Page 12

Chapter 11

Doug

I am such a fucking jerk.

The thought hits me like a freight train as I stare down at my phone screen... again.

Yep. I did it.

Again.

I texted her.

A dumb dog meme.

A stupid, grinning mutt with its tongue hanging out and some ridiculous caption.

It’s not even that funny.

Not even that clever.

And yet, I sent it.

Because she’ll laugh.

Because I want her to laugh.

Hell, I want to know what her face looks like when she gets it.

I want to hear the soft little snort I know she makes when something catches her off guard.

I want to imagine her curled up on her bed, phone in hand, cheeks pink as she shakes her head at me like Doug, you’re such a dork .

What. The. Hell.

I sit there, phone still in hand, rubbing my face like I can physically scrub the pathetic out of myself.

What’s wrong with me?

I’m not this guy.

I’m not the text-happy, emoji-sending, can’t-stop-thinking-about-her asshole who looks for reasons to connect.

I’m supposed to be casual.

Cool.

Detached.

The bad boy she should stay away from.

Not whatever the fuck this is.

Not some lovesick teenager who wants to send every meme, every stupid observation, every this reminded me of you thing I see all damn day.

But here I am.

Again.

Every time I see something silly? I want to share it with her.

Every time I stumble across something pretty? I want to know what she’d think about it.

Hell, I passed a damn pizza-themed potholder at the store earlier and almost bought it just so I could text her a pic just to say thought of you, Sunshine .

Pathetic.

And yeah, I couldn’t stop calling her little cutesy nicknames either.

Sunshine. Baby Girl.

I never had the inclination to do that before. In the past, if I called a woman anything other than her name, it was likely because I forgot it.

But not with Dina.

I called her all those things because I wanted to.

Because she felt like that to me.

Like Sunshine.

Like mine.

I am so fucked.

I toss my phone onto the couch like it’s personally responsible for this downward spiral.

Except it dings.

My Wolf perks up immediately.

My other half is snapping in my head all snarls and growls like did she text back? Did she laugh? Did she say something sweet?

I actually growl at myself.

“Get a fucking grip,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand through my hair.

But even as I say it, I know the truth.

I’m gone.

I’m so far down this rabbit hole I’m about two seconds away from posting a Date to Mate review praising the frigging app!

“ Cursed Lone Wolf finds beautiful pizza sorceress for emotionally reckless snuggles and possible HEA. Hooray for Uncle Uzzi’s magical machinations! ”

I flop back onto the couch, arm thrown over my face as the realization sinks deeper and deeper into my bones.

This isn’t casual anymore.

Not even close.

Because I don’t just want Dina.

I crave her.

Her smile.

Her laugh.

The way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking about something in the pizzeria yesterday afternoon.

The way she looked at me like I was worth her time—even though I know damn well I’m not.

And that’s the real kicker, isn’t it?

That’s what’s eating me alive from the inside out.

I don’t deserve her.

Not even a little.

Not with the mess I carry. Not with the curse still clinging to me. Not with the life I lead.

But none of that seems to matter to my Wolf.

Because every time I try to pull back?

I end up right here.

Staring at my phone.

Texting her.

Again.

And hoping like hell she texts me back.

Please text me back, Sunshine.