Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel by Ronda Thompson

decide on jeans and a T-shirt, tennis shoes and a pullover. Getting ready takes me into the evening. At seven I call down and have the night doorman order me a cab.
    When I first step out on the street, I feel a moment of trepidation. I glance around me. Nothing looks out of the norm. The cab waits for me, and I find even that threatening. I get a grip and march over and open the cab door. I’m relieved when I recognize the cabby. He’s picked me up several times, never sprouted fur and fangs or tried to jump me in the backseat. I climb inside and tell him where to take me.
    Burger Joint is well lit and crowded. I’m relieved to see Cindy already seated. Should I tell her about the incident today? Is it even worth telling anyone about? It could have all been in my imagination. But no, my reaction to the man was not my imagination. He triggered something in me. Something bad. Maybe Cindy can help me sort through what happened today.

CONFESSION NO. 8
    Rock and roll is here to stay. Or is it here to slay?
    Freddie Z’s is a typical smelly, sweaty rock and roll bar. The place does have a seventies feel to it, complete with wall-to-wall posters and black lights. A third-rate band is playing tonight. I hope Kane’s band is better than this one.
    â€œThe only thing worse than a meat market is a less than prime meat market,” Cindy says, curling her lip.
    I raise my drink in salute. “Got that right. We must have come on loser night.” There was a time when Cindy and I were both less than prime cut. Braces and contacts fixed Cindy. Becoming a werewolf fixed me. Neither of us are girls a man would take home to meet Mom, however, so I guess we don’t have room to talk.
    â€œSo where is this guy?” Cindy shouts over the noise. “I’m tired and want to go home. Besides, you had two outbreaks today. We probably shouldn’t be out in public.”
    Cindy’s right, and who knows where Kane is among a sea of sweaty bodies. I’m not in the mood to hunt for him, but I do want the information. “I haven’t seen him yet,” I answer Cindy. “I’m sure he’ll shimmy out from under a rock at some point.”
    â€œTalkin’ about me, cupcake?”
    My head snaps up. Kane stands behind Cindy. The strobe lights in the bar remind me of the blink-blink-blink of a neon sign. They catch the blond streaks in his hair. Has he highlighted it? He wears a mesh T-shirt and black skintight pants. I’m sure he has the cowboy boots on his feet. Introductions are in order.
    â€œMorgan Kane, this is my friend Cindy. Cindy, Morgan Kane.”
    Kane nods toward Cindy, then asks, “You sure you want witnesses, cupcake? I thought you wanted to keep our business private.”
    Cindy blinks at me and mouths, “Cupcake?”
    I shrug. “She’s okay. I don’t keep secrets from her.”
    He glances between the two of us. Cindy doesn’t hide the fact she’s gay. She’s wearing a man’s sweater right now, no makeup, her brows need to be plucked, and the dial is lit up on her big ol’ sports watch. Kane flashes the dimples at me.
    â€œI see. You ladies into threesomes?”
    Stefan thinking I’m gay annoyed me. Terry thinking I’m gay devastated me. I realize I could care less if Morgan thinks I’m gay.
    â€œCut the crap, Kane,” I say. “Let’s just get down to business so we can go home.”
    He pouts for a minute, then makes a jerking motion with his head. “Follow me. There’s an office upstairs where we can talk without having to shout.”
    Cindy and I leave our drinks and follow him. By the time we reach a rail staircase toward the back of the bar, I wear the sweat of too many people I’ve had to brush up against. Heightened senses may sound like a turn-on, but in some cases they are not. This is one of them.
    My ears ring and, yes, I do have the urge to howl in pain. I climb the