Page 7 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

The second time I can’t avoid him is Thursday morning. Delilah and I are getting ready for class when movement outside our window catches my eye. I look down and see Boone jogging along the path.

Shirtless.

It’s fifty-two degrees outside.

I know the man owns clothes because his massive gray team hoodie is currently draped over the back of my desk chair. He lent it to me Tuesday night after deciding my canvas jacket was useless, and I’ve been meaning to give it back. Mostly I keep forgetting, which is definitely the reason and has nothing to do with the fact that it’s warm and smells like cedar and rain.

I stand there staring out the window until Delilah speaks behind me.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

I drop the curtain and spin around fast. Delilah is sitting on her bed, floating her history textbook at eye level because holding paper with her hands is apparently beneath a witch.

“I’m not doing anything,” I say, grabbing my hairbrush. “I looked outside.”

“For forty-five seconds,” she says, flipping a page without touching it. “Straight at Boone.”

“He wasn’t wearing a shirt, Delilah. It’s freezing out. I was concerned for his health.”

She gives me a flat look. “You were concerned about his abs.”

“I was concerned about the general decline of common sense on this campus.”

“Maisie, that girl in my history class? She saw you almost take out a support column in the dining hall yesterday.”

My brush freezes mid-stroke. “She’s a liar.”

“She said you bounced off the concrete, panicked, and pretended to inspect your granola bar.”

“I hate this school.”

Delilah grins. “I thought it was a very graceful recovery.”

“I’m leaving.” I shove the brush in my bag and grab my books. “I have class, a quiz tomorrow, and real problems that don’t involve Boone Kinkaid’s lack of shirt.”

“I didn’t say you had a problem.”

“Your face did.”

She sets her book down and sits up straighter, her expression shifting from teasing to something more serious. “Speaking of real problems—I have my coven threshold-ward practical this weekend.”

I pause, actually turning to look at her. “The defensive warding thing?”

“Yeah.” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and I catch the nervous energy underneath her casual tone. “The one I’ve been studying for all semester. I’m actually excited, but also terrified. Defensive warding is my favorite kind of magic—it’s all about protection, creating barriers that hold. But the practical is brutal. They test you under pressure, and if your concentration breaks even a little, the whole thing collapses.”

“When is it exactly?”

“Saturday morning. Which means I basically have to spend the next three days not thinking about it, which is impossible. So instead I’m going to think about it constantly.”

I can’t help but smile. “Very on-brand.”

“I know.” She grimaces. “I’m already a mess. I’ve been practicing the same sequence for two weeks, and yesterday I accidentally warded my textbook to my desk. Took me twenty minutes to undo it.”

“Did you try just... pulling harder?”

“Maisie, that’s not how magic works.”

“I know, I’m just testing your stress levels.” I set my bag down and lean against the desk. “You’re going to crush it, though. You know this stuff better than anyone.”