Moose slidesanother beer across the bar for me as I take the last swallow of my current one.
He’s a good man.
Although I may need to switch over to something stronger if I really want to use alcohol to block out the memory of Juliet riding me to her climax, then turning me down flat.
Multiple times.
“I can’t dance in front of you.”
Her words echo in my head as if she were sitting right next to me, saying them.
And, damn all the gods, I want to see her dance. Even if it’s bad, I can’t think of anything I want more in this moment than to see my librarian be completely uninhibited.
But she doesn’t trust me. Thinks I’ll judge her.
She worries I’ll hurt her.
And what proof does she have that I won’t?
Should’ve known being an asshole to her within the first five minutes of meeting would shoot myself in the foot. I wonder ifthere’s a certain number of apology pies that would get her to trust me.
But asking forgiveness only means you’re sorry for something you’ve done. Doesn’t mean you’ve changed at all.
The bar door opens, and I catch a familiar scent. Not the lemon-and-paper one I want, of course. This one is wolf with a side of fresh-cut wood.
Warner walks into The Rabbit Hole, but he’s not alone. Of course not. He has a woman now. My brother’s arm encircles Zoey’s waist, possessive. The human is talking about something I can’t hear over the racket of my other pack mates. But I don’t need to listen to the conversation to know my brother is rapt.
He gazes down at Zoey like she’s the only thing that exists in his world. Does he know they’ve arrived at the bar? Probably not. Warner seems unwilling to look away from her for even a second. If he could stop blinking, I bet he would.
I’m torn between calling out his name, just to see if he’d hear me, and staying silent so I don’t intrude upon his happiness.
And damn if I’m not jealous. What I wouldn’t give to have Juliet here, at my side, arguing with me so I could stare at her just as hard. I want to lose myself in the soft curves of her face and green sparks in her eyes. I want her permission to touch every inch of her.
Maybe we’d stay here for a drink or two, but then we’d go back to my place, or her little house, and tear each other’s clothes off. She’d ride me again—only this time, she’d be bare above me, and I’d be buried between her strong thighs.
Reality slams into me when an elbow jabs into my ribs.
“What has you giving your beer sexy eyes? Looks like you’re about to dip your dick in that innocent lager.” Courtney gives me a wild grin as she hops on the stool beside me.
Great. I’ve been caught dirty daydreaming in the middle of a bar.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Really? So, this has zero to do with you trolling for a mate?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Right. Of course.” Then my friend calls out to the bartender, “Moose, a Moscow mule, if you please.”
The bearded, tattooed wolf glares back at her, not making a move to prepare anything.
Courtney leans her elbows on the bar, staring him down. “Some of your customers like mixed drinks. Get used to it, or get ready for me to climb back there and make it myself!”
Turns out, the threat is bad enough to get the guy to relent. Only a minute later, she’s sipping a beverage that smells strongly of ginger and lime. I study my friend for a moment, a strange sense that something is different about her. But I can’t quite figure out what.
“So, Robo-Ricky”—she distracts me from my thoughts with the ridiculous nickname—“did you find a lady who does not compute?”
Should’ve known she’d keep digging. Courtney is a wolf after all, scenting a hunt.
