The Werewolf Nanny - Amanda Milo Page 0,126

can’t do… anything more.”

Finn explodes with a noise, a sort of cross between a snorting elephant and a coughing wolf. “That IUD is the Cerberus of contraceptives! Did my wife tell you the evil beast took a bite out of my—”

“Flute,” Maggie supplies helpfully.

Everybody goes still. Susan drops her arms from around me and slowly turns to fully face Finn.

“Why,” Susan asks in a scary-calm voice, “does Maggie seem adept at using that word in that sentence?”

Finn looks flabbergasted. “I have no idea—we were speaking in code—!”

Susan crosses her arms. “That word is now added to The List.”

The list of words Finn isn’t allowed to say. Susan and Finn’s mate have a whole slew of impolite things he’s not supposed to utter. Naturally, his topmost forbidden item being cunt.

With that blow to his vocabulary alone, it’s been a really difficult year for him.

Ginny and Charlotte exit the house, and Ginny joins Maggie—who’s holding Shane up for Brooke to pet.

Susan’s crossed her arms, and she’s gone full mongoose on Finn, all squinty-eyed scary stare. I catch her by her fur-lined hood and draw her into my arms. “The sooner you cut Finn loose, the sooner you can all take your ride—and then the sooner you’ll be back for my parents to give us a night off together.”

She twists around until her eyes meet mine. I don’t drop my gaze. “All right. I’ll let him go, just this once.”

I kiss her nose. “I’ll owe you a new tea rose.”

“Yellow,” she says.

“Of course.” I kiss her. “And maybe two of them to make up for this travesty.”

“You can make it up to me tonight,” she offers, whispering the words against my lips.

Ginny, with her werewolf hearing, covers her ears. Charlotte looks to her and gives her a sympathetic smile, spared the details but catching the gist of the topic.

“It’s a date,” I tell Susan, giving her one last kiss before letting her go. “I think I’ll start the night with dessert.”

Her eyes flare. “I love the way you make things up to me.”

Finn cries, “Please stop.”

Susan grins, and pats me low on my stomach. “See you soon, dear.”

I give her a nod and a direct stare. “Can’t wait, wifey.”

During that phase when it’s perfectly normal to test out endearments on your spouse, we found out that if I call Susan my wifey, she can’t help but crack up. I use the term like it’s a rare spice, saving it for occasions when she needs a smile, or when I just want to hear her laugh.

Like now. She laughs hard enough she has to hold her stomach, making everyone crack up. With a final chuckle and a fond look, she straightens and turns away, her hips swaying, her long hair flirting with her jacket’s hood.

As Finn once said, JAYSUS, WATCH HER GO!

She’s a vision.

And for the rest of our lives, she’s all mine.

JUST FOR FUN

FINN

THE DAY AFTER LUCAN AND SUSAN’S MATING CEREMONY.

Green bills paper the wall I’ve propped my shoulder against. “Always the best man, never the groom,” I announce to the pub at large, making the crowd laugh.

But me? I may be laughing on the outside, but I’m completely serious. Now, do I regret that Susan fell for Lucan?

No. I swear I mean that. Because it means Susan isn’t my mate—but she is his, and he’s hers. I couldn’t be happier for the pair of them.

It means I’m still searching for the love of my life though. My anamcharra is out there somewhere. And someday, I’m going to succeed in sniffing her out.

“But today is not that day,” I mutter to myself, knocking back the last of my pint.

Rooker, on my left, hears me perfectly and pats me on the back. Good bloke. Not trying to fill my ears with anything. Just sitting here beside me, being supportive. We were up late having a grand time, and then we were up too early, working off the books. Doing the kind of work you don’t get paid for with money, just good ol’ peace of mind, knowing you’ve made the world a cleaner place.

“Sun is peeking out,” he comments.

I make a disinterested noise—but I shove back the scarred up stool I’ve been planted on for the last hour, and gain my feet. “The blighter is probably cooking in the boot.”

“If he dies in Esmerelda, you’ll be ripping.”

“So I will.” I’ll be eating the head off myself for letting dead stink leak into wool carpet. Again.

Rooker doesn’t say anything else, because he doesn’t have to.

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