" He disappeared into the century-old house, returning with three beers and a plate of what appeared to be bacon-chip cookies. Given the choice, I grabbed one of the bottles and leaned against the railing, waiting impatiently as Jeff and Helen filled us in on the latest werewolf gossip, most of which centered around who was sneaking into bed—or into the woods, or the backseat, or in one case the middle of the gas station parking lot—with whom. Werewolves treated sex like a professional sporting event, occasionally with spectators and cheerleaders. "

― Jim C. Hines , Unbound (Magic Ex Libris, #3)