"You want me to do what?” Derek makes a face at Erica and takes a step back from the cat carrier she’s brandishing at him.
"Take care of Jett,” she says, stepping forward and holding the cat carrier out. "I’ve got that conference in LA and everyone else is busy.“
"I’m busy,” Derek protests, trying not to look at Jett. He’s pretty sure Jett is a minion of the antichrist because she hates him. Really hates him. If he didn’t have werewolf powers, Derek would be covered in scars from her scratches.
“No you’re not. You and Stiles were going to have sex all week because he’s off work.”
“That’s not—we were going to do other things.”
“Sure,” Erica says flatly. "Look, there isn’t anyone else, and I don’t want to leave her alone with someone only looking in on her now and then.“
Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, not wanting to know what Stiles is going to say to this. ”Fine,” he says, taking the carrier and wincing when Jett hisses. ”Where’s her stuff?”
Erica ducks back outside and returns with a bag that’s far too large for Derek’s liking. ”Such a good alpha,” she says, dropping the bag on the couch and kissing Derek’s cheek. ”Bye Jett, be good for Uncle Derek.”
After she closes the door behind her, Jett starts meowing. Derek’s screwed.