I wouldn’t want him. He has no sense of humor, and he’s boring. His interests, as far as I can tell, are the shifter circuit, boxing, MMA, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, cardio, strength training, and “bulking.” He’s the prototypical Quarry Pack male. Even if he weren’t a massive dick, I wouldn’t be into him. He’s not my type.

My wolf disagrees, but she’s judging on different criteria—mostly smell.

She won’t let me check my phone when we get back to the kitchen. After I stick the potato salad in the oven—Old Noreen won’t hear of microwaving it—my wolf drives me to stand at the kitchen door and peek out the square window....