Page 29 of Howling Mad
“I know.Sorry.”I shift my weight, feeling like a teenager picking up a prom date.“Is Finley...”
“Fighting with her hair.It’s winning.”Penelope steps aside to let me in.“She’ll be out in a minute.In the meantime, let’s have a chat, shall we?”
The apartment is cozy with mismatched furniture that somehow works together.Books are stacked on every available surface, and a half-finished crochet project looks like either a very aggressive tumbleweed or a sea urchin on steroids.The coffee table is covered with failed attempts at hair styling.Several bobby pins, a curling iron still plugged in, and what appears to be an entire container of anti-frizz serum tipped on its side.
Penelope gestures to the couch, and I sit, trying not to look as nervous as I feel.The flowers feel suddenly inadequate in my hand.
She perches on the arm of a chair, the cactus hat wobbling precariously.“You’re taking my roommate on a date.”
“That’s the plan.”
“A real date, not a ‘practice’ date, which was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard, by the way.”She makes air quotes around “practice.”
“A real date,” I confirm, meeting her gaze steadily.
“Good.”She nods firmly.“Because if this is some kind of weird wolf status experiment or you’re just bored and looking for a different kind of challenge, I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your natural life looking over your shoulder for an angry rabbit with MMA training.My right hook has been featured inShifter Sports Illustrated.”
I blink, surprised by the fierce protectiveness in her tone.“I assure you, my intentions are genuine.I like Finley.A lot.”
“Hmm.”She studies me for a moment longer and then breaks into a sudden grin.“I know.I just wanted to see you squirm a little.She hasn’t stopped talking about you for days.It’s beenMichael thisandMichael thatuntil I threatened to stuff her in a shipping crate and mail her to Abu Dhabi.Last night, she tried on fourteen outfits while asking me if each one said ‘professional but interested’ or ‘interested but professional.’As if there’s a difference.”
Relief floods through me, followed quickly by warmth at the thought of Finley talking about me.“She has?”
“It’s been excruciating.”She rolls her eyes dramatically, but her tone is affectionate.“You should have seen her attempt to curl her hair earlier.I’ve fought opponents in the ring who looked less battle-worn.”
I smile, imagining Finley wrestling with a curling iron.“I like her hair just the way it is.”
“You’re about to see the results of two hours of styling, three YouTube tutorials, and enough hairspray to be considered an environmental hazard.”Penelope hops off the chair arm, cactus hat miraculously staying in place.“Just a heads-up.If you mention the word ‘frizz’ at any point tonight, I will personally ensure they never find your body.”
Before I can respond, I hear a door open down the hallway.Soft footsteps approach, and her expression shifts to something I can’t quite read.“Showtime,” she whispers and then raises her voice.“Finley, your date is here, looking all fancy and financially stable.”
I stand, smoothing my shirt one last time, my heart racing.The bouquet feels heavy in my hands, and my palms are suddenly clammy.I hear Finley’s voice from around the corner, still out of sight.
“Penelope!I told you to let me know when he arrived, not announce it like a carnival barker.”
She winks at me conspiratorially.“Just making sure he appreciates all the effort you’ve put into looking effortlessly beautiful.”
“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” she says sharply, still hidden from view.“With your own crochet needles.”
“Hooks, dear,” says the rabbit shifter with a marked lack of fear.“Needles are for knitting.”
I stifle a laugh, tension melting slightly at their banter.
Penelope makes a grand gesture toward the hallway, like a game show host revealing a prize.“May I present the new and improved, freshly styled, moderately less frazzled version of Finley Morgan, wolf extraordinaire and vanquisher of decorative plants.”
I hear a groan of embarrassment, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.This is it, and I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.
Chapter 11
Finley
Mybedroomlookslikea clothing bomb exploded inside it.Dresses, blouses, skirts, and jeans cover every surface, including my bed, the floor, and even the reading chair I bought specifically to prevent myself from piling clothes on it.So much for that plan.This is the final attempt to find something after I’ve finally sort of tamed my hair with Penelope’s help and a literal ton (probably) of hair spray.Everything is ready, except I’ll be opening the door naked if I don’t find something to wear, and it’s probably too soon for that strategy.
“What about this one?”I hold up a flowy blue dress with a cinched waist, the fifth outfit I’ve considered in the past twenty minutes.
Penelope sprawls across my bed, her purple-streaked hair cascading over my discarded sweater.She examines the dress with critical eyes while absently twirling one of her crochet hooks between her fingers.
“Too fancy for a first date,” she says.“Unless you’re planning to meet his entire pack afterward.”
