Read Online Werewolf Sings the Blues by Jennifer Harlow - Free Book Online Page A

80 is farther so probably safer, but it’ll add half a day. My vote’s still for 80 though. What ?” I snap. He’s been glancing at me damn near slack-jawed through my instructions. It’s making me self-conscious.
    â€œN-Nothing. Just … surprised.”
    â€œBy?”
    â€œHow good you are at this.”
    Oh. Huh. A satisfied smile crosses my face. “Well, Blondie,” I say, kicking up my feet on the dash, “I may have barely passed high school, but I have a damn Ph.D. in street smarts and survival. Stick with me, handsome.” I slip on my cat’s-eye sunglasses and stare at the wide open road. “Might just learn a thing or two.”
    And I settle into the seat of our stolen car. I may have just committed a felony, I may be on the run from both police and homicidal werewolves, I may be riding shotgun with a killer, but damned if I’m not enjoying myself a little. Just hope this walk on the wild side doesn’t end at a cemetery.

three
    The enjoyment doesn’t last long. The thrill of our escape wanes within the hour, giving way to boredom. Massive boredom. I talk for almost an hour straight when I can’t take the five minutes of complete silence a second longer. I tell Blondie about my career, all the places I’ve lived, and I think he listens. Can’t be sure. He doesn’t say a word, just nods. I feel like I’m talking to myself, so I shut up after my life story’s complete. He doesn’t offer one fact about himself in return. Guess sharing and conversation aren’t his forte.
    After my monologue, I spend my time fiddling with the radio, staring out the window at the desert, or biting my cuticles. Thrilling. I almost wish we’d get into another car chase just to break the monotony. Still Blondie doesn’t utter more than ten words in seven hours and most of those were to the drive-through attendant at McDonald’s when we buy lunch. The man scarfed down five Big Macs like he was in a competition. I can add “almost only eats meat” to the werewolf file growing larger in my brain. Went through an entire box of Slim Jims too. I pity any cow that crosses his path.
    We make it over the Utah border and have to fill up. I leap at the chance to take over driving duty when he suggests it. His eyes have been drooping since Vegas, where he refused my first offer to switch. Control freak. Blondie’s snoring by the time we’re back on the interstate. Cruise control does my heavy lifting. We haven’t passed a single speed trap, but I still only keep it five above. People, even trucks, pass us once or twice with a rude hand gesture, but probable cause trumps rudeness in this case. An hour into my shift, Jason moans in his sleep as if in pain and flips over to face me. His brow is furrowed again, and his face is scrunched up as if he’s smelled something foul, but a second later he relaxes. Bad dream.
    I take this chance to study his peaceful face. I’ve tried a few times when he was awake, but he’d notice and turn to glare at me. Don’t think he likes to be looked at. No clue why. He’s fucking gorgeous, especially asleep. Gone is the off-putting menace and thorniness that he always seems to exude, on purpose or not. His lips are a lot fuller than I thought. Pinker too, like the color you’d paint a room when you found out you were having a girl. He has long blonde lashes too. I’m jealous of that front. Add that to the muscles, thick hair, and cutting cheekbones—he’s a babe. I’ll bet he’s fierce in bed too. As take charge and masculine as he was last night when he was fighting for my life. I do like it a little rough sometimes. And we do have days and days of dull driving all alone together. A quickie or two would break the monotony. Not to mention he did save my life and everything. Can’t think of a better way to thank him. I smile at the mere thought of those lips