Page 5 of Good Luck Charm for the Wolf

Or maybe I’ll just end up swiping on a bunch of vampires who don’t do sunlight and Witches looking for a sacrificial softie.

Either way, it’s gotta be more fun than tailing cheating normals and dodging dog feces.

Chapter 2

Dina

I pull my headband up after freshening up my face, securing my short curls behind it in a riot of soft coils that immediately bounce free like rebellious little gremlins.

Figures. Even my hair refuses to be tamed.

The headband’s black with hot pink zebra stripes, because duh, subtlety is boring, and it perfectly matches my hot pink leggings and the Pizza Girls t-shirt I’m rockin’ today.

Yeah, I’m cute and coordinated. Sue me.

Besides, I designed the logo on this shirt. I painted the mural that greets every customer who walks through our doors. It’s bright, whimsical, and just a little bit weird—in a good way.

Kind of like me.

What can I say? I’m a creative girly.

Not the suffering-for-my-art type, though.

Sorry-not-sorry, but you will not find me chain-smoking clove cigarettes in a Parisian garret while crying over unrequited love.

I prefer my masterpieces with a side of mozzarella and a drizzle of garlic oil.

And yet—here’s the kicker—some people, ahem, my sisters, think I’m wasting myself, squandering my talents here.

Carina and MJ love me, obviously.

They’d straight-up murder anyone who hurt me, and I’m not ruling out the possibility that Carina literally could, now that she’s dating a Bear Shifter who looks like he wrestles trees for fun.

But still, they worry.

They think I’m stifling myself by working in our family-run pizzeria instead of taking my art seriously.

But the truth? I love it here.

I love the rhythm of the kitchen, the crackle of the oven, the warmth of people gathering, laughing, and connecting.

I love creating the perfect pizza. I mean, hey, that’s art too, no matter what the snobs say.

Watching someone bite into my work and let out a satisfied moan? Chef’s kiss.

I live for that moment. It’s like painting the Sistine Chapel, but with pepperoni.

Maybe it’s not stylish to want simple things, but I do.

I like New Jersey. I like my small, loud, weird life.

And hey, I’m still finishing my degree at Rutgers. I’m still making art. It’s not like I gave up on my dreams.

I simply redefined them.

Moving on from my ex, Eric, aka The Human Dumpster Fire, has been harder than I admit out loud.

Especially since he and his obnoxious bro-pack keep showing up here.

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