Brindle by V. Vaughn Page A

Katie.” He holds the door for me as I pass by. “I hope your paper’s done.”
    Yeah, so I’m about one point away from failing political science, a class I should be acing considering I want to be a lawyer. I grimace as I hand him the coffee-stained assignment. “I had a little accident on my way.”
    Mr. Bellows is a stern man I would love to hate, but the truth is my D is not his fault. I’m not happy at Lakeland University, and my grades reflect it. I’m surprised to see kindness in his eyes when he says, “You look a little flushed.” He places his hand on my forehead, and I flinch at the contact that makes my horndog howl. “I think you still have a fever.”
    Lie, Katie. Lie to the moon to get out of this, because the fact you want to do the horizontal mambo with this dude is so wrong. “I do, but I really don’t want to fail this class.”
    “I’ll mark you here for today if you go straight to the health center.”
    I hang my head in relief, but I pretend it’s resignation and speak in a small voice. “Thanks.”
    I make my way to the bathroom to buy some time before I leave the building and have to face Brindle. Water rushes out of the nozzle as I wash coffee off my hands. I glance at my face in the mirror. While it’s redder than usual, I don’t look like a nymphomaniac, so there’s that. How the heck am I going to get through another seven weeks of this?
    I recall the deep discussions Brindle and I had that led to him turning me and making us mates. I was so in love, I wanted to be part of his world. But he made me wait until the end of mating season because he was afraid of how my body would react. I thought he was joking when he said I’d want sex with him more than air to breathe.
    I pound the hand dryer button in frustration, and it blasts at me. Of course, I didn’t believe that being a werewolf would be that different, either. I was so stupid. The force of the dryer pushes my skin away from the bones of my hands, and the distortion reminds me of shifting.
    I can’t put this off any longer. Brindle’s waiting, and I have questions. I shove my way out the bathroom door and pound out my frustration with my steps. By the time I get to the student union coffee shop, I’m sure of two things. I’m going to continue to keep my werewolf ways dormant, and I’m not going to sleep with my old high school boyfriend no matter how good he smells.

CHAPTER TWO
    T he snack bar in the student union is off to the right past the entrance. When I get there, a girl’s high-pitched laugh makes me look in her direction, but I already know what I’ll find, because the odor of my mate captured my attention the moment it wafted out to me when I entered the building. Brindle is at a table in the corner behind her. I ignore him while I get a large coffee and contemplate a cinnamon roll the size of a dinner plate.
    The brunette behind the counter lifts up the dish and holds it toward me as she says, “Do it. They’re really good. Especially if it’s one of those kind of days.”
    “It totally is. I’ll take it.”
    The aroma of dark roast tempts me as I pour cream in my coffee and grab two forks. Now that I have a distraction from the yummy scent of Brindle, I think I can have a lucid conversation, and I weave my way through tables toward him. The guilt of abandoning him bubbles to the surface as I do. We were supposed to get married last fall, and I planned to go to college in Winter Valley. I know I broke his heart, and the memory softens my mood.
    I set the pastry down between us with a thump, as if it’s a peace offering. “Hey. Did I mention it’s nice to see you?”
    Brindle places his arms on the table and leans in close. “You didn’t have to. I can smell it.”
    So much for a civil conversation. I sigh. “Let me make something perfectly clear. I’m not going to sleep with you, okay?”
    He sits back and crosses his arms across his substantial chest in a way that makes his biceps look