Page 2 of Baiting the Werewolf

But canceling plans and lazy texts became a pattern. Team parties. Quirky colleagues needing his attention. An accident at the office. The number of injuries he and his colleagues have racked up in their corporate jobs would make the writers of Grey’s Anatomy blush.

Despite everything, I was happy for him at first. Excited even. I woke him up on time when he spent the rare night on my couch after our late-night rom-com marathons. All without staring at his flexed arm covering his eyes as he lay there looking soft, as soft as a six-foot-three man who’s stated ‘gym’ as his hobby on his dating profile can be.

I even packed him his favorite lunch to send him off to work.

I was the best friend anyone could ask for. What blipped my radar wasn’t that he was pulling away from me. That was bound to happen. He was going to outgrow me, a boring, plain-looking blonde introvert who didn’t even believe gym was a hobby, let alone being interested in it. An illustrator who liked his characters more than any human… Okay, most humans.

I’d accepted that fact the day he returned from a family trip one summer when we were fifteen. The minute I had to start craning my neck to meet his eyes, his arms filling his shirt sleeves like never before, I knew he’d leave me one day. His dark eyes shined like never before, his dark hair artistically disheveled like it was styled by an A-lister’s stylist.

No normal fifteen-year-old boy looks like that unless he is a fifteen-year-old character being played by a middle-aged dude.

I’ll never forget the moment he pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest until I felt completely swallowed by him. Coincidentally, it also happened to be the first time I was certain I was gay. My whole identity crisis resolved in a second. Logan was always helpful like that.

When he didn’t distance himself from the scrawny little kid (or appropriately sized one, in my opinion) right away, I was relieved. Surprised, yes. But relieved.

As expected, girls suddenly threw themselves at him, and he took full advantage. He kept me around for his slutty era that turned into his playboy era.

But I knew the inevitable was coming.

The problem wasn’t that. The problem was the excuse he made for not picking up my call. He said it was because Marcus had spilled coffee all over his desk, like the clumsy person he was. Except Marcus wasn’t the clumsy one. That was Matty.

I don’t know why I was so certain, or why it bugged me so much, but the slip made me pay closer attention to his work stories.

They didn’t line up at all. The small inconsistencies turned into glaringly obvious lies, like the day he answered my call, huffing like he was running, and said he had to climb ten flights of stairs. Sounds normal. Only his office was supposed to be on the fifth floor.

And I could hear the wind blowing on the other side. Then there was a loud bang, which he explained away as an elevator malfunction.

On the same call.

What elevator?

Maybe I was paranoid, but it worried me. He never really had his rebel phase, so maybe he’d decided twenty-four is a good time to try mixing with the wrong crowd?

The next time he came to my place, I sneaked his phone away and shared his location with myself. I hated myself all day after he left. It was a gross violation of his privacy. He’d kill me if he found out, or worse, really cut me off this time.

But then my cringe behavior paid off. Over the next week, he rarely left his place. Or maybe he just left his phone at home. Why would anyone do that?

And when he did go out, he frequented the most absurd locations. An abandoned building too far from his place to be a random stop. A police station. That one is still a head-scratcher. And the bakery that made my favorite tres leches.

All these places he seemed to visit more often than mine.

That’s how I knew he lied to me today.

There’s no traffic, no houses, not even a sign telling me where I am. My pitiful attempt at being stealthy means I can’t see his car anymore. And as I make another turn, trees closing in around me, I know exactly which direction he’s going.

I crack the window open, and cool, damp air rushes inside. It smells like wet soil and pine, with something earthy underneath. I slow down as the road winds deeper into the forest, keeping both hands steady on the wheel.

Even the harsh, bordering-on-dangerous terrain doesn’t stop my mind from coming up with theories about what Logan could be doing here at seven p.m. Drugs with his wayward friends who frequently get arrested and love tres leches is winning.

My phone buzzes on the windshield. I hit connect without checking the caller ID. Big mistake.

“You better not be cooped up at your home sulking right now,” Marissa’s stern voice cuts through the low hum of the wind. I roll the windows back up. This is not going to be a quick call. It never is with my sister.

“I just found out, Marissa. I deserve at least a solid day's worth of sulking.”

“Found out what? Does Logan have a new girlfriend?”

I take the next turn slowly, watching for branches, potholes, or anything that might appear around the bend. “What? What’s Logan got to do with my breakup?”