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The Fight Club

Reid

Reid fixed himself a coffee in the kitchen. He wanted whiskey but had to pace his drinking. Although werewolves’ heightened metabolisms meant that they processed alcohol faster than humans, it did not mean that they could not get drunk. It was going to be a long night, and he wasn’t going to get much sleep before the morning when shit was going to happen. So, coffee was a smart move to start off his night.

Marcella sang along happily in her luxurious baritone to the stereo as she finished getting ready. Through the open bedroom door, he could see that she had chosen a blonde-bombshell styled wig and was fixing her eyelashes leaning forward towards the mirror dressed in a skin-toned lace corselette, suspender belt, and stockings.

“Do you want a coffee?” He called out.

“Coffee, darling?” She sneered, rolling her eyes. “God no. Pour me a whiskey.”

He laughed and crossed to the buffet with his espresso. What the hell, he thought, and added a drop to his coffee as he poured hers.

“Wow
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