Page 11 of Monster Mate

But for Roxie, Waldo was as close to a best friend as she’d ever had. Other than Winston, Waldo was her longest-standing relationship.

She wasn’t sure what that said about her. Probably nothing good.

“I’m surprised he let you grab him,” she said. “He doesn’t usually like men.”

Which was one of the reasons animal control didn’t want to deal with him. They just called Roxie so they wouldn’t get bitten and bayed at by a grumpy, unreasonably hungry Basset Hound.

That was one of the perks of small-town life. The authorities were often…flexible with rules and regulations.

Waldo had also hated her ex with a passion, on sight. She should’ve listened to him sooner.

“He likes men just fine,” Winston added. “He hates assholes.”

That tracked. Waldo had hated her ex on sight.

“We have that in common,” Riordan said amiably, giving a grateful Waldo a scratch behind his ear. “But he was no trouble. If anything, he seemed thankful for the fast escape route.”

That made sense. If there was anything Waldo hated more than assholes and diets, it was being yelled at. She imagined that was a holdover from his days before Roxie found him.

It would seem that everyone, even dogs, carried emotional baggage.

Riordan set Waldo down at her feet and her precious pooch leaned on her leg, gazing up at her with adoring eyes and a little tail swish, as if he hadn’t just robbed her neighbor. Again.

She shifted her gaze to Riordan to find him looking down at her with enough heat in his eyes to singe her skin. “Thank you for bringing him home. And for…you know,” she swallowed hard, “…everything else.”

He reached out, took her hand in his, and brushed a quick, soft kiss over her knuckles, all while holding eye contact. “This is exactly what…friends do for each other, yes?”

She couldn’t respond because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Whatever Riordan’s touch was doing to her was definitely not something any friend had ever done.

Whose stupid idea was it that they should just be friends, anyway?

Oh, that’s right. It was mine.

CHAPTER 8

Leaving Roxie that night with nothing more than his phone number, a brief invitation to call him if she needed anything, and a promise that he’d call or text her to set up another “friendly” date was torture.

And coming from someone who’d actually been tortured in his dimension (long story), that was really saying something.

But he’d done it, because he didn’t want to scare her off or come on too strong. Well, stronger than he already had when he’d dropped the whole fated mates thing on her like an over-eager idiot.

Riordan rolled over and punched his pillow as if it had wronged him in an effort to get comfortable. It was all in vain. He wouldn’t be comfortable ever again without Roxie at his side.

He wasn’t even going to try to convince her to be more than friends. He’d take whatever she was willing to give him. He respected her enough to accept her decisions as final.

But that didn’t mean he could tolerate being away from her for long.

His instincts were screaming at him to check on her. To at least make sure she was safe and that the clan of the orc she’d fought hadn’t found her.

Orcs had precious few positive qualities. They were violent, lacked empathy, and weren’t terribly bright. But they were excellent trackers. And if any of Guy’s clan went to his last known location, it was possible they’d pick up Roxie’s scent and realize she had something to do with his disappearance.

The chances of that happening were remote, he told himself. He had no idea if Guy even had a clan. Perhaps he’d been alone. And even if they could pick up Roxie’s scent, there was no reason to think they’d assume she did something to him. Guy had been twice her size, and Roxie was deceptively harmless looking.

And if they found his scent, not even an orc would know what to do with it. In a town full of monsters, Riordan was still an oddity.

But something, a little niggling doubt in the farthest reaches of his mind, was telling him to make sure Roxie was safe. Especially since Winston and her overweight canine would be useless in a life-or-death situation.

He was fighting his instincts with everything he had, though. Wouldn’t human women call what he wanted to do stalking? It would be considered rude to stand outside her house while she slept and kill anyone who approached and posed a threat to her, wouldn’t it? Probably.

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