Page 16 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

He swallows hard. “Okay. But if I don’t shift, I won’t be able to go home without wearing your clothes, and my brothers…”

If his brothers found out what we did last night, they won’t be happy. Last night, Dalton drank a whole bottle of whiskey. There’s no way he’ll be up before noon.

I reach back and pull my window open. “Go now. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Too late, I realize I’ve asked him to shift in front of me. That would be a wildly intimate request if he was a grizzly shifter. He pauses, and for a moment, I worry I’ve gone too far. Then his body begins to shrink. His skin sprouts soft brown fur, and his hands transform into little black paws. A long, bushy tail extends from his back and cute, triangular ears pop up on either side of his head. He looks at me with soft eyes framed by patches of black fur, and God. I’ve never thought of raccoons as beautiful. Cute, sure, but Quin is more than that. He curls his tail around his body shyly, like he’s afraid of my reaction.

“You are lovely, Quin,” I say. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was my fated mate. That’s how much I feel drawn to him, even as a raccoon. He can’t be, though. Fated mates among grizzlies are rare, and I would have noticed before now.

He nuzzles my hand. Maybe he doesn’t know that it’s inappropriate for most shifters to seek touch from anyone but their mates. I stroke his furry head anyway. I can’t help it. He’s so soft, and the way he leans into my touch feels too good. I run my fingers down his back, and he arches into me, like a cat.

“Do you like that?” I ask.

A low vibration comes from his chest. I think that’s a purr. I had no idea raccoons purred. He gives my hand a lick, then he jumps off my lap and scampers toward the window. With one graceful leap, he lands on the ground below and sprints toward his house. His tail juts out behind him as he runs, and his legs bound off the ground like a dog or deer. In only a few seconds, he makes it to the back door of his house and disappears inside.

As I watch him run off, I hear my phone buzz. I glance at the nightstand. It’s a text from Jake.

Good luck with the move today.

I’m surprised he remembered. He’s been out of it recently. I message him back.

Thanks. I’ll see you Monday.

Now that I’m living in Austin, I can visit Jake every week, instead of once every few months when Georgina scrounges together enough money to pay for the bus fare. It’s hard to leave Quin behind, but it’s necessary.

I text Quin next.

Hey, this is Slade. Thank you for last night.

Maybe I really can have them both. It seems like an impossible thing to wish for.

Either way, I know my heart is Quin’s forever. I just hope I can be enough to claim his, too.

8

SEQUIN

Ipush through the doggie door flap as quietly as possible. But the moment I’m inside, I notice two unfortunate things: one is the light. It’s on, which means someone else is up. The second thing I notice is the folding chair set up next to the sink. My omega mom is sitting on it, her leg bouncing up and down with impatience.

“Good morning,” she says, unsurprised to see me.

Oh my God. What am I supposed to do? I’m never the one who gets in trouble. Mom is too busy scolding Link to notice when I mess up.

“If you had bothered to tell Silver or Link about your plans to sneak out, they would’ve told you that I put alarm sensors on that doggie door years ago. Where did you have to be for the last eight hours?”

I stare back at her silently. She knows I can’t answer her in my raccoon form. She sighs and tosses me an old nightgown that was folded on her lap. “Sorry. I thought it was one of Dagger’s girls who got out.”

What will my brothers say if they come into the kitchen and see me wearing a nightgown? Mom glares at me, so I burrow into the nightgown anyway and begin to shift. I’d rather get teased by Link than make her mad. She turns away to give me privacy, which is good. Shifting into clothes is more of an art than a science. I miss the head hole entirely, and end up exposing my ass in the process. But eventually, I’m as decent as one can be while sitting on the kitchen floor in a frilly nightgown.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

She folds her arms across her chest. “Sorry for what, exactly? I don’t know what you did yet.”

“Sorry for sneaking out.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And?”

“And… meeting up with a guy,” I say.

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