Page 13 of Pack Kasen: Part 1

I take a small sip from my cup. Not because I want it, but for something to do. “How’d you guess?”

When a chilling blast of wind whips through the night, he shrugs out of his navy blue and white varsity jacket and tucks it around my shoulder.

I’m a werewolf, so I rarely get cold. But he wouldn’t know that. His scent is all human. Clean sweat and a subtle cologne that doesn’t make me want to sneeze five times.

“That won’t work on me.” I place my unwanted beer on the floor before it turns my stomach even more than it has already.

I’m trying to embrace being a college student, and just like almost every single time I’ve let my dorm mates bully me into going to a party, I’ve gotten bored, annoyed, and wound up going back to my room early.

I’m not concerned he’ll try anything. If he gets handsy, I’ll make him regret it.

“I’m from a farm in Wyoming. If I tried what you’re accusing me of, Gramma Hart would slap me every second Sunday until I’d learned manners.”

I glance over at him, trying not to smile. “Your grandmother sounds dangerous.”

“Only to the rude. I try never to be that.” He grins at me, dimples on both cheeks endearing in a guy over six feet tall. “So you staying out here to avoid jocks, then?”

“Yep.”

He shudders. “Good idea. I’m also in hiding.”

I give him the side-eye, liking him despite myself. “Haven’t I seen you playing for the football team?”

Not just played. He made an epic game winning throw that sent the crowd wild. Me included. I hadn’t wanted to go to the game, but I was a junior with one more year of college ahead of me and an ingrained habit of work, study, and work some more.

Rachel had convinced me to live a little, and I’d had fun that night. I skipped the party the team had thrown after, but the game had been good.

The quarterback who’d ripped his helmet off to punch his fist into the air as he celebrated the winning touchdown had been hot. I hadn’t believed I’d ever cross paths with him again since we ran in different circles, and I haven’t until now.

He gives me a crooked smile. “I don’t know. Have you?”

I shake my head.

“It’s Doug Hart,” he says. “The Hart is important. My gramma will beat me up if I’m anything less than a gentleman, so you’re safe with me…” He offers me his hand with a warm, friendly smile that isn’t the least bit pushy.

I like him.

I don’t want to, but I do.

“Kat,” I say, shaking his hand. “Kat Meadows.”

“Miss?” a man's voice yanks my focus back to the present.

It’s a dark-haired cop standing on the other side of the police tape. The students who’d gathered around to see what was going on have wandered away, probably to get to class.

It’s just me left.

My grip around the strap of my bag is nothing less than bare knuckle, and my cheek is wet though I don’t remember shedding a single tear.

I brush it away as I back away from the police tape.

The concerned cop steps forward. “Are you okay?”

I force a smile to my lips. “Sure. Fine.”

I quickly walk away, though I feel his gaze burning a hole through my back.

My wolf is quiet, but she’s the only one in the world who could understand the agony twisting my gut.

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