted to kiss anyone. Sex was like hunting and eating. I did it with the sole goal of satisfying my urges. My beast.
But since that kiss, I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind—or wondering how I could repeat the experience without coming in my pants. Hell, since I first saw her at the wereball conference, she’s always been there. A tattoo on my brain.
Before heading to my apartment, I diverted toward a different building.
Trix was menstruating and had asked me to get her some herbal junk…
and junk food. I wondered what my sister and my mate would be like together.
They’d probably get along great. A smile curled up my lips as, once again, I thought of her.
Until I was distracted by flashing lights and chatter coming from the bedroom window on the second floor. I didn’t bother taking the stairs or knocking.
Shopping bags hanging from my arms, I climbed to the window, as I had done several times throughout the years. I bumped my foot against a potted plant in the windowsill, then glanced down right when I heard the crash. “Oops.”
“Lolo!” My sister, Bellatrix, beamed as her two friends blushed. The instant they saw my face, their eyes popped wide open. “Don’t you ever think about knocking?”
I knocked on the window twice with my forehead, then glanced at the papers scattered across the carpet. They were drafting the war strategy against the Cometesses for the upcoming game in the female wereball league.
“Hello, ladies! How are we doing this evening?”
I jumped in, kissed my sister on the cheek, and dropped the items on her bed.
“Thanks!” She squeezed me around the waist.
“Do you need anything else? I got some banana jam and mozzarella sticks.” Her PMS combo since 2015.
She giggled, her arms still around me. “We ordered some takeout from the new Malaysian restaurant. Want to join?”
My eyes paused on her friends for a second, and I shook my head.
“Can’t, but see ya tomorrow after training.” I ruffled her hair before jogging back to the window.
I was about to leave when Trix called me back. I glanced at her over my shoulder.
“Um, you might want this.”
There was a number written on the top of the tea box. She tore it off and tossed it to me.
“Sure, why not?” I caught it, waving at the girls—who blushed even more.
They played on the women’s wereball team. I’d fucked both of them once or twice…or thrice in high school.
I slid the piece of paper with Paula’s number into my back pocket.
“Do you ever have a day without a hook-up?”
“Enjoy your dirty water, Trix.”
“It’s called tea!”
“Same, same. Take care.”
Electronic music blared all the way down the street from our living room—along with the stench of pot.
Pushing the ajar door with a knee, I found the wereball lads sprawled around the TV, watching Callum and Tank Man battle it out on the Xbox. Others were either standing or lounging on beanbags, chilling with beers in hand, smoking, or shoveling down fries and candies.
“Yo! Took you long enough, captain. I’m starving!” Tank Man shouted, not averting his eyes from the big screen.
I smacked him on the head and snagged his beer. As he was distracted, Callum dunked on him.
“Goddammit, you fucker!”
I popped the top and took a long swig.
“Thanks for this. I like it cold,” I snickered, ignoring his further curses.
Dylan and two freshmen helped me put the groceries away before we started on the barbecue. I remained on the terrace chatting with a couple of friends and terminating three burgers.
Just then, Killian stumbled into the kitchen from the hallway. His hair was a mess and his lips were curled into a lazy smirk, green lipstick all over them.
“Later, princess.” He winked at Olivia, a wereball player.
She grabbed the collar of his shirt, kissed him hard once, then shoved him against the wall. A frame featuring Ayers Rock dropped to the floor. “Bye, idiot. I will call when I need you. And don’t be late again.”
Then she left.