Page 7 of Tolerated By the Sigma (Mate Hunt 7)

“Can we go inside now?” I asked the wolf.

He nodded without taking his eyes off the forest.

I carefully opened the door, and Oscar jumped out first before waiting for me to climb out. I was sure I still smelled like the drunk asshole who’d tried to assault me, which was probably contributing to the constant growls coming from the wolf.

We made it into the townhouse without having to stop and fight anyone by some miracle (yes, sarcasm was my favorite form of mental self-therapy), and I looked around the place. It was… boring. Sparse furniture, bare walls, neutral flooring and paint.

Honestly, it looked like exactly the kind of place a man who was waiting to die would live. And I was sure that Oscar—Ryder—had been waiting to die. No one expected a rejected man to have two mates. They were expected to slowly lose themselves to the animals within them, until they were lost to the forest, and the curse.

It wasn’t exactly a rainbows-and-unicorns situation.

Oscar nudged me toward the stairs, his wet nose ticklish against the back of my thigh. I wiggled a bit, fighting a girly noise as I practically lunged toward the stairs.

Shit, I was awkward.

I did not know how to deal with this situation.

Werewolves, I knew. Relationships? Not so much.

I’d always loved the werewolf idea of waiting for your fated mate before having sex, and most men my age didn’t feel the same way. And that left me as an awkward virgin, without much hope for a future because most people didn’t believe in soulmates.

But how was I supposed to see Ryder as my soulmate when his wolf had picked Lisa first?

Dammit, this whole thing was confusing.

The wolf continued pushing me toward the bathroom, stopping only when we were both in the shower.

I supposed he probably smelled like my ex-date too.

Though I was a bit self-conscious of my naked body and had never stripped in front of a man before, there was no way around the situation. So, I stripped my clothes off, tossing the items out of the shower one by one until I was completely bare.

The wolf was staring at me; I could feel his eyes even though I was trying not to look at him too much.

I washed myself quickly, sighing silently as I washed my hair too. It was naturally a yellowish platinum-blonde color, but I hated the yellow, so I always used purple or silver shampoo to alter the color a bit without a salon trip. Washing with the generic grocery store stuff in Ryder’s bathroom would definitely turn my hair yellow, which would annoy me to no end.

Hopefully I could talk the wolf into going to my place sooner rather than later.

When I was clean, I finally glanced at Oscar again.

He pointed to a bottle of shampoo with his nose, and I realized he wanted me to wash him, too.

The smell of my bastardly date on his fur must’ve been bothering him.

I grabbed the shampoo and squirted it onto the wolf, muttering a quick joke about a dog wash. Lathering him up took forever, but when I finally stepped back, he licked the side of my thigh as if he was thanking me.

After I helped him get the soap out of his fur, we got out and dried off together. By together, I mean I dried off, and threw a towel over him. That made him huff, but it made my lips twitch as I fought a grin.

Oscar pushed me into the room that must’ve been his—the only other one didn’t have a mattress in it—and then plopped down on the floor, watching me. I usually slept in an old, soft tank top and a pair of panties, but I didn’t have any clothes there. I was sure I could ask one of the other ladies in the pack if I could borrow some, but then I’d smell like the owner of the clothing, and something told me that wouldn’t fly with Oscar given the way he was already behaving.

So instead, I dug through his drawers, looking for underwear. I found some black and dark blue boxer-briefs—no fun colors or patterns, unlike my un-sexy wardrobe—and tugged them on. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or disturbed that the massive man’s underwear fit me. He was freakin’ huge. But, I supposed, his ass and hips were tight and toned.

Hopefully the fabric was just stretchy.

Yeah, I was going with stretchy.

I found a workout tank top in his closet and tucked the long edges into the top of the boxers I’d stolen, and felt a bit better about the size thing when the tank top practically swallowed me whole.

It was already fairly late for me considering I usually had to be at work around 6:30 in the morning, so I flipped off the lights and grabbed my phone before padding to the bed.

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