Chapter 10The next morning, back, thank goodness, in Ted’s bed, we were woken up to the jarring sound of the downstair’s buzzer. “Mailman?” I asked with a yawn.
“Too early,” replied Ted, stretching his long limbs, the middle one swaying back and forth.
“Steven Littleton?” I asked, suddenly jolting upright.
He looked at me and frowned. “Doesn’t strike me as an early riser, either.” Then he ran to the closet and came back with a racquetball racket. “Just in case, though.”
I grinned and found my clothes. “In case what? He wants to hit a few volleys? Or do you think that further antagonizing a werewolf is such a swell idea?”
“Good point.” He dropped the racket and opted for some sweats and a tank instead.
In any case, it was neither the mailman nor Steven. We opened the front door to a w
