Page 17 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

He tosses the semi-melted and forgotten ice pack the little waitress brought earlier at me. And I pick it up and drop it on my itchiest hive. Right on my neck.

“Ahhh.”

It feels much better.

I groan and sink into the chair as Horace types in the last few details on my profile like the tech wizard he apparently is when pizza and sarcasm aren’t involved.

That’s when I feel it.

A prickle.

A shift in the air.

Wolf senses tingling.

Not danger.

Maybe prey.

I’m curious.

I glance up, eyes drawn to movement near the counter.

Oh.

Her.

Dina.

Short curls bouncing as she laughs at something Carina says, her Pizza Girls tee slouchy and adorable over leggings that should not be that distracting.

She catches me looking and offers a hesitant smile, one of those shy-lipped, soft kinds that somehow punches you right in the chest.

Damn. That’s cute.

And not good.

Because humans?

Not my thing.

They’re soft.

Sweet. Sure.

But also, and more importantly, they’re breakable.

Not built for the kind of chaos that follows me around like a cosmic joke.

She’s the type who gives you an ice pack without asking questions, tries to interrupt awkward arguments just to cut the tension, and actually cares when you look like you’ve been hit by a truck full of bad decisions.

Nope.

Not for me.

I don’t deserve soft things like that. I’m too clumsy. Too oafish.

Someone like Dina deserves a guy who can go a week without getting cursed or hexed or nearly eaten by enchanted furniture.

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