The wolf’s brows darted upward at the girl as a wide grin crossed his lips, unable to contain the hearty laugh in his chest at her response. “First of all, I’ll have you know that I do own a brush,” he retorted. “A brush, a comb, and a hair dryer as a matter of fact.” A hand swatted at the crumbled up ball of a napkin she tossed at him, another laugh echoing from his chest as he watched the blonde amused. “Second, I’m a werewolf, sweetheart,” he chimed. “Be glad I’m feasting here and not out in the woods where the real meat is.” The male gave an eye roll as he moved the menus to their little stand on the table, taking a sip of his water before settling himself more comfortable into his booth. “I think I’ll be perfectly fine,” Elijah responded. “Not too sure it’s all that easy for a werewolf to get a heart attack, Especially with the cause being animal fat. I feel like that would just be one major conundrum.”
“Really? Wow, well you seem to neglect it then if that’s the case.” She remarks dryly, he looked like the type to just roll out of bed run his hands through his hair and call it the start of his day. “Don’t call me Sweetheart.” She warns pointing a finger at him with a twist of her face thinking about him out hunting the woods in some wolf form. “Does it really matter if you eat the processed meat in here rather than some animal out there?” She sits back in the booth, either way he sliced it there was some animal loosing its life. She shrugs, “I’m sure if anyone can push the envelope about how much is too much animal fat to consume for a wolf.” She shifts in her seat and leans on the table, “How about you eat what you want and not talk shit about what I eat? No one is shoving it into your face.”
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