While she normally wasn’t the kind of girl to enjoy being carried like a sack of groceries, it would be truly excellent if she was on the sofa soon. Or right now. John must have realized her head was spinning again, because she felt his warm hand tugging persistently on hers. As she was pulled to the sofa, she realized he was holding her hand. Sort of. A small giggle escaped. She had to focus to catch his reply. And then she struggled to remember the question…super strength. That’s right.

“Again with the stereotypes. It’s good that I’m a forgiving, kindly soul, or I might start to take offense.” His eyes crinkled again, and this time even the corners of his mouth tugged upwards.

Kindly soul? Like sweet Mrs. Fitzhubert two houses down, who always remembers my birthday and drops a tin of peanut butter cookies by? I don’t think so. John didn’t seem like a peanut butter cookie kinda guy. More chocolate fudge with dark chocolate chips.

And maybe that’s why Lizzie woke up on her sofa twenty minutes later with a wicked craving for chocolate fudge. Darn that John.

Next to the sofa, Lizzie found a note on the coffee table under a glass of water. Call me. Signed simply, John.

Chapter 8

Lizzie almost threw up on his feet at their first meeting, passed out not long after, and probably thinks he’s a half-crazed beast a few days out of the month. Nice. Lovely impression you’ve made, John. And yet, thinking of her made him smile. He was currently sleep deprived and woke in a foul mood. The fact he could smile, that Lizzie made him smile, before he’d even had his morning coffee—that was truly something. Obviously, I need a lobotomy, medication, or a good knock upside the head. Common sense and sanity have departed entirely.

Turning on the sidewalk, away from Lizzie’s house, John approached his truck preoccupied by thoughts of pack politics and travel logistics, as well as Lizzie’s befuddled eyes and disarrayed curls. As he contemplated how his revelation to Lizzie would influence a future trip to formally meet the pack, he was also remembering the feel of her small hand in his. The faint smell of her arousal as she’d stared up into his eyes. And her pupils dilated with desire as he’d led her to the sofa…moments before she’d curled up and fallen asleep.

***

After reading John’s brief note and experiencing a moment of panic that she’d fallen asleep—passed out again? what the hell?—in front of a man who she barely knew, Lizzie decided to call for reinforcements. But first she had to push back an obscene craving for chocolate fudge. The kind with dark chocolate chips. Darn that John.

Ten minutes, a teeth-brushing, and a clothing change later, Lizzie picked up the phone to call her friend.

“Kenna, about that guy…” was probably not the best opening line.