A Werewolf Jock for Thanksgiving by Isla Chiu

Author:Isla Chiu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: asian heroine romance humor awwm romcom sweet, asian heroine romance interracial college romance, shifter romance new adult athlete romance football, shy girl alpha male instalove thanksgiving holiday, werewolf romance possessive alpha male hero ott
Publisher: Isla Chiu
Published: 2020-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Turkey Day

On Thanksgiving morning, I wake up in Colin’s bed, expecting to find him next to me, but he’s not in the room. Then I hear a thud outside. Is that Colin? What the hell is he doing? I get out of bed to investigate. My mouth falls open when I find him in the kitchen. He’s plucking the feathers off the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He smiles at me. “I went hunting in my wolf form this morning and caught a turkey. Do you think we could cook it in the microwave?”

“Good Lord, are you out of your mind? Of course we can’t cook a turkey in the microwave.” I Google “how to cook a turkey” on my phone. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about thawing it. Do you have a meat thermometer?”

“No, but I have a regular thermometer. Do you think that would work?”

It’s a good thing he’s pretty. “Er, I don’t think so. But that’s okay. I think we can figure this out.” I have no such faith, but I would hate it if this bird died only for us to throw it away because we cooked it so badly.

“Should I order Chinese food just in case?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

For the next few hours, Colin and I struggle to follow the instructions off Google. We clumsily hack the turkey into parts because according to many websites, cooking a turkey in parts is better than cooking it whole. Sorry, dude, I silently say to the turkey as I mutilate it with a butcher knife.

After haphazardly rubbing butter on the turkey and seasoning it with salt and pepper, we shove it into the oven and hope for the best.

I feel like a contestant on The Great British Bake-Off as I sit in front of the oven and watch the bird cook. “God, I hope this tastes okay.”

“In case it’s terrible, what do you want from China House?” he asks.

“Do they have lo mein and sesame chicken?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. How much money should I—?”

He shoots daggers at me. “I told you, your money is never good with me.”

He’s so ridiculous. I say, “You might regret saying that someday.”

Picking me up, he says, “I don’t think I will,” before kissing me.

Our Thanksgiving feast consists of lo mein, sesame chicken, egg rolls, a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi, and a mutilated turkey.

“Do you want to try the turkey first?” he asks.

I give him my sweetest smile as I reply, “You go ahead.”

Hesitantly, he cuts off a slice of breast meat. Then very slowly, he takes a bite. To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately spit it out. “It’s actually not bad.”

“What? You’re joking.”

He brings a piece of meat up to my lips. “Try it.”

Cautiously, I taste it. My eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “Hey, that’s not half-bad! I might say that’s even bordering on good.”

“It’s a Thanksgiving miracle.” He cups my cheek. “And so are you.”

I snort. “Lord, you’re so cheesy.” But I add with a smile, “I’m thankful for you.

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