“How else does one interpret, ‘I’m leaving and I want you to date other guys’?”

A moment of silence, then, “You’re right.”

That’s all he said: you’re right.

More long moments of quiet, stretching into minutes. I cleared my throat. “I know this is awkward and you’re trying to make it less awkward, but that isn’t necessary. We’re going to bump into each other even after this business with Benicio. Maybe we’ll even have to work together through the council. That’s fine. I have no problem maintaining a professional relationship with you, Karl.”

“Professional relationship?”

“Yes, I can behave professionally, as shocking as that may seem.”

“That’s not—” A pause. “So that’s it then. You don’t want me coming around anymore.”

I wanted to scream, “What do you think?” But I knew what he thought. That whatever he’d done, when he showed up, his irresistibly charming self, I’d want him back. Not that I’d get him—he just liked to be wanted.

“No, Karl, I don’t want you coming around anymore.”

His jaw tightened and I expected it to stay locked for the rest of the trip, but after he turned the next corner, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

My stomach flipped; those words were so familiar. Werewolves have an abnormally high metabolism, meaning a normal restaurant meal is never enough. He’d often have one dinner at six and another at nine, just to avoid calling attention to himself by overeating. Tonight he probably hadn’t eaten at all, so he’d be starving. But to admit to it? That would be to give in to the wolf, to concede that there were some instincts and drives he couldn’t control.

So, when he was hungry, he’d ask if I was, and I’d long ago learned this was shorthand for, “Can we please get something to eat before I start gnawing on the furniture?” Sometimes I’d tease him, but usually I’d just play along and say yes. Then late one night, he’d come to my place hungry after the restaurants in town had closed, so I’d offered to cook for him. And after that, “Are you hungry?” became “Will you make me dinner?” And I always did because it was something I could do for him.

With Karl, taking wasn’t easy. If he went to dinner with one of his Pack mates, he’d always pay, and I’m sure they thought he was being generous—or racking up brownie points to redeem later—but the truth was he couldn’t stand to be indebted. So he’d visit me, he’d listen to me and he’d help me, but he’d never take anything in return…except home-cooked meals. So I did that for him—willingly and even happily.