Page 33 of Hot Girls Date Shifters

Maybe it’s a little bit like a creepy serial killer way.

But in my defense, I'm a Bear.

And Bears are notoriously bad at personal boundaries where their mates are concerned.

Mine certainly is.

Pace.

Sniff.

Sit.

Stand.

Pace some more.

Every few minutes my Bear insists we check the stairs leading up to her apartment over the detached garage.

She's still inside.

Sleeping.

Safe.

That’s good.

But I’m out here.

Alone.

Without her.

And that sucks ass.

My Bear wants to circle the yard again.

Because obviously the rabid fox has assembled an army and plans to launch a coordinated assault before dawn.

I’m a fucking idiot.

Protect mate.

“I know.”

Protect mate.

“I fucking know. I was there too.”

Protect—

“Shut the fuck up, already. I get it!”

Okay, this is bad. I’m having actual conversations—okay fine, I’m having actual fucking arguments—with myself.

Shit.

The old Golden Retriever across the street barks at me around two in the morning.