Seducing My Werewolf Hockey Captain
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The words died in my throat.
It wasn't Jerome standing on the porch. The person leaning against the doorframe was taller, leaner, and wearing a look of practiced arrogance that made my blood run cold.
It was Yates.
He was dressed in a dark hoodie, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. When he saw my shocked expression, a slow, mocking smirk spread across his face. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering a little too long on the way I was dressed for the evening.
"Hello, Gwen," he said softly.