~Evan Hayes~

I sigh as I look outside the window: it’s winter. It… sucks. I can’t wait for spring, or even better, summer. It’s so fucking cold outside; and I love nature. I can’t go outside and work out, because all my damned bones will freeze.

If I am in my human form that is. If I turn into a werewolf, which only happens on the full moon, my (rather beautiful) black fur has the power to protect me from any cold that there may be. But that comes with a disadvantage: I can’t really control much of myself. I’ve hurt people, and I used to hate myself for it. But not anymore. I’ve come to terms with the fact that when I do turn into a wild animal, I act like a wild animal, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Do you know why dogs like toys that squeak? Because they sound like dying prey. So, before you villainize me, it’s just in my (wolf) nature to kill.

But enough making myself look like a bad guy. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I’m done beating myself over it. I turned around to look at Liam Carter (my mate) as he said, “I can’t wait to go on that date,”

“What?” I asked, not having been listening to a word he said. He’s that type of guy that likes to talk a lot. Don’t get me wrong, not once in my life have I found him annoying, but that doesn’t mean I can hear every single word he says. I enjoy hearing his voice in the background while I think about random things.

“Dude, have you not been listening to a word I was saying?” He asked, annoyance in his voice oblivious. He doesn’t like it when I don’t listen. Who wouldn’t? I bet he must feel like I’m ignoring him, but that’s just not true. I just simply lose focus.

“Yeah, I, uh, I zoned out. Again. Sorry,” I apologized sincerely. “You know how my brain is sometimes. Anxiety,” While it is true that my mind sometimes starts to wonder off when I get anxious thoughts, that wasn’t the case right now. Good thing he’s an empath. And I am abusing that. Fuck.

“Dude… you really should try and get some professional help. It’s clearly messing with your life a lot,” He said, his face full of worry and care.

“Dude, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” Guilty built up in my chest, knowing that I’d use any excuse to not have him lecture me about not listening. I get anxious when I overthink and stuff, but it’s not affecting my life that much. “Anyway, what were you saying?”

“You know this girl I told you about? Maggie?” He asked with a grin brighter than the sun.

“Maggie?” I repeated after him, knowing that there’s been quite a few girls after him.

“Maggie Reynolds? You don’t remember?” He asked angrily.

Oh boy, here we go… no self-diagnosed anxiety can save me now.

“Oh, her?! Oh yeah, I remember you telling me about her.” The dude goes out with four different girls a month. “What about her?” I have no fucking idea who that chick is. Chick. Just read.

“So, this chick,” Told you “I asked her out on a date, and guess what?”

“What?” I said, too tired to guess. I am fucking exhausted from these dates of his. You know, the first time he told me he was going out with someone, I felt like someone had stuck a knife in my chest and ripped me open. Thankfully, I didn’t work out and they never met again. But it kept happening over and over and over again and I’m so sick of it. I am fucking done hearing him say how tight her pussy was. It’s exhausting. After the first few times it happened, I thought it’d get easier, but no! It only hurt more and more after each one, and I have had to act happy and cheerful about it and praise him as he got into yet another girl’s pants.

“Guess!” Now he was getting on my nerves.

“What? Did you fuck her?” I asked with more anger than I intended to.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” He asked back with anger. I have no idea how we’ve been able to even be friends with our semi-anger issues.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just… tried.” I said honestly as I blinked twice, rubbing my eyes as to exaggerate. I was fucking tired, but not ‘I wanna nap’ sorta tired. I was tired of him telling me about his hookups with others. I wanted to scream at his face I don’t want to fucking hear how you fucked another girl when I’m fucking in love with you, you homophobic bastard.

Oh, yes. Remember how I told you at the beginning that he was my mate? Yeah. I don’t think we’ll ever become a thing, because his shit conservative family raised him to hate gays. I fucking hate his parents. But he can never find that out. Or that I’m into guys, especially. No matter what. We’re best friends, but I really believe that if he had to pick between ‘respecting’ his family’s values and me, he’d choose his shit family. To make it even better, I already see him as my family. As a part of me.

“Oh… alright. Well, do you still wanna hear about what happened with Maggie?”

No. Shut your fucking pie hole already. Just shut the fuck up!!!

“Of course,” I gave him a false smile that I’ve learned to perfect over the years being around him. I can’t have him as a mate, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose him as a friend.

“She said yes!”

Wait… what did she say yes to? Oh, yeah. A date. They haven’t fucked yet. Good. I guess.

“I’m so fucking excited, dude! I think she’s the one!” He’s always like this, thinking that he’s found the one. Four girls a month… Four times twelve is… 48. Yeah. He said that about approximately 48 girls this year. If not even more. It doesn’t fail to scare me any less every time though. What if he’s right? What if after a few dates, hookups, whatever, they fall in love, they become boyfriend and girlfriend and… and they get married and they have kids and… and I’m sad and miserable and sad and even more miserable every day after day and what am I going to do if he—

“Dude… are you okay?” Looking at me with wide concerned eyes he asked. “You… you looked like you saw a fucking ghost.”

“Y-yeah… I’m fine.” I lied.

~Liam Carter~

With a bouquet of red roses in hand and my best black suit freshly pressed, I knocked on Maggie Reynolds’ door. The sound of my car pulling up must have given me away because she opened it almost immediately.

“Hey there,” she greeted me, her smile warm as she leaned in to kiss my cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

My gaze traveled downward, taking in her long red dress that clung elegantly to her figure. Her lips were painted a matching red, and her eyes were framed by smoky black eyeshadow. A faint pink blush dusted her cheeks—so subtle most wouldn’t notice. But I did. Whether it was my keen eyesight or the irresistible pull to admire Maggie’s every detail, I couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty.

