Chapter 2
Angry Afterglow
One of my eyes opened slowly as a bassy voice belted out the lyrics to “Doctor Jones,” which played obnoxiously loud from my television.
I was way too tired to move, but when I heard the fridge open and close, a rush of panic made me snap my eyes all the way open.
I jumped out of the bed and threw on some clean shorts before making a mad dash to the kitchen.
“What the—” I froze as plates of fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, sausage, pancakes and a half-eaten rib eye steak lay spread along the counter in front of me. “Where the hell did you get all this?”
“I found some money in yer pocket, so I got ya some groceries.”
My mouth dropped open. “WHAT?”
“You had like three hundred bucks in there, buddy.” He held up an open jar of mayonnaise. “Yer welcome.”
“Where the fuck is my money, Roscoe?” I asked through my teeth, balling my fists.
“Relax. I didn’t spend too much.” He pointed to a wad of cash on the counter, and I ran over to count it.
“You spent one hundred and fifty dollars!”
“Yeah, and look.” He opened the fridge, now full of food—and, of course—a few cases of beer. “You can thank me later with that ass again.” He gave me a slap from behind, and I reached for his neck.
“I’m going to kill—”
“You didn’t have no food,” he interrupted, holding me back with one arm.
“I eat at work,” I shouted, pointing to the banquet on the counter. “I have rent due in a week, and I’m barely scraping by as it is.”
“Don’t worry about it. I get paid on Thursday, and I’ll help with the rent.” He winked, which infuriated me even more. “Gotta get to work at six today, so I’ll be home late, babe.”
I paused and cocked my head. “Dude, this was a one-night thing. You’re not staying here.”
He turned off the stove and moved the skillet to the side before strutting over to me. “I know the way to yer heart.” He pulled me into him, squeezing my rear end with both hands as he laid into me with a deep-tongue kiss.
The building resentment was about to boil over into homicidal rage, but I took a deep breath and pushed him away. “Get the hell off me. Aren’t you more into women?”
“Psh, nah. Can’t get a man pregnant—at least I don’t think so.” He winked at me again. “I just get my dick wet with the ladies sometimes until they kick me out.”
“I can’t have a werewolf living with me.” I looked at the food on the counter again. “Did anyone see you this morning?”
“Nah. I’m good with disguises. No one would even know.”
“Everyone on this end of the complex probably knows after last night.”
“Yeah, you loved it.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
He grinned, baring those dangerous canines before handing me a plate of food. “I made you breakfast. Don’t normally do that with hookups, you know.”
“How romantic. I bet you say that to all the people you steal money from.” I snatched the plate from him. “I have to get ready for an interview in two hours.” I took a forkful of grits and eggs into my mouth, intending to swallow it down quickly, but the unexpected flavor made me stop chewing.
“Hmm? What was that?” he asked, stabbing the steak with a knife before fitting the rest of it into his maw.
“What was what?”
“Can I shack up with you or not?”
I started chewing again, contemplating the question. If he was true to his word and had a job, having someone else help with the rent and utilities could take some of the burden off me, but there was no way in hell I could trust this guy after he spent my money.
“You’re definitely not worth the frustration.”
He sat his fork on the counter, and with a cocky stride, slid behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, playfully biting my neck. “C’mon. I can make you make those noises again.”
His stiffening cock pressed against my lower back, and my throat went dry as I swallowed my remaining food. This sucked, but no amount of denial would change what happened. The regret came rushing back.
“Good sex doesn’t pay the bills,” I said, now facing him. “This was a one-time thing.”
Roscoe didn’t say anything. Instead, he grabbed my hand and forced his dick into it.
“I mean it,” I said, swatting him away, but he caught my arm and pushed me against the counter. It was going to happen again, and I loathed myself for actually liking it.
“God, I hate you,” I hissed, fisting the longer fur on his chest and pulling him in for a kiss.
“This has got to stop,” I muttered under my breath, still glaring at the werewolf snoring loudly next to me.
His long tongue hung off to the side as usual, this time, leaving a shallow puddle of drool on my once clean pillow.
Even in his sleep he looked smug. Was I really so touch-starved that I was simping for this?
I never really understood the saying until now, but good dick is a prison.
My muscles ached from the waist down, and the whole apartment smelled like werewolf and spunk.
