The Werewolf Nanny - Amanda Milo Page 0,66

find ourselves folded into a soccer match against the three submissives who have been scoring goals like mad. We all stay on the same team until the other side demands a trade for Ginny—because she’s good.

She’s grinning as she scores the first goal for the opposing side. She gets progressively more bloodthirsty as the game progresses, making me wonder how her phys ed classmates fare.

We play for a while, Susan laughing and using the mildest curses imaginable as she jogs to keep the ball. When we score, she turns to me and raises her hands. “We did it!” she shouts.

She’s grinning. Her hair is sticking to her face, her ponytail is askew, and there’s a smear of dirt on her cheek.

I smile back at her, and clap my hands to hers, our fronts close enough I can feel her body heat. Her breasts almost brush me.

And then it’s late, and Susan looks a little lost as she gathers herself to say goodbye to everyone and leave Ginny behind.

Before she can utter a word, I catch her hand.

Her eyes fly up to mine, and I hold her gaze. “Stay,” I tell her.

Susan shakes her head. “I couldn’t—”

“You can,” I insist. “If you want to stay, then stay. And then you’re here for Ginny tomorrow.”

I watch as this wins her. She nods primly, accepting. “All right. Thank you for extending the invitation. Where do I—”

“Stay with me,” I say without thinking. When her eyes flash up to mine again, startled, I add quickly, “You can take my room, I mean. I can sleep in wolf form on the floor or I can join anybody else. It’s nothing here to pile up together.”

Susan’s lips curve up and her shoulders relax. “Like a puppy pile?”

I return her smile, finally forced to break eye contact, but only from instinct, not from discomfort. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Where does Ginny sleep?” Susan asks, a worry-line appearing between her brows.

“With the other girls her age,” I say, and tip my head to the group of females that have absorbed her into their cluster, chatting loudly with her, animated and high-pitched with excitement more befitting a pod of dolphins, not a pack of werewolves.

Susan follows where I indicate, and smiles, watching Ginny telling a story to the group.

I watch too. Ginny senses our attention and glances unerringly at us, and waves. She doesn’t signal that she wants a rescue. She seems happy. Elated.

Susan must think so too. “Okay,” she says. And she squeezes my fingers—shocking me. Because until she does this, I hadn’t caught that she never let go of my hand.

CHAPTER 29

SUSAN

Deek’s room is off a tiny walkway at the topmost set of stairs in the Night Howl house. He has a slope-ceilinged room with two windows, a king-sized bed, a farm table with orderly-looking notes and books (and Bibles), and a bookshelf that runs the full length of the sloped wall.

There are also several cushy-looking dog beds on the floor.

I smile as I step over them. “Sleeping accommodations for werewolves,” I marvel aloud.

“Yep,” Deek confirms. “In the closet you’ll find all sorts of clothes. Grab anything you want for bed. Bathroom has new toothbrushes, floss, the works. If you want a shower, we’ve even got the little travel shampoos and stuff.”

“Like a hotel.”

He nods in confirmation. “Packs are always hosting wolves from other packs so we’ve got spares of everything on hand. Just let me know if you need something you can’t find, because I’m sure we’ve got it.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I say. “Can you show me where the closest bathroom is…”

“Oh, yeah.” He starts backing toward the door, but he jerks his chin at the closet. “Might as well pick out something to sleep in now and take it with you to change.”

I do as he says, finding a variety of men’s and women’s clothes neatly folded on shelves and a ton of Deek-sized suits on hangers, and when I have a pair of appropriately sized green sweatpants and an autumn orange fisherman’s sweater that dwarfs me—gosh, werewolves keep their houses a tad bit chilly—Deek backs out of his room, beckoning me to join him. “Follow me.”

I complete my nightly routine with an array of thoughtfully supplied borrowed items. I also check my phone, sending a text to Charlotte and Maggie to wish them a good night, smiling when I get one back. I’ve told them not to worry about texting me back when they’re with their dad. This is his time with them; I don’t want to be

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