Free Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel by Ronda Thompson Page B

stuck to the bottom. Then I see him. Stefan stands outside the café, looking suspiciously like he’s waiting for us to join him.
    We haven’t spoken since I called him a bozo and slammed the car door in his face. Guiltily, I realize I haven’t thought about him for a couple of days. I’ve been too busy thinking about Shay, and the fact he’s written me off as a total loony bird. I’ve also been thinking about Morgan Kane, and what kind of information he’s digging up now.
    â€œYou just called him.” I frown at Karen. “This is a setup.”
    She doesn’t bother to deny it. “I thought you two should kiss and make up. He’s been hell to work with the past couple of days.”
    Due to murders and mayhem, I haven’t worked since the cowboy boots shoot. I’m not scheduled to work again until Friday. I have yet to convince myself that Stefan’s grimy one-night stands are none of my business. I’m not sure if I’m ready to forgive and forget. At least he’s not wearing the orange stocking cap I despise.
    He smiles as I gimp along, dragging the bottom of one of my sex shoes on the pavement. When Stefan smiles, it’s hard to stay mad. He has this naughty-little-boy thing going for him that women find impossible to resist. And therein lies the problem.
    â€œHi, Lou,” he says when we reach him.
    â€œHi,” I say back.
    Stefan glances down at my feet. He laughs. This is not the four-hundred-and-seventy-five-dollar response I had hoped to get while wearing the shoes.
    â€œYou have paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe.”
    Glancing down, I’m tempted to cuss again. A Snickers bar wrapper is now stuck to my shoe. I place a hand on Stefan’s shoulder, lean down, and pull it off. There’s a waste receptacle in front of the café. I walk over and try to throw the candy wrapper in the trash. It sticks to my fingers. I say the F word again.
    When I turn around, Karen, Stefan, and Cindy all grin back at me like village idiots. Grumbling, I march past them into the café. The burst of warm air improves my mood. Beneath my jacket, I wear a short-sleeved blouse. Shopping often leads to sweating, depending on how serious a woman is about it. I dressed to layer down.
    The café is seat yourself. I spot a cozy booth in the back and head that way. I don’t wait for the others. I’m focused on the fact I have gum on the bottom of my shoe and I’m careful where I walk. A discarded napkin isn’t getting a free ride from me.
    Once I reach the booth, I plop down and immediately lift my shoe to assess the damage. With luck, I might be able to scrape off the mess with a knife. Karen, Stefan, and Cindy scoot in from the other side. Cindy sits beside me, then Karen and Stefan take the outside across from me.
    â€œI need a knife,” I mutter. “Stupid gum.”
    â€œIf you put ice on it first and freeze it, I’ve heard it’s easier to get off,” Karen suggests. “Or, you could just throw them away. That’s what I do.”
    Okay. I’m a little tight with my money. I’m not trashing these sex shoes even if I’m never going to wear them again. They can sit in my closet, a little red ray of hope that at some future date, I can have a normal sex life again. Or an abnormal one. I’ll take anything.
    As soon as our perky waitress sets water glasses in front of us, I dig a piece of ice from the glass. I slide the ice along the bottom of my sticky shoe. The street cleaners must be on strike because in one short walk I have enough grime stuck to the bottom of my shoe to make mud, which of course gets all over my fingers. I pause long enough to grab a napkin.
    â€œLou, honey, I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes if you’ll stop flashing your panties at everyone sitting across the room from us. You are wearing panties, right?”
    I glance up and across at Stefan. His words register a