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"I really don't care if she enjoyed it. She just needs to move on," Hudson grumbles. He’s not a harsh person usually. Definitely the playboy, care-free one of the pack, so he must be really tied up in knots about her.
I go to say something else antagonistic because I can’t help myself, but both our phones go off at the same time. Which means it's probably our pack group text. I glance at the screen and grin at it when I see the group chat thread.
Brooklyn has changed the name to Pack Whitlock
Mason has changed the name to Chicago's Finest
That has been an ongoing battle between Mason and Brooklyn. As our pack's official leader, Brooklyn tends to be more serious. That's not to say that she isn't fun or doesn't let loose. She can party with the best of them, but with work and everyday life, she's more conservative. Nothing like Mason, our pack beta. He's the comic relief in our pack. Every situation is an opportunity for good-natured ribbing.
Mason
I'm stuck out of town. The photoshoot ran over, and I missed my flight. Next one out is tomorrow morning. But I'll be there for the bar crawl.
His text was accompanied by a meme of several people partying in green clothing. The St. Patty's Day bar crawl he is dragging Hudson and I to. Brooke has bowed out, opting to spend time with her on-again-off-again girlfriend instead. Reading his text though has me groaning. I was looking forward to spending time with my beta tonight. He's been gone the last few days, and I miss his goofy ass.
While Brooklyn, Hudson, Mason, and I are all pack, only Mason and I are in a relationship. Brooklyn isn't attracted to us in that way—any man, really. She's strictly into the ladies and has stolen one out from under us on several occasions. Much to our chagrin. I have to hand it to our pack leader: girl has some serious game. Charisma oozes out of every one of her pores when she wants it to.
Hudson has joined Mason and I once or twice, but he's not emotionally invested the way Mason and I are to each other. So they both date outside the pack. But really, we're all just dating around and hoping we find our fated mates. Just like everyone else. I'll always love Mason, but it's the dream, the one your parents tell you fairy tales about growing up. The hope we all harbor of finding the one person destined for us. Our perfect match in every way. Unfortunately, the odds of finding your fated mate are so slim, most people lose hope somewhere in their twenties.
Not Pack Whitlock, though. Nope. All four of us are still holding out hope we'll find our perfect match or matches, and we're all either late twenties or early thirties. I have a theory that we're all destined for the same person, though, since we fit together as a pack so well as it is.
Me
My bed will be lonely without you. xxx
What? I'm a romantic at heart, despite my gruff appearance. Sue me.
Brooke
Gross. Keep it in your pants.
Mason
I'll video call you later. *winky face*
My blood heats at his text. It won't be the same, but at least I have something to look forward to tonight. A new text pops up, this time from my next client.Shit.
"I gotta head out. I'll see you at home for dinner," I shout to Hudson, jump into my car and pull out of the driveway of our potential new project. I send a quick text before getting on the main road.
Me
Can't wait. x
* * *
I'm leaning against my car in the airport terminal, waiting to pick up my beta. He could have taken a cab and met us at the first bar, but I missed him so I offered to pick him up instead. With my arms crossed against my chest, toe tapping, and eyes darting between the three possible doors he could exit the airport from, I’m getting antsy. His flight landed forty minutes ago, so he should be coming out any minute.
Five minutes later, I'm ready to go inside to meet him halfway, when I see a head of shoulder length blonde hair and a perpetually happy face ambling towards me. His mouthwatering scent of summer rain and freshly mowed grass has me half-hard before he even touches me.
"Miss me?" Mason taunts with a smirk when he gets within touching distance. Instead of answering, I grab the front of his shirt and yank him roughly against my body. One hand snakes into the hair at the nape of his neck as I slam my lips to his.
He groans, the vibrations running through me. I lick the seam of his lips, and he opens for me without hesitation. My tongue tangles with his in a sensual caress as I pour all three days worth of love and missing him into the kiss.
I'm painfully hard at this point, which Mason uses to his advantage by rubbing against my raging erection, and I have to pull back before we get carried away. His eyes are still closed when I pull away, and he tries to chase my lips on instinct. Lust pours off him, and I cackle at his dazed expression. My laugh breaks him from his haze, and he scowls at me. The effect is lessened by the twinkle in his hazel eyes.
All of a sudden, he's back to his giddy, boyish persona. "Alright, let's get drunk!"
Mason picks up his bag that he had dropped to the ground during our heated make-out and digs around before pulling out a pin.
