Cody
The feeling of Quinn moving away from me yanked me abruptly out of sleep. The GPS in my head that constantly told me where she was may as well have been going off like a fire alarm.
I jumped up out of bed and went to yank the door open. Just as my hand hit the doorknob, I noticed a note taped on the door at my eye-level. It said:
At a meeting. Be back soon. Text me at 103-555-8797 if you get cavemanish.
I pulled the note off my door and grabbed my phone off the dresser, sending a text to the number immediately to make sure she hadn’t decided to give me a fake number or something. Ignoring the dozens of texts from my family’s group chat, all of which were pointed at me, I texted Quinn.
Me: You okay?
Quinn: Already a caveman? Geez.
I rolled my eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed. It definitely wasn’t a fake number. When I didn’t answer right away, she sent another text.
Quinn: I sent you a present ;)
Something about that put me on guard. She was up to something.
Me: ???
Quinn: It’ll be there soon, don’t worry. Gotta go, but have fun!
When she sent me the smirking emoji, I started to sweat a little. After shifting together the night before, I assumed things were good between us and that she wasn’t going to fight me anymore. It seemed like she’d come to terms with what we were to each other.
I’d been relieved that the drama was over.
I had no idea that it was only beginning.
A knock at the front door pulled me out of my confusion, and a sense of foreboding filled me.
“Beth?” I called out, hoping she was there to be a buffer between me and whatever Quinn’s “present” was.
No one responded.
The “present” knocked again.
I groaned and trudged through the apartment. Dirt followed me down the hall and through the living room, and I could feel it caked in my hair. I was used to being covered in dirt sometimes, it was just a part of life as a shifter, but whoever was knocking on the door of Quinn’s high-class apartment probably wasn’t going to think it was normal.
When I pulled the door open, the last thing I expected to see was a woman in less clothing than Quinn had been wearing that first night I met her.
She gave me a sultry smile, and I just about shut the door in her face. I could imagine my mom lecturing me about judging someone for how they looked, though, so I tried to assume that she wasn’t a call girl.
“Are you going to let me in?” She bit her lip, reminding me way too much of Quinn the day before.
The suggestive tone in her voice told me that my first thought had been correct: My soulmate had paid a hooker to come to my door. That only confused and frustrated me.
“Nope.”
I noticed the pile of cash on the table beside the door and grabbed a few twenties off the top and handed them to the scantily-clad woman.
“Don’t come back.”
Then, I closed the door and locked it just for good measure.
With a groan, I rubbed my hand over my face and trudged over to the bathroom. It looked like the day wasn’t going to go as well as I thought.