The next morning, I swore I was going to pretend last night never happened. Like… never. Ever. Happened.
Problem? Sugar.
The second she bounced into my room, tray in hand, eyes sparkling like she’d just been crowned Queen of the Sass Parade, I knew I was doomed.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, setting down my breakfast with unnecessary drama. “You look flustered.”
“I do not,” I snapped, yanking the covers higher. My cheeks were on fire. Stupid wolf, stupid hallway, stupid almost-touch that still had my skin tingling.
“You do,” she sing-songed. “Like you spent the night thinking about a certain brooding Alpha who’s downstairs stabbing eggs like they’re his mortal enemy.”
I groaned. “Sugar, please.”
“No, no, don’t Sugar me. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” She plopped onto the bed, wiggling
