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Hmmm… I smiled. Yeah, I liked the feeling of that, too.
“She’s hustlin’ us, boys!” Vic waved his glass around, sloshing whiskey down his shirt. “And drinking us under the table, too!”
Not sure if kicking these guys’ asses at pool was the way to go, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to let them win just to save some egos. Fuck that.
I smirked and shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been hustled before.” I put a hand on my hip. “The way you play pool, Victor, I’d bet you’re used to losing your shirt.”
The crowd ohhed, and a few guys slapped Vic on the back, laughing.
“Love your shit-talk, girl.” Lex slammed a wad of cash down on the pool table. “I’m putting fifty on Charlie making this next shot.”
“I’m in on that bet.” A few other guys stepped up and put more bills down.
The pressure was real. I eyed the next shot. Not exactly an easy one but, if I made it, I was in the clear to win…again.
I fished out a bill from my pocket and threw it down, too.
The crowd went wild—whoops, yells, cheers, lots of backslapping.
I leaned down, got nice and close to the felt, adjusted my cue, sucked in a deep breath, held it, then made the shot and prayed to the werewolf gods that I didn’t miss.
The ball curved left, spinning just like I intended, hit the red then the yellow, and sank them both.
Yes!
Thundering cheers roared around me. Someone patted my shoulders. Another someone squeezed my arm. I got a bunch of high fives as I made my way to the last shot. “Eight ball side pocket.” I took aim. “Double or nothing.”
Another round of ohhhs, ahhhs and a whole lot of whistling happened, but I didn’t wait for them to calm down and instead capitalized on their energy. The eight ball sank. The crowd went wild.
Beer sloshed everywhere. Shots arrived on several trays. I got handed two tequilas, which would make me gag, but there was no way I was turning it down. The warm fuzzies I was feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the comradery. This was how it had been with my uncle’s ferals. We’d laughed. We’d played. We’d hung out.
As I double-fisted the shots, banging them back one after another and grinned through the burn, I realized that the secret to connecting with that pack so long ago was because of the down time we had together just as much as the training we’d endured. Those guys had been my guys. They’d welcomed me, considered me one of them. They’d embraced me, and damn, I missed that kind of connection. The lone wolf life appealed in a lot of ways, but there was something to be said for Friday night fun with a pack.
With my uncle’s ferals, it had been campfires and nights sleeping under the stars, collecting in a heap, cuddling for body heat, our fur nestled in together, hearing one another’s heartbeats and deep snores. We’d spent weeks in the mountains, training, playing, hunting, being wolves together then coming back for fire-cooked meals that satisfied our human sentimentalities.
I missed those guys. They were good. Rough around the edges, sure, but inherently good.
A pang of guilt rocked me faster than the tequila. My grin faltered. If I kept going with these guys—Kane’s pack—if I kept infiltrating their defenses, I’d destroy them, too.
The thought sobered me enough to want escape. The fantasy I’d conjured moments before popped, and I knew it was an impossible dream. Not only would Kane refuse to accept my pledge to be one of the guys, but the closer I also got to this crew, the more chance there would be for me to bring about their untimely deaths.
Nope. Not going to do that again.
I needed some air. Time to clear my head and get out from under all the comforting testosterone.
I took two steps back, extracting myself from the throng, who were distracted by new platters heaped with wings and a few symbolic veggies. I turned right into Johnny’s solid wall of a chest and nearly collapsed against him, momentarily dizzy from the quick swivel and sudden stop.
He smelled of all manly musk and tantalizing wolf. He had his hands on my hips, and I looked up into his silver eyes.
“You did good,” he said, his voice husky and his eyes full of what I thought might be pride.
And that kicked me right in the gut. It was good until it wasn’t—until it was blood and guts and death all around me.
“I need some air,” I managed to choke out.
His expression wobbled, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. “All okay?”
“I will be.” There was no point in lying. “Just tripped into the past for a second. It hurts. This…”—I waved my hand around—“confuses me.”
