Page 181 of Sour Notes

And he’s worth every penny of the bonus money I got from work, which I guess he did kinda help me get, thanks to our sex toy article being another smash hit. The company can’t restock the Clone-a-Cock’s fast enough.

Besides, along with raising money for the first responders, they also give a portion to charity, and since I had the biggest single donation of the night—yay me—I got to pick their charity of choice.

I chose one that supports women rebuilding their lives after escaping abusive situations. I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.

And you’ll be pleased to note my Wolfie did upgrade my Wendy’s date to a week's stay back where it all started in Santorini, in our same suite, the following spring.

We did nothing but eat, sleep, and fuck under the stars the entire time.

Now that trip was heaven.

But he did also get me that Five Guys.

“Angel, I'm home.”

I can hear the smile in my man’s voice as he comes through the door.

Finally, I thought he’d never get here.

“Mia?—Oh.”

He found the Post-it telling him I’m in my old room, I'm guessing. I hear him open the door and the sexy as fuck disgruntled growl that follows when he finds it empty.

He chuckles when he follows the note I’d left on my old bed into our bathroom, going as far as opening the shower curtain, to discover I’m not in fact in there either.

“You got jokes today, huh, Angel? We need to talk about where you display Clone-a-Wolff. Centre stage on the bathroom vanity is not an acceptable location. Our friends don’t need to see an exact replica of the shit I’m packing.”

A giggle escapes me, despite the nerves fluttering in my tummy, and I sing-song my response.

“I don’t know. I happen to like it there. It glows in the dark so I can see when I go pee at night.”

I hear his laughter before the handle turns on his—or should I say our—bedroom door slowly.

He prowls in, looking ridiculously hot in his uniform. His hands flex on the door handle, the light glinting off the silver rings on his fingers, still wearing his flight jacket and… oh my god, he’s in the Ghostface mask.

Fuck me. I wasn’t expecting that.

Arousal rips through me so fast it leaves me dizzy and I’m so ready to open my legs and demand he take me now, I forget all about my little surprise.

The minute his eyes snag on the bandage wrapped around my wrist, his hand comes up to rip the mask away. His face morphs from sexy seduction to horror in less than a second and he runs across our bedroom, collapsing to his knees in front of me to grip my hand gently.

“What the fuck? Baby, what happened?” His silver-blue eyes punch me with concern, his thumb stroking the back of my hand while he nervously worries his lip between his teeth.

“Angel, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

I planned to draw this out a bit more, but I can’t bring myself to, seeing the worry etched on his face.

“Wolfie… don’t be mad, okay?”

His face morphs from worry to confusion, arching a sexy brow in that way he does.

Tugging my hand slowly out of his grip, I unstick the bandage I wrapped around my wrist earlier, slowly unravelling the length while he watches.

Once I’ve removed it all, I tilt my arm down so he can see my inner wrist… or more specifically, the wolf howling at the moon I had tattooed there.

“Mia, are you fucking serious right now? Is that real?” He traces the edge of my wrist, away from the fresh ink, in amazement.

“Yep.” I put a little extra pop on the P, smiling smugly down at my guy, who seems a little shell-shocked, still kneeling on our bedroom floor right now.