Page 19 of Howl for Me
“No,” he says finally, voice low and flat. The only word he can utter to me is no?
I nod, holding out a slip of paper with my number scribbled across it. “In case you need to reach me before then. I already have your info from Hector.”
He doesn’t take the paper; he doesn’t even look at it. He just waves me off like I’m a fucking fly buzzing too close to his ear. He acts like I imagined every heated glance he threw me. Like he didn’t just eye fuck me with his knotted cock in his hand. Was I just imagining that? Was he just trying to rattle me, make me run?
It dawns on me right then. Of course, how could I be so naïve? I’m not Stacy. I’m nothing like her. I don’t have pornstar curves or a face that makes men look twice. I’m the assistant. The girlwith the clipboard and an attitude she wears like armor. He can have anyone he wants, and he probably has. Men like him don’t look at women like me. Whatever I thought I saw in his eyes, it was nothing. Just him trying to fuck with me. It worked. Congrats, asshole.
I turn and leave before I do something stupid like throw the paper in his face or demand he acknowledge what he was doing. It doesn’t matter, I’m here for a job and confronting whatever that was will only create more problems. I step out into the hallway and nearly collide with Reggie and Teddy. They look like they’ve been napping in the hallway for hours.
“Heeeyyy,” Teddy drawls, grinning like a sleepy golden retriever. “Need a ride?”
I hesitate for a moment. Getting a ride from two stoners who can barely open their eyes doesn’t sound like the smartest decision. But then I think about the bus and the hour-long ride. The way I’d have to sit there stewing in my own confusion, trying not to think about knot-thick cocks and growling werewolves.
“Sure,” I sigh. “Why not?”
The van smells like weed and fast food, and there’s a suspiciously loud rattle every time Teddy hits the brakes, but it’s better than silence.
“You really need wheels,” Teddy says, chuckling from the driver’s seat. “Keep working with Hector and you’ll have your own ride in no time. He knows a guy, you know?”
“Yeah,” I smirk. “The same way you ‘knew a guy’ who got me this job?”
Reggie cackles. “Damn right. I look out for you. We’re friends, you know.”
The ride is oddly comforting, almost familiar. Just dumb jokes and slurred promises, and for a moment I’m not thinking about what I saw or what it made me feel. They drop me off at my apartment, still giggling about some old job where Reggieaccidentally gave an actor shifter-heat suppressant instead of lube. I shake my head and wave them off, climbing the steps up to my floor.
I don’t even turn on the lights, I just peel off my clothes, step into the shower, and try to wash the day off of me. The heat hits my skin and I close my eyes, but all I see is him. Those eyes and that growl linger in my mind. The way his muscles rippled and his claws sank into her thighs. The way he looked at me. I should be scared. Maybe I am, but that’s not the part that scares me most. What scares me… is that I want him to look at me like that again.
Chapter Nine
Johnny
The shower does not help.
I stay under the hot water longer than I should, letting it scald my skin until it feels numb and raw. But it does not even touch the fire burning in my chest, the ache I am trying to shove so far down. I know what it is. I know exactly what it is. I just refuse to admit it. Refuse to believe it is happening.
Towel wrapped tight around my waist, I step out; the steam coming off my body in waves. I am halfway to the bar, determined to rip into the drink Cassidy stole from me earlier when I catch movement on the couch.
Hector sits smugly, smoking a cigar.
“Here to piss me off some more, I see,” I say, voice rough and loaded with irritation. “You really are a fucking demon.”
He smirks and blows lazy smoke rings into the air. “Maybe I am. But you’re the one who’s out of control. You know it, and I know it.”
I pour a shot, swallow it down hard enough to burn my throat raw, then refill the glass. I’ve been lost for a long time and at the end of the day, no one really gives a shit. Not for the right reasons. Hector cares because I make him money. I have no one else.
Hector leans forward, his voice low and serious enough to make me uncomfortable. “I know you’re pissed about having an assistant, but she’ll be good for you if you don’t scare her off. This is me trying to help you. It goes against everything I am to give a shit about your life, but we’ve known each other a long time; since you were a young man running from the pack.”
My gut twists with the mention of the pack. “Don’t act like you care about anything other than the fucking money I pull in. And don’t bring up the pack to me again.”
I don’t want that reminder. I don’t want the ghosts dragging their claws across my back. I had fire then, spunk, because I was running. But when I realized no one was coming for me, I got comfortable. I already know this. I don’t need Hector to remind me.
Hector’s eyes lock onto mine and his voice drops even lower. “You’re the actor, not me. On set and off. You can pretend you’re not crying for help, but I see through your bullshit. I know you. I know your soul, and it’s one I won’t hesitate to collect if you fuck up again. Are we clear?”
I lift the third shot glass like a toast and knock it back in one sharp motion.
He stands, crushing the cigar in the ashtray. “Get your shit together, Johnny.”
I nod as he walks out, but the sting in my chest only burns hotter. She shouldn’t have come here. The whole timeI was filming, I could smell her. Cassidy. Even when Stacy’s sickly sweet perfume tried to choke the air, Cassidy’s scent, her arousal, found its way deep inside me. I will not let her affect me. She’s nothing and I’m just overthinking this.
