Claws & Crochet

Part 55

ZOEY

I don't spot Warner when I first pull up to the construction site. Based off the men I do see, I can look forward to a sweaty version of the werewolf.

Nothing to complain about there.

I park next to a line of other trucks and check the time. I'm early.

Dust kicks up when I jump down from the cab of my truck. I debate waiting for Warner to come to me but figure as long as I don't wander into the actual construction zone, there's no harm in me getting a peek.

Plus, I want to see where Warner works.

We've been holding hands, as Courtney so charmingly put it, for over a week now, and I'm curious about the other aspects of his life.

As I get closer to the skeleton of the house, there's the sound of power tools and people calling out to each other. A wall is raised from the ground with ropes and muscle. The whole process is fascinating.

I know how to make smaller things and, compared to a lot of people, I'd be considered quite handy. But putting together an entire house? Now, that's impressive.

This lunch date is starting off nicely, so of course, some asshole has to go and ruin it by letting out a wolf whistle. Briefly, I hope I misheard, or that the sound came from Warner. But when I glance toward the perpetrator, I catch a stranger leering at me.

"Hey, sweetheart! Something you need me to help you with?"

A shudder slides down my spine. The guy assigning me a nickname would be annoying on its own, but there's an extra level of gross because sweetheart is what my mom calls me. I don't need some strange man yelling the endearment at me.

Trying to ignore the creep, I scan the different hard hat-wearing men, hating that one creep has ruined my joy at watching something being built.

And like all assholes, the guy chooses to double-down.

"Gonna play hard to get? Don't worry. I like the hunt." The skeevy guy approaches me, wearing a smile with an air of menace lingering at the edges.

Werewolf.

I'm not sure how I know, but I do. There's something similar in the way the man moves to how I've seen Warner walk. Only, Warner has never stalked me like prey before.

Fearful fingers clench my gut, encouraging me to retreat to my truck and lock the doors.

But then I would be prey.

The man is only a few feet away, his eyes slipping between blue and black, a triumphant grin curling Cheshire-like across his stubble-covered cheeks. Despite the facial hair, I can see now that he's young. Probably barely old enough to drink.

Not that it matters. If anything, young men are more dangerous.

"What is a pretty thing like you hanging around here for? Looking for some fun?"

He's about to step into my space, and my mind flips between fight or flight.

I won't be prey.

Before he can loom over me, I step forward, staring straight into his eyes.

"Do I know you?" I ask.

"What?" He stutter steps with hesitation.

"You look really familiar." I put on my deep thoughtful face, then snap my fingers as if I just remembered something. "I know! You're the guy who's bad in bed!"

He was not expecting that. Horrified shock slackens his face. Exactly what I was hoping for. I came here to meet Warner for lunch, not be accosted by a horny, power-tripping werewolf.