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“Fine,” Evander mutters. “Get this shit out of here, and we’ll see about the rest of this tomorrow.”
With that, he stalks away, leaving me and the foxes staring as he goes.
Chapter 4
Evander
When I go to pick Briony up the next day to head up to the foxes, I know that I fucked up.
I know that I’ve been a total dick to her.
But at the same time, I have no idea how else to handle this situation.
Briony drives me absolutely crazy.
The past couple of days, I’ve been going nuts trying to keep myself from lusting after her. It’s impossible. It is literally physically impossible, because working with her on things like construction projects and decorating?
It means that I’m around her when she’s… in clothes.
Not normal clothes. Not pretty dresses or jeans or even like… those shorter pants that women sometimes wear.
No. The past few days, she’s been wearing workout clothes. Leggings. Tight shirts. Her silky black hair has been up in a ponytail. Her eyes have been so close to me, I can see the darker green flecks in them.
Not clothes. Skin-tight, revealing garments that show literally every inch of her skin, without showing any of it.
It’s enough to drive me fucking crazy.
So yeah, I was at the end of my rope when I picked the foxes up from the airport in Aspen. I was on my last goddamn nerve when the bunch of kits started to sing some kind of stupid song in the backseat. When the one, a little tiny girl who looks as cute as a doll, followed me around, I finally relaxed a little.
I did my best, but every bone in my body that was reserved for kindness went to the kids.
The adults got the most of my ire.
And Briony got all of it when she sassed me.
I need to get my shit together. I can’t want her this badly. She stomped on my best friend’s heart, and more than that, she absolutely hates me. I have no doubt about that either.
So, when she gets into the van, I offer her something that I have never offered a woman, ever.
I hand her a coffee cup.
Briony takes it, but stares at it. “What?”
“It’s coffee,” I say by way of explanation.
“Why are you handing me your coffee?”
I sigh and blink. “It’s not mine.”
“So, why did you hand it to me?”
“It’s yours. Coffee. For you. From Mocha Moose,” I say, sounding stupider than I have ever in my life.
“You got me coffee?”
I start the van. “Yes.”
“Is it poisoned?”
