Page 31 of The Fangirl and the Grump

Me:Real funny. Hard pass. Thanks, though.

Wolf Daddy:Okay, then. Your loss. I know you would’ve loved it.

I nibble my bottom lip as I read his text again.

And, damn it, I’m intrigued.

Me:What is it?

Wolf Daddy:Nope. If you want to see it, you’ll just have to trust me.

Trust him? I blow out a harsh breath.

I do trust that Trace isn’t actually going to murder me in the woods. What I don’t trust, though, is his sudden personality transplant. I mean, sure, we did have a good time at the tavern last night. He loosened up a bit. We even danced together.

But how did he go from treating me like a plague upon the fine citizens of Evening Shade to texting me on a Sunday morning, offering to show me a pleasant surprise?

I don’t know the answer to that, but Idoknow I’m bored sitting here by myself and thoroughly intrigued by Trace’s offer.

Me:Trust you? You literally just said you’re planning to kill me and feed me to the wolves. *smirking emoji*

Wolf Daddy:Do you want to see it or not? I can pick you up.

I look down at the wrinkled, threadbare pajamas I’m still wearing, then lift my arm to sniff at my armpit. Grimacing, I drop my arm and type out a reply.

Me:Give me half an hour.

Wolf Daddy:See you then.

Leaping up from the couch, I skip on light feet into the kitchen to set my coffee mug in the sink. Then I rush to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and strip down as quickly as I can before hopping in. I make short work of washing my hair, shaving my armpits and legs, and soaping up my whole body before rinsing myself down and turning off the water.

Once I’m dry, I check the time on my phone. Only twenty minutes left.

Running naked to my bedroom, I find my favorite lavender sundress and slide it on. It has built in cups, so I skip the bra and pull on a fresh pair of lacy underwear beneath the dress. Eyeing myself in the mirror, I nod. The structure of the dress makes my waist look slimmer while the flare of the skirt camouflages my wide hips and ass.

Hurrying back into the bathroom, I blow dry my hair until it’s barely damp, then tie it up into a messy bun on top of my head. Swiping on some deodorant and spritzing on some flowery body spray, I decide to leave my face bare––this isn’t a date, after all––and rush back into my room to find my white sandals.

By the time I’m fully dressed and have stashed my phone, a tube of sunscreen, and my lip balm into my purse, there’s a knock on the front door. Taking a deep breath, I walk as calmly as possible to the door and pull it open.

Trace stands tall on the other side, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he gives me a hesitant smile. His position makes his bicep bulge beneath the short sleeve of his tight t-shirt. He lowers his hand to his side, and my eyes trail down his wide chest to his narrow waist where his cargo shorts hang low on his hips.

“Hey,” he says, and my gaze snaps back up to meet his.

I swallow the saliva pooled in my mouth and clear my throat. “I texted Willow to let her know I’m going to be with you in case I suspiciously disappear or something.”

I really did. I mean, you can never be too careful, right?

Trace chuckles. Actuallychuckles. The sound makes my lower half tighten deliciously.

“I know. She texted me a half-dozen questions. Thanks for that.”

Hmm. She didn’t respond to my message, and I assumed it was because she was unplugged like she told me she would be.

“You ready?” he asks when I don’t respond.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”

I step outside and pull the door closed behind me before pushing the buttons on the keypad to lock it. Trace’s hand lands on my lower back as we walk toward his truck, then he opens the door and helps me climb in.

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