Page 43 of Return to the Pack

“Yes,” I cry. “I love it.”

“But now it’s all dirty,” he says, brushing off some non-existent dirt. “Look at those fingerprints we’ve gotten on it. Let’s get another one.”

“I’ll give you a discount,” Miss Tight Ass says in her tight-lipped fashion, hurrying toward us.

The two women turn and exit the store.

“Can it be dyed purple?” I say.

“Anything… Anything you want as long as we get you out of here.” She seizes the dress from my hands and fluffs it. “Let me ring you out over here.”

She hurries toward the counter where her payment device is located.

Warrick removes his lighter and flicks it into flame.

“Outside with that,” she cries.

He extinguishes the flame and saunters next to me. At the counter, he rests his forearms against the glass and says, “Will you have this delivered?”

The un-lit smoke bobs up and down between his teeth.

“Absolutely. Where would you like it sent?”

Warrick gives her the address, and she pales.

“What? You don’t like people like us who live in those parts? You think we’re uncivilized animals just because we turn into wolves?”

“We don’t judge here,” she says, her hands shaking as she taps the payment console. “All supernatural species are welcome.”

“Sure seems like you judge,” Warrick says.

I’m about to lose it and burst into laughter.

Paper spews from the device with the price on it.

“Did you discount that dress? It’s dirty from your negligence,” Warrick says.

Her lips press so tight I think they’re going to shatter. She stabs the console repeatedly, and, again, paper spits out. She holds out the receipt for Warrick. “Here’s your discount.”

He peels several bills from the roll and hands them to her. “Keep the change. And we need the dress delivered tomorrow.”

She sputters, then thinks better of it and closes her mouth. “That’ll be fine.

“Thank you so much,” I coo, batting my eyelashes.

Warrick tucks the cigarette into the pocket of his leather vest. “I wasn’t going to light up,” he says, glaring at the shopkeeper. “What kind of manners do you think I’m made of?”

I hook my arm in Warrick’s elbow, and we exit the store.

Out on the sidewalk, we howl with laughter.

“Damn,” Warrick says as we weave toward his motorcycle. “I haven’t had that kind of fun in a while. Nice job playing along. I wasn’t sure you’d catch on.”

“I learned to play pretend with Ethan and Callan,” I manage to say, unable to stop laughing.

“Don’t tell me. I can only guess what those two came up with for a game.” Still laughing, he climbs on his motorcycle and starts it up.

I clamber on behind him. “Where to next?”