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“You read Shakespeare for fun?” asked Jacob, taking the wrench out of my hand, and tightening the bolt with ease. It was like watching him butter toast.
“Yeah,” I said absent-mindedly, piqued at the effortlessness with which he accomplished the task that had flummoxed me. “Can you at least pretend to find that difficult? You know, protect my ego a little?”
“Sorry, Bella,” he grinned, “you just need more practise.” Finishing, he tossed the wrench into the toolbox. “You aren’t apologizing for reading something I can barely make sense of—and that’s with the Cliff’s notes,” he said, nodding towards my book.
“It’s beautiful though,” I said, blushing, “I mean, just listen.” And here, I opened to a page, at random, and began reading. I realised, too late, that it was the balcony scene, and the blush drained from my face. I kept reading though, not wanting to spoil the light mood.
“What does that mean?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“The bit about the moon.” he said, wiping the grease off his hands with an old rag.
“Swear not by the moon?” I offered.
“Yeah, why not the moon?”
“Well, it changes monthly. It’s unpredictable.” I said.
“But,” said Jacob, “that’s the beauty of the moon—it is predictable, in its unpredictability.” He smiled again, “and, you know, werewolves are just a little partial to it.”
“It doesn’t...affect you, does it, though? I thought it was just…” I couldn’t help but let the noise catch in my throat.
“No,” he said quietly, “it doesn’t.” Grinning again, “but we can still moon people!”
And he did.
“Aww Jake! That’s gross!” I said, scrunching my face and turning away. Trust Jake to make a joke of everything.
“Sure is!” he said, fully dressed. “But it keeps your grinning, even if it is in horror.”
We both laughed, and putting away the tools, and my book, headed back to the house together.
Author’s note: Heads up, the next chapter describes a sexual assault.