In my gut, though, I just felt like there was indeed a story. Maybe there were real animal shifters in the ballroom at present, but maybe Eric wasn’t one of them. He really hadn’t said anything indicating or hinting that he was or wasn’t, not like I expected a shifter to say anything to a person he’d just met. Or, maybe Eric is actually a shifter, I thought. Maybe he’s a hog shifter, and they all just say “hog farm” for their cover.
Trying not to giggle out loud at my own internal thought, I realized that my two raspberry martinis were starting to have a distinct effect on me. This wasn’t very surprising, because other than a few cocktails at the annual office Christmas party, and the occasional glass or two of wine when out to ……
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