Page 14 of Seduced By the Werewolves

Leon gets up when I approach and waits for me to sit down on my side of the booth before he returns to the seat opposite. It’s incredible how his blue eyes stand out against his dark hair and tan skin. There’s almost something supernatural about them.

“So,” he begins, leaning forward at the table. “Jace told us a little bit about you, but I’d like to know more.”

More? I feel like I spilled everything to his brother already. There’s not much else to learn about me.

“Like what?” I ask.

Leon props his chin on his hands. “Tell me about your parents, maybe?”

It’s such a deep-dive question for just starting out that I’m taken aback. I’m not sure how much to say. Should I really confess that I hate seeing my mom because she makes me feel awful about myself every time? I shouldn’t shit-talk my own mother in front of someone I just met.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Leon reaches out and runs a hand over my forearm. It’s such a casual and open touch, but I find I don’t mind it. “Any answer you give is the right answer, as long as it’s honest. I’m not going to judge you.”

I swallow hard, because opening this door means opening the door about how I look, too. How as much as I try to tell myself that I’m worthy and deserving, I’m still shocked that Jace showed interest in me in the first place—not to mention Leon.

With a deep breath, I dive headfirst into it. As I talk about my dinners with Mom every week, Leon listens without interrupting.

“I’m happy in my own skin,” I say. “I just hate how Mom insists I shouldn’t be. That I don’t deserve it.” I tug on the dress I’m wearing mournfully. “My mom would say, ‘this barely fits you!’”

Leon’s eyes travel down from my face to the collar of my dress, then back up again.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he says, his nostrils flaring. Those big blue eyes are focused on me, and suddenly I feel very exposed, even though I picked a neckline that would cover me. “I’m sorry your mom makes you feel that way. I know you don’t need me to tell you how gorgeous you are, but I admire how you don’t let it get to you. It’s important to know yourself and own it.”

Is this really the same guy who howled at me on the street? He’s so sincere, he must have really thought it was a compliment. What an adorable, endearing weirdo.

“I guess so,” I say. “Sometimes she does still get to me. She’s my mother, after all.”

“Have you ever told her how you feel?”

I could simply laugh. “No. I don’t think she’d take it very well.”

“Of course not.” Leon huffs. “Then she’d have to acknowledge that she hurts you regularly. And people never want to admit it when their words and actions hurt.” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry to rant. I say that as someone who hurt you pretty recently.”

It seems like he’s really trying to make up for it now, though, so I offer him a smile.

“Water under the bridge,” I say. “But I still don’t understand the whole... smelling thing.” Perhaps that’s not true. Even under the scent of shampoo and deodorant, I can still get a whiff of Leon’s natural scent from across the table—and goddamn, it’s good.

His expression tightens. “It’s a very important sense to us.”

Is he saying it’s a genetic thing? I’m about to ask more questions when he interrupts me.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Leon asks. “There’s an arcade around the corner, and Thursday is nickel night. A lot of good, clean fun for cheap!”

I stare at him. He wants to go out on a date for fourteen-year-olds?

“Come on.” He holds out one arm. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

I suppose I could use some fun after the day I had, so I take his arm and nod. “All right. But I don’t have any nickels.”

“Don’t worry.” He winks. “It’s on me.”

Chapter Six

The arcade is glowing when we arrive, bright neon lights flashing behind the windows. There aren’t many other people around when we walk in the front doors except a group of teenagers and some kids running around yelling while their mom chases them.

Leon takes my hand and leads me over to a pair of motorcycles. We sit astride them, and he pops some nickels into the machine. I’m utterly clueless about what I’m doing as we select our bikes, so I just pick the one that looks meanest.

“Oh, the Honda,” Leon says with an approving nod. “Good choice.”

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