Page 31 of Seduced By the Werewolves

He follows it up with a heart. Before I can type anything else, though, he sends another message.

I could just come to your place and baby you a little. Make you dinner?

I think of my bedroom and how it still smelled like sex when I left for work. What would happen with yet another one of the brothers in my apartment? It seems like a bad idea to me. Though Quinn assured me that all he wanted was friendship, I know he likes me after trying to ask me out—twice.

I type out a hesitant reply.

I don’t know...

The last thing I want is for Quinn to want something more, and then I’d be forced to reject him.

I won’t put the moves on you, I promise. Just let me cook for you and take care of you?

That sounds surprisingly pleasant. Nobody has “taken care” of me in who knows how long. I take care of myself, which means ordering takeout on days when I come home too tired to cook. Even when I lived at home with Mom, she was usually too busy going out with her friends to make home-cooked food.

Now I have someone who wants to make me dinner so I don’t have to lift a finger. Sounds like a dream come true—which means it probably comes with a catch.

But then again, Quinn doesn’t seem like the type to demand anything that isn’t freely given, unless I’ve misunderstood his brothers immensely.

Fine. After the day I’ve had, and will still have for the next two hours, being pampered sounds lovely. So I type out a quick reply as Mr. Bosley comes out of his office to leave for the night.

All right, see you tonight

Quinn replies instantly.

I’ll bring everything. You just put on your favorite pajamas and wait for me, okay?

I can’t help grinning at this. Quinn may have youngest brother energy, but that’s part of what makes him cute. Maybe we can at least be friends, and I’ll spend some time getting to know someone who’s important to both Leon and Jace.

It’s seven thirty when I send off the last of the paperwork, even though the accountants won’t get to processing it until late next week.

I shoot Quinn a text to let him know I’m finally on my way home and lock up the office behind me.

Out in the parking lot, it’s pouring rain, and my car is one of only two left in the lot. I wonder who else stayed late on a Friday night? The windshield is tinted so dark it’s practically black, and it’s a pretty nice SUV. Must be an executive from another office.

When I pull out of the lot, though, the SUV also turns on. It follows me out onto the street, and I think it must just be a coincidence. But as I take another turn toward my apartment, and then another, the SUV continues following me.

Fuck. What’s going on? Who would be interested enough in me to follow me?

I decide to keep going and take another right turn, then a left. Finally, the SUV turns to the right, and the headlights vanish from my rearview mirror.

I let out a breath of relief as I stop at the light. It was nothing. The stress of work is just making me paranoid.

When I get home, I do what Quinn said and put on my most comfortable sweats. I really am tired, and I don’t know if I made a good decision by letting him come over tonight. Too late now.

Quinn arrives soon after with a gentle knock on the door. I’m on my couch, watching a dating show, and hurry to let him in.

Quinn stands there, soaking wet, carrying a grocery bag and a big frying pan. It’s huge. He grins a wide, toothy grin when he sees me.

“May I?” he asks, and I step aside to let him inside. He sets his things on the table, then gazes around my apartment. He studies my bookshelf, where I’ve perfectly placed my favorite knickknacks in front of my books. Then he takes in the few small pictures I’ve collected of family and friends, and a few ugly paintings from Goodwill. “Cute digs, Tiff.”

“It’s nothing.” I reach for the bag of groceries, but Quinn flaps his hands at me to shoo me away.

“No, no,” he says, urging me back to the couch. “Go lie down. Watch your show.”

I open my mouth to object, but he gives me a gentle push, so I obey and sit back down.

“Do you want something to drink?” Quinn asks, unloading his bag. “Club soda? Wine?”

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