The Den

Awkward

At some point I drifted into slumber, and upon awakening, a startling truth struck me—I had transformed into something far more problematic than Alex ever was. I discovered myself entangled with him, my arm draped around his neck, leg thrown carelessly over his torso, clinging to him like a shipwreck survivor adrift in a tempestuous sea.

The distance between us had diminished to something dangerously intimate. What unsettled me beyond our physical proximity was my reaction to it—I genuinely savored the warmth emanating from his body against mine. Something within me yearned to eliminate the remaining space, to surrender to the magnetic pull I experienced. Yet an invisible force restrained me.

I didn’t dare move. I just watched him, waiting for him to stir, until I realized he had been awake the whole time. Simply lying there, watching me, savoring our closeness with that subtle half-smile playing across his lips. My carefully constructed defenses crumbled.

I leaned forward and kissed him, my heart thundering against my ribcage like a caged animal. The kiss was instinct more than decision, born from that quiet, unbearable closeness. As our lips connected, I instinctively tightened my leg resting over his, drawing him nearer—a movement that prompted him to pull away.

“Not like this, Sierra,” he whispered, his eyes revealing a complex mixture of longing and principle. “This isn’t the right way.”

His gentle yet resolute words demolished the walls around my heart more effectively than passion ever could. In that vulnerable moment, I recognized that his respect for me extended far deeper than any momentary hunger.

“Thank you,” I smiled, withdrawing my leg to a safer distance. Then, softer, as if testing the new fragile space between us, I kissed him again. This time it was brief, light as a promise rather than a temptation.

“Want waffles?” he asked suddenly, sitting up with jarring practicality. His tone was deliberately casual, as if pivoting us away from the precipice we’d both leaned over.

“Waffles?” I echoed, blinking. Only Alex could leapfrog from soul-baring restraint to breakfast food in under five seconds.

He stood and turned, shoulders stiff. “Hey—could you close your eyes for a second?” Embarrassment tinged his voice, and even the back of his neck flushed crimson.

“Yes,” I replied, fighting back a laugh as I obediently closed them. His footsteps padded toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut, followed immediately by the shower sputtering to life.

“Hey Alex, my clothes are in there!” I called out, unable to resist.

“Right side of the dresser,” he called back. “Vanessa went shopping for you while I was in Ohio to ask you on that date.”

That’s an interesting way to phrase breaking into my house, turning me into a vampire, and kidnapping me, I thought bitterly.

Still, curiosity tugged me toward the dresser. I opened the drawers and instantly saw Vanessa’s taste—elegant black attire, equal parts sophisticated and sensual, with just enough punk rock edge to make it mine. Every piece fit my measurements perfectly, as though she’d studied my body while I slept. Unsettling. Admirable. Both.

The top drawer revealed a scattering of exquisite jewelry, belts, hats—small, expensive details meant to pull a look together. My fingers brushed against something out of place. A small velvet box.

My heart stalled. I knew instantly what it was. A ring box.

I snapped it open—then shut it just as quickly, pulse thudding in my throat. I didn’t see enough to know if it was an engagement ring or something else, but the implication alone sent my stomach into a tailspin. Surely it wasn’t for me. He barely knew me. We were strangers bound by bizarre circumstance.

And yet… the flutter in my chest betrayed me. Because some reckless, secret part of me wondered what if?

I shoved the box to the back of the drawer and tried to erase the thought. I failed.

Believing I had ample time—because Alex was “taking a shower,” wink wink—I decided to change right there in the open space. Unfortunately, his shower concluded far more quickly than expected. Or maybe I just lost time spiraling about that damn box, because fate apparently has a sense of humor.

Just as I pulled off my shirt and slipped into a pair of delicate lace boyshorts from Vanessa’s haul, the bathroom door swung open.

Alex froze. I froze.

Our eyes locked. His widened in shock; mine radiated pure mortification. Heat surged up my neck and into my cheeks. The door slammed shut with a soft thud, followed by the sound of the shower sputtering back on—again.

A nervous laugh slipped out of me. “Really?”

“Shush it,” Alex called through the door, his voice laced with both embarrassment and amusement.

Beautiful. Simply beautiful. The universe really did love orchestrating these mortifying little plays at my expense.

By the time he emerged for real, fully dressed with dry hair, I was in the kitchen pretending to be fascinated with the toaster.

“How were your showers?” I asked sweetly, a little too sweetly.

“You—” he pointed a finger at me, eyes glinting—“are a troublemaker.”

His hands slid to my hips, grounding me, sparking that familiar tingle along my spine. He leaned closer, and I caught the scent of his soap mixed with something darker, distinctly his. My breath caught as our lips hovered inches apart.

And then—

BOOM.

“GOOD MORNING! Ewwww, get a room,” bellowed a voice that shattered the moment.

Oh no. I knew that voice. The dramatic timing. The thunderous entrance. There was only one culprit.

The Kool-Aid Man. Otherwise known as Alex’s impossibly loud next-door neighbor—the werewolf with a knack for appearing at the worst possible times.

“Does he have a key?” I muttered, jabbing a thumb toward the door. Security implications of werewolves carrying spare keys: questionable at best.

“Sure do, sugar,” came the drawl, followed by the appearance of a broad-shouldered man with a wolfish grin. He gestured at himself with theatrical flair. “Better get used to seeing all this—all the time—at the worst moments.”

His voice was absurdly deep, like an action movie trailer narrator with a side of Southern swagger. The confidence radiating from him was almost overwhelming.

I glanced at Alex. His expression was murderous. Mine was fighting very hard not to burst out laughing.