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She stabbed pearl studs into her ears, hoping half-heartedly that they’d add some class to what might be considered a somewhat scandalous dress. But she was twenty-three, and she might as well enjoy her generously curved figure. She gave her gold-dusted legs a little smile as she twisted in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall to admire the slope of her ass in the skintight gray dress, the hint of text from that still-sore new tattoo peeking over the plunging back, before she stepped into the living room again.
Danika let out a wicked laugh that rumbled over the nature show the wolves were watching. “I bet fifty silver marks the bouncers don’t let you through the doors looking like that.”
Bryce flipped off her friend as the pack chuckled. “I’m sorry if I make you feel self-conscious about your bony ass, Danika.”
Thorne barked a laugh. “At least Danika makes up for it with her winning personality.”
Bryce smirked at the handsome Omega. “That must explain why I have a date and she hasn’t been on one in … what’s it now? Three years?”
Thorne winked, his blue eyes sliding toward Danika’s scowling face. “Must be why.”
Danika slouched in her chair and propped her bare feet on the coffee table. Each toenail was painted a different color. “It’s only been two years,” she muttered. “Assholes.”
Bryce patted Danika’s silken head as she passed. Danika nipped at her fingers, teeth flashing.
Bryce chuckled, entering the narrow kitchen. She pawed through the upper cabinets, glass rattling as she searched for the—
Ah. The gin.
She knocked back a shot. Then another.
“Rough night ahead?” Connor asked from where he leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his muscular chest.
A drop of gin had landed on her chin. Bryce narrowly avoided wiping the sin-red lipstick off her mouth with the back of her wrist and instead opted for patting it away with a leftover napkin from the pizza place. Like a proper person.
That color should be called Blow Job Red, Danika had said the first time Bryce had worn it. Because that’s all any male will think about when you wear it. Indeed, Connor’s eyes had dipped right to her lips. So Bryce said as nonchalantly as she could, “You know I like to enjoy my Thursday nights. Why not kick it off early?”
She balanced on her toes as she put the gin back in the upper cupboard, the hem of her dress rising precariously high. Connor studied the ceiling as if it were immensely interesting, his gaze only snapping to hers as she settled on her feet again. In the other room, someone turned the volume on the television up to an apartment-rattling level.
Thank you, Danika.
Even wolf hearing couldn’t sort through that cacophony to eavesdrop.
Connor’s sensuous mouth twitched upward, but he remained in the doorway.
Bryce swallowed, wondering how gross it would be to chase away the burn of the gin with the beer she’d left warming on the counter.
Connor said, “Look. We’ve known each other a while …”
“Is this a rehearsed speech?”
He straightened, color staining his cheeks. The Second in the Pack of Devils, the most feared and lethal of all the Auxiliary units, was blushing. “No.”
“That sounded like a rehearsed introduction to me.”
“Can you let me ask you out, or do I need to get into a fight with you about my phrasing first?”
She snorted, but her guts twisted. “I don’t date wolves.”
Connor threw her a cocky grin. “Make an exception.”
“No.” But she smiled slightly.
Connor merely said with the unwavering arrogance that only an immortal predator could achieve, “You want me. I want you. It’s been that way for a while, and playing with these human males hasn’t done a damn thing to make you forget that, has it?”
No, it hadn’t. But she said, her voice mercifully calm despite her thundering heart, “Connor, I’m not going out with you. Danika is bossy enough. I don’t need another wolf, especially a male wolf, trying to run my life. I don’t need any more Vanir shoving into my business.”
His golden eyes dimmed. “I’m not your father.”
