P.S. You're My Mate

Chapter 01

GRACE

Let's get one thing straight when I say I hate something I mean it and I will never do it. However, if my dumbass best friend: Monica Steerling happened to be involved, then suddenly you'll find me doing things I wouldn't normally do; things that were completely out of my character — like coming to this human nightclub and allowing her to gorge more than a gallon of alcohol.

Unfortunately, that was what it took for her to feel the slightest bit tipsy and she planned on getting hammered, so once she began ordering drinks, they just kept coming with no end in sight. She made sure that I drank too, knowing that the effects wouldn't last that long so we could easily make it back home. Either way, if a human tried to touch us, our wolves would take over and it would be 'bye-bye human'.

One of the many perks to being a werewolf if you had to ask me.

We healed rapidly, our senses were heightened, we were fast and completely agile, we were strong with only a few things that could truly harm us, and we had a long life span; our youthful years lasting far longer than the average human.

At twenty-five, I could easily pass for a sixteen-year-old, and where that may have been good in some cases, in most it wasn't. Getting into this club was a pain in the behind because they didn't believe that my ID was real. Being extremely short for a werewolf also played its part.

The music blared from the speakers, its vibration combined with the jumping and dancing of everyone in the area caused the floor to vibrate beneath my feet. I hated these places because, as a werewolf with a great sense of smell, I could get the foul odor of the sweaty people grinding and groping each other. There was the potent scent of alcohol lingering in the air as well but that wasn't what made my stomach curl and twist into knots. It was the stench of every hormonal human that was aroused and stuffed into this small, confined place that made me want to hurl.

"Whoa...." Monica yelped, nearly tripping on her own feet and planting a wet kiss on the disgusting floor. She managed to grab ahold of the bar in time though, steadying herself before ordering another round of tequila shots.

"Mono, you've had enough to drink," I slurred. She had been pumping me with alcohol from the time we entered so I wasn't surprised. Unlike her, I was a quiet drunk that just sat and minded my own business.

She, on the other hand, became louder and difficult to deal with.

"Don't," she paused, holding a finger to my face, "call me that. You make me sound like some sort of STI."

I snickered. It did sound like an STI but I had called her that since kindergarten and nothing was about to stop me now, "Nope, MONO!" I yelled her name on purpose which caused the cute bartender to shake his head and laugh.

"Grace Savannah Evans, don't make me give you a wedgie!" Her lips tilted into a sloppy smile. My best friend was officially completely hammered.

The bartender placed our shots in front of us and within a second we downed them as if they were water. We didn't even need the slices of lemon that he handed us.

"Don't look now but that guy has been staring at you the entire night," Monica slurred into my ear, gesturing to someone behind me, "It's like no matter where he stands, his eyes just fall on you."

I giggled — blame the alcohol, "And how would you know that if you weren't eyeballing him the entire night?"

She rolled her beautiful forest green eyes at me, flipping her long jet black hair over her shoulder in a sassy motion, "He's one fine piece of meat, baby. I was thinking of shooting my shot but then, clearly the man is into you."