Page 17 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

“Did you sleep well?” she asks.

“Um…yeah.” I hope that’s the right answer, and that I kept the inflection of my response neutral enough that it didn’t turn into a question.

The smile doesn’t disappear, and she nods her head in agreement, so it must have been an appropriate answer.

“Me too. Don’t tell my mother, but I think the beds here are even more comfortable than those in the Clardmore hotels.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Any and all of them.

Can’t help it, she’s irresistible. Slowly, I lower my mouth to hers, giving her plenty of opportunity to stop me. She doesn’t. Sophie raises her face to meet mine, and our lips cling sweetly. I don’t deepen it, just caress her lips with mine. I don’t rush it because it’s like watching the winter sun rise over the snowy beach—a rare treat I never want to end. My heart races but is also entirely content to let my body set a slow pace. Everywhere her soft hands flutter with gentle touches, my skin ignites with pleased fascination. It needs more, and so do I, but before I can take it, she pulls away. It’s my first good morning kiss. I’ve had dozens, probably hundreds, of good night kisses, but this is my first good morning. I’d be sad about what I missed out on, but I think because it’s with Sophie that it’s this pleasurable.

Sophie’s soft sigh as my lips lift from hers tempts me to go in for round two, but if I do that, we’re not getting out of this bed for hours, and there’s too much I need to do before dance practice this afternoon and my game tonight. She must agree because she wiggles out of my embrace and sits up. She squints toward the bedside clock before reaching for her glasses on the table and settling them on her nose.

“How long have you had glasses?” I ask.

“Since I was twelve or thirteen. When I started shifting, it became obvious I had issues with distance vision.”

I furrow my brow. “How does that work as your wolf? You can wear glasses or contacts as a human, you can’t do that as your wolf.”

She shrugs. “That’s why I say my wolf is decorative, not functional. She’s not blind or running into trees, but she wouldn’t get a driving license.”

That makes me chuckle. I’ve only seen her in wolf form once, but it made an impression. She’s gorgeous. I can picture her behind the wheel of a convertible with her silvery fur blowing in the breeze. Just like in her human form, she’s petite but powerful. No matter her shape or form, she’s beautiful and has a presence that commands my attention as both a man and a wolf.

“You’re okay with me taking a shower before we head to your place? I don’t want to slow you down,” Sophie says as she gets out of bed.

“Take the time you need, Soph, it’s okay. Do you want me to make coffee or something?”

She shakes her head. “I have juice in the fridge. Make some for yourself though.”

When I hear the shower turn on, I get out of bed and pull on joggers and a T-shirt before going to the powder room to brush my teeth. I grab a bottle of water and scroll on my phone until Sophie is ready. Then I open the door and sweep my arm in invitation for her to exit before me.

Pulling the door closed behind me, I try the handle to make sure the lock is engaged. It’s a habit. I always do things like that and checking the knobs on the stove. Making sure my sisters’ curling irons are unplugged. I know everyone thinks I’m a bit of a goof, but I’m a cautious person at heart. She hits the button on the elevator, and we head down to the pedestrian bridge to the parking garage where my BMW is parked.

Shifter males are usually taller and larger than the average human male, so owning bigger, heavier vehicles makes sense. But ever since I was a boy and first dreamed of being an attorney, having a flashy sports car was part of the image I had for myself.

Lawyers on TV always had the tailored suits and the sexy cars. My father is an attorney, but he deals with patents. If station wagons were still a thing, he’d drive one. Instead, he’s in a very reliable fifteen-year-old Honda that’s so plain and nondescript, it’s probably invisible to traffic cameras. Not that Dad would ever run a stop sign or speed or park illegally.

He’s been wearing the same suits for twenty years. “Function over fashion” is what I heard all of my life. It’s silly to buy new suits when the ones you have still fit. The classics never go out of style. Vanity is a sign of immaturity. Why pay twice as much just to look good? My BMW is my way of being my own man and fulfilling my human dreams more than catering to my shifter comfort.

No reason trying to explain that to my teammates. It would be something new for them to razz me about. They’ll claim it’s making up for an inferiorly sized penis or some nonsense like that. They share a locker room with me, and we’ve all seen each other naked. I have absolutely nothing to make up for.

“Are you excited to go to New York this week?” I ask as I drive us to my home.

There’s no stopping the grin stretching across her face.

“I am,” she says, doing a little bounce in her seat. “I’ve watched Ian do the contestant introductions and interviews as a pro dancer the past few years, and it seems so exciting. When I’ve been on the telly before, it’s just been for dancing, I haven’t spoken on camera. I probably won’t be asked anything at the announcement, but I’ve had media training. That was part of what I had to do to get the spot this season. Our meeting on New Year’s and our rehearsals will be edited, so less stressful.”

She gasps and puts her hand on my thigh. “You’re not camera-shy, are you?”

I cover her hand on my leg and give it a light squeeze. “No worries, I’m fine on camera. I’m comfortable with public speaking. I did mock trials and moot court in law school, plus interviews for the Devil Birds. We had media training too.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. I’m glad I can take that stress off her shoulders.

We arrive at my home without incident. I feed us, get my dirty clothes into the wash, and then we head to the studio in the barn to stretch and warm up. The last thing I need is to tear a muscle dancing so I can’t play hockey.

“Okay, ready?” Sophie asks. Her sweater is falling off her shoulder, and seeing the strap of the gray tank underneath and the creamy skin of her shoulder is distracting.

I could kiss that shoulder, nibble it where it joins her neck just to see what she tastes like. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

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