I wasn’t even sure how long we’d been going at it until I noticed the time glowing blue on the digital alarm clock next to me.
Less than an hour to get ready and catch a bus for my next interview.
As I stood and limped across the room, the consequence of my lack of self-control trickled down my inner thigh and then onto the carpet.
Were all werewolves like this? I wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to get something that large all the way inside of me but far be it from me to question what obviously worked.
There was still food all over the place, and I wanted to eat as much as I could before leaving.
Though I was furious at Roscoe for spending my money, I would have probably spent half that on takeout, and none of it would have lasted.
Still, his rifling through my pockets made me nervous about leaving him here.
After finishing a plate of pancakes, I hobbled my way to the shower then donned fresh clothes. Dishes clattered from the kitchen, and closing cabinet doors rattled the thin walls. I brushed my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail before stepping out into the room.
“Make sure you get all the grease off that stove,” I said, plopping down onto my beanbag chair.
He turned the water off and gave me an expectant stare. “Did you make up yer mind?”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I groaned and leaned further back while staring at the ceiling.
“C’mon. I made you come like three times, and I’m doing dishes. What more’s a guy gotta do?”
“You’re the one who messed up the dishes. And just because you’re a good lay doesn’t mean you’re a good person to live with. Which reminds me. Why did your girlfriend kick you out anyways?”
“Women are complicated. They want shit like commitment and love and all that. I just want a place to live, a hole to fuck, and a buddy to play video games with. So, hell, I thought, why not just fuck guys?”
“You’re a real Casanova,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just get your own damn apartment and stop leeching off of other people.”
Roscoe opened his mouth but didn’t say anything as he shifted his eyes to the side.
“You do have a job, right?”
“Of course I do,” he said, a little quieter. “I just, uh, can’t seem to hold on to ’em down for long.”
“Ah! There it is,” I said, pointing at him. “I can barely afford to feed myself, let alone a five-hundred-pound monster.”
“Four hundred and forty pounds!” He looked down and patted his gut. “Damn, how’d I get so fat?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I said sarcastically before scooting off the chair to a stand. “Couldn’t possibly be the fried steaks, pancakes, sausage and eggs you horked down earlier.” I walked by him and opened the fridge. “Where are the leftovers?”
Roscoe answered that question with a gurgled belch. “Well…”
Air hissed through my teeth, and I let the fridge door shut on its own.
“I had to refuel after bein’ a good lay and all.”
I grabbed my backpack off the floor, making certain I had my money with me this time. “I’ll have to finish cleaning the kitchen later. Get out.”
Roscoe’s ears fell, and his watery eyes went wide. “So, I take it yer not gonna let me stay?”
“Hell no. And that stupid face isn’t going to work this time. When I get through this interview, I’ll meet up with you later, and we’ll discuss… something.”
His tail wagged.
“That wasn’t a yes, Roscoe.”
The energetic appendage slowed before hanging limp between his legs.
I was still in shock. The interviewer must have thought I was nuts after I asked her for the third time if she was for real. I actually got a job. A real job. It paid like shit, of course, but there was a future.
It was hard to suppress the desire to dance out of that office, but I did whisper an excited, “Yes!” when I hurried out the front door. Persistence, it seemed, had finally paid off, and it couldn’t have happened at a more crucial time.
“Look at you all chipper.” Roscoe’s voice boomed from behind as I rounded a corner.
“I thought you were going to work.”
“I don’t work ‘til six, remember? And you locked me out of yer house. Where else am I supposed to go?”
“Do you have to walk so damn close? I don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”
He laughed and turned to a man in a suit who walked past us on the right. “Hey dude, I’m bangin’ this guy.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, walking faster, but his longer strides made it hard to put a reasonable distance between us.
“C’mon, no one cares,” he belted out as I made a sharp right turn into an alleyway. “You gonna tell me how yer job interview went?”
“I got it.”
His flirty grin faded. “Ah, that’s… That’s real good.”
“Why did you say it like that?”
He patted me on the back and turned away. “I’mma head to work early. You want to meet up later for some fun?”
“Whatever,” I said, more annoyed by the reaction than I should have been. Why did it even matter?
“All right,” he grunted, not bothering to look back.
The way he left didn’t sit right, but I wouldn’t let it bother me. Things were starting to finally look up, and I was going to celebrate tonight.