Page 38 of Defeated

Yesterday, I was getting ready to tear out his throat.

Today, I ask the guy out on a date.

I had no intention of doing it.

Maybe it was because of the bear he packed in my bag that I was utterly positive I had not wanted… until I found it, and which, now that I have it, I don’t want to get rid of it.

Or it could have been because of an overheard conversation where it sounds an awful lot like he might be the sort of guy I hadn’t believed existed.

A genuine nice guy.

Whatever it was, the feeling or thing or reason had driven me down the stairs where I promptly, without being able to look him in the eye, asked him out on a date.

Despite everything I’d overheard about his tendency to run away from women and my tendency to run away from guys, neither of us had sprinted out the door to get away from each other.

So, here we are, sitting opposite each other in a corner booth at a Spanish restaurant on a date.

Then there’s the table-sized dish of paella a person could swim in. I’m being dramatic. But it’s big. The waitress had had to clear the candles, jug of water, and almost everything else off our table to make room for the thing.

“I wasn’t expecting so much food,” I say, eyeing the paella, a spiced rice and meat dish that smells so good I’m almost positive my stomach is growling loud enough to be heard over the restaurant’s soft guitar music.

The server had recommended the traditional Spanish dish and said it was popular with big families. Now, I understand why. A person could go back for seconds, thirds, fourths, and they still wouldn’t make a dent in a serving so big.

Chris looks at the paella and slowly nods. “It’s almost like they know we have big appetites or something,” he says so drily that I can’t help but smile.

We shifters metabolize food crazy fast. Our ability to heal ourselves and change into wolves means we need more fuel and energy than an average human. When I decided to sacrifice eating enough for a safe place to sleep, I knew it put me at risk of getting so weak it would make me more vulnerable, but the choice was the only one I could make. I could survive an half-empty belly. I wouldn’t survive an unsafe place to sleep.

“You could dive into it, and I bet it would take you ten minutes to resurface,” I quip.

He barks out a laugh and I realize something strange just happened.

Stranger than me asking him out.

I told a joke. When was the last time that ever happened?

And as Chris’s hazel eyes hold mine, I think of his arms around me and of how I didn’t knee him where it hurt for kissing me. I didn’t think to do anything at all but stay right where I was.

My smile melts away, as does his, and I feel a blush burn its way up my neck.

I look away, clearing my throat to hide my embarrassment.

“How about I serve us?” Chris offers.

“Sure. Thanks.” I’m too busy staring toward the back of an empty restaurant with its soft, romantic guitar music, and the simmering, spicy scents of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.

It’s just us.

They were putting a wooden chalkboard out as we pulled up outside, so we have the restaurant to ourselves. It’s all empty tables, flickering candles, and romantic guitar music. I hadn’t realized we would be walking into such a romantic environment at five p.m. I don’t think Chris did either.

The waitress had assumed we were on a date, and Chris hadn’t corrected her.

Neither had I.

We’d just glanced at each other and meekly followed her to one of the most romantic tables. She had insisted. Neither of us have dressed for this date that we’re both pretending we’re not having, in our jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers.

“Here,” Chris says.

I peel my eyes away from the back of the restaurant to discover he’s served me a portion in one of the small reddish-brown terracotta style plates that a smiling, pretty dark-haired waitress brought over to us.

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