Page 13 of Howling Mad
Hi Finley,Bowling sounds good.I’m free this Friday at 7 p.m.Let’s do it.See if the coyote is up for it.Thanks,Michael
I swallow a lump.He’s game, which is exactly what I wanted.Right?Right.I fire off another email to Diana, hooking her in.She responds almost immediately with a cheerful, “Sure, I’ll make it happen.This Friday is perfect.”No hesitation, no beating around the bush.That might be refreshing for Michael, or it might lead to a meltdown, but I’ll trust my instincts for once.
Fridayarrivestoosoon,bringing that usual swirl of frantic calls.A badger wants a refund because her last date tried to show her a “traditional badger burrow,” which might have been romantic if it weren’t full of fleas.Meanwhile, Red tries to stage a group counseling session between a trio of ferret siblings who all want to date the same hawk.I hide in the back office at one point just to breathe.Over lunch, Penelope texts me to say she’s discovered a new crochet pattern for “angry carrots,” which she claims to be making for me as stress relief.I roll my eyes at my phone, but it does lighten my mood a bit.
Everything quiets down around four-thirty, leaving me with a suspicious amount of free time.Michael’s date is set for seven at Strike & Shift, a bowling alley known for shifter-friendly policies.They let you wear partial forms if you pay a deposit in case you claw the equipment.I click around the system to finalize details, telling myself I’m just thorough, not obsessing.
I’m about to pack up and leave for the day when Red breezes in, a smudge of what looks like bamboo candy near her mouth.She quirks an eyebrow at the neat pile of files on my desk.“Wow, you’re all caught up?I might faint from shock.”
I stretch my arms overhead.“Don’t get too excited.The phone will ring any minute with a meltdown.By the way, thanks for the group counseling assignment for those ferrets.That was pure chaos.”
She laughs.“You survived.Means you’re leveling up.So… How’s Michael’s new date plan?”
I exhale.“Bowling, seven o’clock, coyote named Diana.She’s in finance, too.On paper, it’s a good fit, or so I hope.He’s had enough fiascos.”
“Excellent.”Red taps her chin, a knowing look in her eyes.“You planning to go home soon, or are you going to lurk here to see if he calls?”
I shoot her a mock-glare.“I’m leaving, obviously.”
She snorts.“Uh-huh.If you do stay, remember to lock up.My date with a certain wombat shifter is at eight, so I’ll be out.The office is all yours if you want it.”
She tosses me the keys with a wink, leaving me half-bemused, half-annoyed that she sees through my façade so easily.Five minutes later, I’m alone in the quiet building, keys in hand and bag slung over my shoulder.I flick the lights off in the main corridor and then hesitate at the threshold.Why is my chest tight?Because Michael is about to meet someone who might be perfect for him, and I’m both excited for his success and unsettled by how that might end.My wolf side bristles at the weird mix.
I step into the hallway, lock the door, and start descending the stairs.Then my phone buzzes with a new message from an unknown number.I freeze, checking the screen.The text reads:Got your number from your mom.My name’s Beck.Heard you’re free for dinner next week?I’m an alpha’s nephew.My stomach lurches as I realize this is exactly the kind of meddling I escaped by moving to the city—another pushy alpha, courtesy of dear old Mom.
My blood boils.Enough is enough.Rather than let this ruin my night, I slap the phone back into my pocket and vow to call my mother tomorrow.She’s stepped way over the line.I exhale a shaky breath and rummage for my car keys.My car is parked a few blocks away.Maybe I should go home, drown my frustration in leftover pizza, and watch a cheesy rom-com, something to remind me that at least fictional couples can find happiness.
By the time I reach my parking spot, though, I’m still wound up.I stare at the traffic creeping along the main street, weighing the idea of being alone in my apartment since Penelope has a date…and realize I don’t want that.Maybe I’ll just tidy the office for a couple more hours.That’s innocent enough, and I can bury my angst under refiling all those intake forms.Productive, yes.Not at all about me wanting to be near the phone if Michael calls.Definitely not.
I turn around, heading right back to the building while ignoring the self-mockery in my head.The security guard is a little surprised to see me re-enter, but I wave politely and claim I forgot something.He shrugs, letting me pass.My footsteps echo in the now-dark stairwell as I ascend to the second floor, feeling like a sneaky intruder in my own workplace.The overhead lighting is mostly off, so I flick on a small lamp near the reception desk and then slip into the back room where we store client files.The fluorescent hum is oddly comforting.
I set my phone on the desk, resisting the urge to check it every thirty seconds.Instead, I tackle a chaotic drawer labeled “Bears & Hybrids,” which is a bottomless pit of unfiled documents.Within minutes, I’m knee-deep in forms for everything from black bears and grizzlies to lesser-known hybrids with raccoons.The comedic variety of personality quirks lifts my mood.One form states, “I don’t care about looks as long as they can handle my hibernation schedule.”I snort-laugh at that.
Time slips away without my noticing.At some point, I glance at the clock on the computer screen, startled to see it’s nearly eight-thirty.That means Michael’s been at the bowling alley for over an hour and a half, which could be good news.Maybe they’re hitting it off.Or maybe it’s an unmitigated disaster.But if so, he’d text me.Right?My chest tenses again.Why do I want to know so badly?
I force my attention back to the forms, reorganizing and labeling new folders while checking for duplicates.It’s mindless enough that I don’t realize how late it’s gotten until my phone buzzes around nine-fifteen.I jump so violently that I nearly spill an entire stack of papers.My heart hammers as I snatch up the phone, scanning the screen.It’s Michael.
Are you still at the office?
My breath catches.Why is he texting me?Because the date ended early, presumably.Maybe it was good, and he wants to celebrate?Or maybe it was horrifying, and he needs to vent.My mind whirls.I type back with sweaty palms:
Yes, I’m finishing some filing.Everything okay?
His response is immediate:I’ll be there in fifteen.Got dinner if you’re hungry.
He’s bringing dinner.A swirl of relief, confusion, and something suspiciously like excitement floods me.I type back a quickSurewithout overthinking and then press my back against the filing cabinet, exhaling shakily.He’s done with the date already, which can’t be a good sign for him and Diana, but I can’t stop the flicker of happiness that he’s reaching out to me.
Fifteen minutes is enough time to tidy up the mound of forms so I don’t look like I panicked.I shuffle them into the proper places and do a quick check in the mirror at Red’s desk to ensure I’m not covered in filing dust.My hair’s a frizz ball from the humidity, so I twist it into a low bun.Good enough.The office is quiet except for the faint hum of the AC as my pulse does a wild tango.
When the knock on the locked glass door comes, I hurry to open it, flipping the switch for the overhead light in the reception area.Michael stands there, casual in jeans and a neatly pressed dress shirt, carrying a plastic bag from Golden Panda Express, the best Chinese takeout in the neighborhood.He looks…not miserable, exactly, but subdued.I catch the faint slump of his shoulders before he straightens to greet me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice softer than intended.“Come in.”
He steps inside, pushing damp hair off his forehead.He must’ve walked here.The faint sheen in his eyes suggests maybe the date upset him, but I keep my expression neutral.“Thanks,” he murmurs, holding up the bag.“I didn’t know if you’d eaten.”
I shake my head, locking the door behind him.“I’ve had no chance yet, so that’s very thoughtful.Thanks.”
He sets the bag on the reception desk, glancing around at the dimly lit space.“You really are working late.”
