Page 7 of One Night with the Werewolf
I’m sick to my stomach, thinking that my own kid would behave so callously toward someone as gentle as Emelia.
“I feel like somehow, it’s my fault,” I say with a sigh. “I raised that kid. There must be a reason, something I did.”
“Sometimes nature is stronger than nurture.” Emelia puts a hand on my chest to comfort me. “I’m sure you did your best.”
I just want to hold her tighter as she starts sniffling again, but I don’t want to cross any lines while we dance here politely. But then Emelia turns her face to cry into my jacket, and I pull the sides away so she can reach my shirt, which is much softer.
She sniffles, then takes the invitation and wraps both arms around me as she cries against my chest. I close the jacket around her, rocking her back and forth to the beat of the music.
Eventually, her sobbing slows down, and she backs away from me, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Emelia says, a sad smile lifting her lips on one side. “I got your shirt soaking wet.”
“It’s fine.” I close the jacket again now that she’s put some distance between us. “Do you feel better?”
She laughs. “No. Not really. I need to drink more.”
I smirk and pull out my wallet. “I can help with that.”
CHAPTER
THREE
EMELIA
Beers in hand, we eventually reunite with the Kims, though at least one of my friends is still missing in action. Arin and Harry are locked in conversation, and I didn’t think Harry was their type, but you learn new things about people every day.
Don’t think about Jason. Don’t think about Jason.
Roscoe must sense that my mind is wandering because he taps my elbow, leading me back to our table. We drink more beer as my friends ask him all kinds of questions, like he’s a novelty. And I suppose he is, unshaven and wearing his heavy boots, two decades older than any of us. His leather jacket wonderfully complements his broad shoulders and contrasts the bit of salty seasoning in his hair.
I never thought older men were attractive until now, but I can’t take my eyes off him. Maybe it’s beer goggles. Maybe it’s the fact he’s been so kind to me tonight, when I never got much of a read from him before. He’s opened up to me to make me feel better, and I genuinely appreciate that kind of human connection.
Plus, he let me cry into his shirt. You don’t get that every day from a stoic man with a lot of stubble.
After a while, the conversation moves on and people start saying goodnight. First it’s Kim, then Becks—who reappeared after an hour—and then Kimmy. Harry has been hitting on Arin, but Arin is as shy as they get and hasn’t picked up his messages yet.
“Another drink?” Roscoe asks, getting up from the table. “Then more dancing is on the docket, I think.”
I grin, because that’s exactly what I want to do, even though I know the whole dancing thing makes him uncomfortable.
“Thank you. I really should buy the next round.”
He looks like I’ve shat on his carpet. “No honorable guy lets a girl buy her own beer on her birthday. And you got a promotion, didn’t you? That was part of the invitation.”
I cover my cheeks with both hands. “Yeah. They made me a regional manager. It’s like a whole two steps up from where I was before.”
Roscoe’s smile is broad and genuine. “Congratulations, Emelia. I’ll be back in five seconds.” Then he takes off, literally jogging, toward the bar to get us more beers.
Harry and Arin are exchanging phone numbers. “Are you coming with me?” asks Arin. “I’m thinking of leaving.”
I frown. “So soon? But we’re still having fun.” The world might be swimming a bit, but I’m finally having a great time not thinking about Jason.
“You and Roscoe are having fun, you mean.” Arin waggles their brows.
I swat them with my purse. “It’s not like that.”
“All right, if you say so.”