“Hey there. I missed you,” I said, handing her the flowers.

I’ve always known my way around women—what to say, what to do, how to charm them. But Maggie… Maggie is different. She’s not just another girl whose name I’ll forget after a hookup. She’s the kind of woman who leaves a mark, and right now, I wasn’t even sure what to say.

“You, uh, ready for our date?” I asked, more rhetorically than anything else.

“What do you think, handsome?” she teased, her eyelashes sweeping downward to draw attention to her outfit.

It was Friday night, and somehow, she still looked flawless, like the week hadn’t drained her. I don’t know how she pulls it off, especially after dealing with kids all week. Fridays, of all days, must be the worst—kids restless, counting down the seconds until they can leave that prison. Sorry, I mean educational facility.

I remembered how good it felt to finally graduate high school four years ago—like breaking out of a cage. Only to crash straight into the grind of a minimum-wage job at SunStrike Café. Life has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t it? Kicking you in the balls just when you think you’re free.

I extended my hand, and she took it with a smile. Hand in hand, we walked to my black car—a classic 1967 Chevy Impala. It wasn’t the fanciest ride, but it was mine, and I fucking loved it.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I turned on the stereo and let some old-school jazz from the 1920s fill the car. I hoped with all my heart she wouldn’t be tempted to jump out after hearing it.

“You’ve got great taste in music, Liam,” she said, her head turning toward me. Her smile could melt any heart, no matter how cold or hardened it was.

“You really think so?” I asked, knowing she meant it but wanting to hear her say it again. “I can change it if you want.”

I would’ve played anything she asked for, no matter how much it grated on my nerves. I’d do anything to make her happy—anything.

“No, I like it. I promise,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “It’s nice to take a break from today’s music. It doesn’t have the same… feel to it. Like it’s not made with love anymore, just churned out to appeal to the masses. Marketing and money, that’s all it is. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” I replied, maybe a little too loudly, my excitement spilling over. I couldn’t help it. We hadn’t even made it to our first date yet, and she already understood me—like she was my soulmate.

The way she spoke, her words so thoughtful and sure, made her seem so much older than twenty-five. There was a depth to her that most people my age (twenty-two) couldn’t even begin to touch. It was like she saw through the noise of the world to something… purer, something real.

I know what you’re thinking: Dude, be serious. But I can feel it in my bones—she’s the one.

And because she’s the one, I decided to take her to the nicest restaurant in town. Not that there are many to choose from, but this one is a tourist hotspot—fancier, pricier, and worth every penny to show her she means more to me than some cheap burgers.

You’re probably wondering how I can afford it on a minimum-wage job. Well, here’s the kicker: I can’t. But I also can’t afford to look like a pathetic loser, so I did what I had to do—I played poker for some extra cash.

And let me tell you: I can play. I don’t do it often, and rarely for money, because I hate the idea of taking someone’s hard-earned cash—unless they earned it through poker, of course. That’s fair game. Most of the time, I play just for fun. But when it comes to Maggie? She’s worth a few bets and a winning hand.

With that thought in mind, we reached the restaurant.

~Evan Hayes~

I knew it. I fucking knew he’d bring her here. I’ve got his little routine figured out by now. Three girls get the cheap spots, and then the fourth—the one who feels extra special—he takes her here.

By the moon, I couldn’t hold back a growl. The wolf inside me was clawing at my chest, furious at the sight of him opening the door for her, holding her hand as they walked inside like they were the perfect couple.

Why? Why wasn’t I born a girl? If I were, he’d date me for sure—his bland taste in women all but guarantees it. No, wait… that’s not true. He does have good taste, and I fucking hate it. My blood’s just boiling too much for me to admit it. I can’t stand the hag clinging to him like she’s won some kind of prize.

Fuck her. And fuck you, Liam. I hope this date crashes and burns just like all the others.

Liam Carter

Tonight felt… unreal. Like I was stuck in a dream. The dinner was nice, no doubt—Maggie looked unsurprisingly incredible, and for once, I wasn’t stuck across from someone who barely cared or was just there for the free food. Maggie really listened. She got it.

She leaned in during dinner, her eyes bright with genuine interest when I spoke, and for the first time in ages, I felt seen. Not just as some guy who had barely scraped through school and had nothing to show for it but empty chatter. She didn’t judge me for the dumb mistakes I made, the things that painted me as just another screw-up among a bunch of others. No, she just listened, shared her own stuff, and in some weird way, it made me feel better about myself than I had in forever.

We started off lighthearted, but soon we were digging deeper, finding connections in ways I didn’t expect. Maggie opened up about her struggles with kids, how they tested her patience every day, and how no matter what she did, it felt like nothing worked. I got it. I really did. School was hell for me, too—teachers who didn’t give a damn, assignments I couldn’t care less about, classmates who never bothered to understand the reasons behind my rebellious act. It all hit too close to home.

“So, I guess we’ve both been the bad kid, huh?” I joked, trying to keep things light.

She gave me a small smile, shaking her head just a little. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring. “I wasn’t the one who had to put up with you.”

And then it hit me. She had a point. She wasn’t the one dealing with me back then, wasn’t the one who had to face all the shit—the anger, the confusion, the feeling of being invisible. But somehow, Maggie still understood. And that was everything.

The night went on without a hitch after that. We left the restaurant and found a cozy little bar, the kind where the vibe was just right—quiet enough to talk but lively enough to avoid any uncomfortable silences. After a couple of drinks, we started sharing more personal stuff, things I didn’t expect to say, and yet there I was, spilling it all.