Page 20 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

“Easy for you to say. You’ve got your mate and your happily-ever-after. I’ve got hornets, hexes, and now this.”

I jab a finger at the screen like it just betrayed me.

Horace just keeps chuckling, the smug bastard.

Uncle Uzzi, who has magically reappeared with a plate of garlic knots like he’s watching the best sitcom of his immortal life, just winks at me.

“Fate works in mysterious ways, my boy,” Uzzi says, popping a knot into his mouth.

“Or in this case, extremely obvious ones.”

Before I can launch into another very reasonable and not at all panicked rant about how humans are not my type, and how I’m not mate material, Dina suddenly appears.

She places a bowl of marinara for dipping on the table along with two enormous platters with fries and cheesesteaks that smell so good, I fucking salivate.

She puts one in front of Horace. And the other? She sets it down right in front of me, hovering directly in front of my face, and I know I shouldn’t, but I breathe her in deeper this time.

Like my stupid ego wants to prove there must be some kind of mistake. Surely if the normal was mine, I would have scented it by now.

But then I remember the other time I met her, my nose had been busted up, and today I was stuffy as a result of fighting all that damn wasp venom.

But even though my body has a way to go to heal itself, I feel it.

That prickle.

That knowing sensation.

My Wolf senses going haywire.

“Is everything, alright?” she asks, her big blue eyes wide and guileless.

I shake my head slowly because no, nothing is alright.

And I force myself to lower my hands slowly—so I don’t do anything stupid.

Like grab onto her for dear life.

I close my eyes, but when I reopen them, Dina is still standing right there.

She looks confused. And so fucking cute. Her brows are lifted in pure, radiant curiosity.

Eyes sparkling like she’s already amused at my expense.

“So, what’s not alright? I’ll fix it if I can,” she says, and goddamn, but the way she looks, like sweetness and sin wrapped up in soft cotton, makes my brain short circuit.

Horace? Zero help.

He just grins wider and flashes the screen in her direction like a kid tattling at recess.

“What’s that?” she asks, cocking her head to the side so her pretty curls hover just out of reach.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, oozing fake innocence. “Just that Date to Mate thinks you’re this loser’s perfect match.”

Dina blinks.

Looks at the screen.

Looks at me.

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