Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 135

Karl

The incessant buzzing of my phone’s alarm is drowned out by the pounding inside my head—a lingering reminder of last night’s… festivities.

Why did I think that having one more whiskey was a good idea? I was already pretty drunk last night by the time I got home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Abby.

In a feeble attempt to drown those thoughts out and get some sleep, I guess I thought one more drink was the way to go. I still remember raiding the minibar in my apartment and pouring a rather tall glass of whiskey—no ice—which I proceeded to knock back while giving half of my attention to a crappy movie I found on Netflix.

Oh, how I wish I didn’t drink that whiskey. I feel like shit, and I’m not even fully awake yet.

When I finally crack open my eyes, the red digits of the bedside clock glare back at me: 7:15 a.m.

“Shit,” I groan, rubbing my eyes and yawning. “I’m never drinking again.”

My wolf grumbles inside of me, equally as perturbed by my laziness. “You always say that, and then a week from now, you’ll be saying that a ‘little whiskey never hurt anybody.’”

I roll my eyes, running a hand through my unkempt hair. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. I swear, it’s like drinking a sleeping pill or something. I can never get up early enough when I drink, and yet I also feel like I didn’t sleep a wink.”

My wolf chuckles softly. “Maybe so, but you should get up. You might want to check on Abby before the cook-off.”

Abby. Just the mere mention of her name sends a weird tingle down my spine. Memories of last night come flooding back in. She looked so beautiful standing next to me in the alley, leaning against the brick wall, her blonde hair awash like the sunset in the light of the streetlamps.

I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not after what happened last time, and especially not when she has this competition to worry about today.

“Yeah,” I say, although hesitantly. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to bug her right now. She’s probably already at the studio, caught up in a whirlwind of preparations for the competition. I’ll see her later while I’m watching the competition from the audience.”

Ah, the audience. I wanted to give Abby a little surprise, so I bought a front-row ticket. Actually, I bought tickets for everybody. I figure she will be looking for a familiar face when she steps off the stage, crystal trophy in hand—because she’ll be winning first place, I’m sure of it.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t hurt to send a text,” my wolf says. “Something nice to wish her luck before the competition. Then you can focus on seeing her in person at the event. It’s a nice gesture, and she might appreciate it. Especially since you’re leaving soon…”

I consider my wolf’s words, agreeing inwardly. I am going to be leaving soon, so leaving a good impression before I go might be a good move. Who knows, maybe I can convince her to come back with me. But I’m not holding my breath.

“Just think of it this way,” my wolf continues, “if you show your support today, she’ll be so grateful for you. And maybe, after the cook-off…”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I growl, pushing my fists lightly into my eyes. “Fine, I’ll text her.”

My wolf bristles with excitement. “Good.”

Sighing, I roll over and reach for my phone.

But before I can even unlock my phone, which is lying face down on my nightstand—left purposely on ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode to avoid middle-of-the-night interruptions—there’s a sudden knock at my door. Not just a knock, but several bangs, frantic and loud.

I squint at the clock. 7:30 a.m. Who in the world would be knocking on my door this early in the morning?

“Who the hell…” I sit up, rubbing my eyes.

The knocks come again, even more frantic this time. “Geez,” my wolf says. “Maybe you should check it out.”

I sigh, feeling the effects of last night’s drinks as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and yawn. My head is spinning ever so slightly, and my stomach is growling for food—something like toast, maybe, to settle my stomach. Then, the knocks come again, adding to my pounding headache.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” I grumble, forcing myself off the bed. I shuffle towards the door, fully prepared to give whatever salesperson or nosy neighbor a peace of my mind.

“What the hell do you want?” I mutter as I unlock the door and swing it open.

But my eyes widen. It’s not a salesperson or a nosy neighbor; in fact, to my utter surprise, it’s none other than Abby. Her eyes are wide, her face flushed. She looks like a tornado of emotions ready to burst.

“Abby? What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be at the studio?” I ask, blinking in confusion. Did I sleep through the whole day or something? Did I miss the cook-off?

She pushes past me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe like a worried mother as she makes her way into my apartment. “Karl, you’re not sick, are you? Please, for the love of god, tell me you’re not sick.”

I close the door behind her, my brows knitting in confusion. “Sick? No, I’m just a bit hungover, but other than that, I’m fine. Why? What are you doing here?”

“You’re sure you’re not sick?” Abby presses, leaning in, her eyes still wide but now tinged with a sliver of hope.

I throw my hands up in the air. “Would I lie about that? No, I’m not sick, just hungover, Abby. Now will you tell me why you’re here looking like the world’s about to end when you’re supposed to be heading to the competition?”

She sighs, the tension leaving her shoulders, but only for a second. “Karl, both John and Anton have food poisoning. They can’t even stand, let alone be my sous chefs for the cook-off today!”

I stare at her, my eyes wide with shock. “Food poisoning? From where?”

“Most likely from that seafood dish we had at the party last night,” Abby responds, her voice tinged with a mix of worry and annoyance. “You didn’t eat it, did you?”

I shake my head. I don’t like seafood very much, so I avoided it.

Abby huffs. “Can you believe it? Of all the days for something like this to happen!”

I look at her, then glance over at my reflection in the mirror hanging on my wall. I look like a disheveled mess, not at all like the Alpha I’m supposed to be. “What can I do, Abby?” I find myself asking, my gaze sliding back to her.

Abby looks me dead in the eyes, her gaze piercing. “I need a sous chef, Karl. And you’re the only one I can think of who might be able to help me out. So, please, will you be my sous chef today?”