Page 21 of Howl for Me
Hector appears a minute later, drops a thick stack of pages on the coffee table, nearly spilling my cup.
“New scene. Read it. Highlight any changes that need to be made or write down any questions in the margin. Johnny, you know the drill. Don’t be a dick.”
Johnny leans forward and flicks his ashes into my coffee cup. “No promises.”
Hector leaves without another word while I glare at this selfish man. Werewolf. Whatever.
“I was drinking that.” I don’t blink, waiting for him to realize what he did. Surely that wasn’t on purpose.
“And now you're not. It’s bad for you, stunts your growth. You’re welcome, by the way.” He wants to die today.
“And smoking isn’t? That was literally the only thing keeping me civil today.” I want to punch him in his stupid, handsome face.
He smirks, eyes locking with mine, and I hate the way it steals my breath. Then, without breaking eye contact, he flicks the cigarette butt into my coffee. It hisses, loud and deliberate, like it’s echoing the steam rolling out of my ears. He doesn’t look away; just keeps staring, that smirk daring me to do something about it.
“Should I be scared?” he asks, voice lazy, but I can see it; the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He’s trying not to laugh.
I shift closer, sliding right up next to him on the couch. He doesn’t move.
Then I lean across his body, reaching toward the armrest where his pack of cigarettes sits. As I stretch, my chest brushes his arm, my thigh presses into his leg. I feel the shift in his breathing, feel the heat rolling off him. And then I hear it, a low sound, deep in his chest. Not quite a growl, but not a laugh, either. Something wild and warm, a sound that causes that slow burning feeling in my belly again. Does he feel the same thing?I grab the pack, sit back down, and without a word, drop the whole thing into my still-steaming coffee.
“There,” I say, offering the sweetest smile I can fake. “Back to being civil.”
He watches me, eyes hooded and locked on mine till he noticed what I’ve done.
“You did not just do that.”
I keep that sweet smile for him. “Looks like I did.”
He leans forward and pulls the dripping pack from the cup, muttering curses under his breath. “Yeah, you’re as civilized as a damn racoon.”
I try not to laugh, try not to notice the still churning heat in my body. “If you’re done screwing around,” I say, flipping open the script, “we have work to do.”
“Can’t. Gotta go buy another pack now,” he teases, still close enough that his thigh is touching mine.
I roll my eyes. “No, you don’t. Come on, Johnny, for once can we just do the job so I can leave?”
He exhales, long and dramatic. “What’s the rush? You got a hot date or something?”
“Maybe I do.”
He snorts. “Calm down. We’ll do the stupid read-through. It’s porn, not the fucking Oscars.”
He finally starts reading. For a minute, it almost feels normal. His voice is steady, rough around the edges in that deliberate way he does everything, like he’s always one breath from growling. We get through a few lines without him making a joke or throwing in something off-script. Reading lines with him only adds to the simmering heat under my skin.
His hand comes up to his chest, fingers grazing the center like something’s crawling under his skin. He scratches once, then again, slower this time, like he’s trying to rub something out.
“You good?”
He doesn’t answer. Just rubs at his nose and clears his throat like he’s trying to shake something off.
We keep going.
“I can hear your heartbeat. You’re scared. I like that.” His line comes out almost strangled. His shoulders tense. I can feel the heat rolling off him, more than before, like something in him is getting closer to the surface than it should be.
"What are you going to do to me?” I read the line more breathy than I intended and his entire body stiffens and moves away from me.
He clears his throat, tries another line, but his voice hitches again, and he rubs his chest like it aches.
