Page 16 of Werewolf Heart

“Fuck, was he stalking you again?”

“No, surprisingly. Me and Rob were at a new pub and he was just… There. Then he saw me and things got ugly pretty quickly.”

Her friend’s lovely features twists into contempt. “Did the bastard follow you home?”

“No, thank God.”

Rita nods, her expression softening. “What do you need right now?”

“Honestly, the iced coffee helps,” she responds, partially true. “I needed the sugar in my system. I’m more worried about Rob.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he looked really upset.”

Her friend gives her a knowing look. “Hmm, I wonder why…”

“Rita,” she warns.

“I’m surprised he didn’t rip his head off, that’s all.”

“Rob wouldn’t do that.”

“For you? Yeah, he would.”

Sara exhales, knowing exactly where this is going. “Can we not have this conversation this early in the morning?”

“Oh, I’m not getting in the middle of that again,” her friend chuckles. “You two lovebirds figure yourselves out. I have my own problems to deal with.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We are!”

She gives her another knowing look, this time ten times more annoying. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Sara frowns, suppressing the need to explain, once again, that no, she and Robert are just friends. It doesn’t matter if she has feelings for him. He clearly doesn’t. So why bother discussing the elephant in the room? It can’t go anywhere. Ignoring it is the only course of action that is remotely sane. What else is there to talk about?

“How’s your thesis going?” She asks instead, just to be petty.

Rita groans in response. “I should’ve become a housewife. Why did I decide I wanted to be a strong independent woman?”

“Because you’d grow bored being a lonely housewife.”

“You think so? I might’ve gotten a dog, just to spice things up.”

Sara laughs at the image. “Taking care of a pet and worrying about what tiles are better for the third bathroom? Jeez, that would’ve gone south fast.”

“I’m a great home designer,” Rita chuckles back. “And I can take care of another living being! I’ll have you know.”

“Babe, I’ve seen your flat. In the daylight. And a dog is like a baby who can ruin your furniture.”

“First of all, that was an accident,” Rita shouts back. “Second, who says I’m getting a large dog? I might get one of those pretty handheld breeds who match my decor.”

“An accident that covered your walls in hot pink?” Sara eyes her sceptically. “And a dog is a dog, it doesn’t matter how small it is, it will still bark at you all day and night. You can’t even handle a few birds chirping in the morning!”

“Listen,” she starts, all serious and collected. “When you pick the wrong colour but the paint was already expensive and you’re too tired to go back to the shops and order the right shade, you don’t have that many options, now do you? You just have to wing it! I own my hot pink walls. They’re a choice. Barbie chic. You might be right about getting a dog, though. Those damn birds outside my window keep waking me up at 6 a.m. every single day! It’s driving me crazy. Yeah, a dog wouldn’t help. Even if it was a cute fluffy Pomeranian.”

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