Page 33 of My Girlfriend is a Werewolf

“What?” Frank gasped.

“I know how show biz works, and I’m not interested in getting on my knees to make a buck.”

Grams remained quiet. A surprise.

Frank no longer had the smarmy smirk. “Well excuse me for trying to help.”

Playing the victim. How predictable. Athena cocked her head. “So how many baby mommas do you have? Given your age, late thirties, I’ll say at least three.”

“I’m only thirty-one!” he sputtered.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Frank glared, and Grams turned to reply. “He’s at four and still won’t get it snipped.”

Athena tsked. “Some men are so irresponsible.”

“Accidents happen,” Frank whined.

“Four times?” Athena snorted. “You’re nothing like Derek.”

“Thank God,” Frank muttered.

“Yeah, because why would you want to be good-looking, decent, and funny?”

“Derek’s not funny!” huffed the annoying cousin.

“Then you must lack a sense of humor.” She then ignored Frank to address Grams. “I’m sorry. How rude of me to just sit here eating your delicious bread. How can I help with dinner?”

For a second, Grams appeared ready to refuse her offer then pointed. “Cutlery is in the drawer. Glasses and plates above it in the cupboard.”

Athena set the table, ignoring the sulking Frank, which was how Derek found them, hair wet and slick, his skin still dewy from his shower. He eyed her and appeared surprised.

What, did he not think her capable of basic manners? Momma would have kicked her ass if she caught Athena being a rude guest.

Dinner proved interesting. Grams mostly spoke to Athena and Derek. Gramps shoveled food. Frank kept trying to dominate the conversation, but Athena more or less ignored him.

The apple pie for dessert filled her belly nicely, and when Grams shooed her and Derek to the porch, refusing her offer to help with dishes, Athena leaned against him in the two-seater swing.

“Your grandparents are nice,” she murmured.

“Only because they like you.”

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“Because Grams never lets anyone help her in the kitchen.”

Which explained his expression when he caught her setting the table.

“Your cousin, though, is an ass.”

“Told you,” he chirped.

“I can’t believe anyone in their right mind would choose him over you.”

“Guess they weren’t as smart as my sugarplum,” he teased.

“Blind, too. You’re way hotter.”

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