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“Oh! That. Right. I’m glad you asked.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I.”
“No, probably not. Well, at least not at first. But then you will love it.”
“We’re going out,” Chris said, coming into the kitchen.
“And you’re going with us,” Tanner said, right behind him.
“It’s been too long since it’s been just us,” Rico said, and drank more of my beer. “Everything has been all wolves and pack and scary shit coming out of the trees wanting to eat me. And don’t even get me started about the Alphas working our asses into the ground.”
“Why do we have to run?” Chris asked, head tilted back toward the ceiling. “For miles, even. I mean, I get the whole running away from monsters thing, but I already know how to do that.” He patted his trim stomach. “Do you think I asked for this? Maybe I wanted a beer gut.
”
“And don’t forget the other wolves,” Tanner said, arms folded across his chest. “They’re just as bad. They don’t even get sweaty. And they have fangs. And claws. And can jump really high.”
“It’s completely unfair,” Rico agreed. “Which is why we’re not inviting any of them, and we’re going out to drink too much tonight for our ages, and we’ll wake up tomorrow regretting everything.”
No. Absolutely not. “The shop—”
“Ox and Robbie are opening tomorrow,” Tanner said easily.
“I’ve got invoices to—”
“Jessie said she’d handle them,” Chris said. “I invited her to go along with us, but she said, and I quote, ‘I would rather watch my ex-boyfriend and his werewolf mate have sex.’” He frowned. “I think she actually meant that too.”
“I don’t like any of you enough to—”
“You’re full of shit,” Rico said. “Pendejo.”
I groaned. “Can’t I just have one night to myself?”
“No,” they all said.
“Tanner and I put clothes out on your bed,” Chris said. “Go change.”
“Because you can’t be trusted to dress yourself,” Tanner agreed.
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe if Bambi is willing to share,” Rico said, grinning lecherously at me. “Get your ass in gear, Livingstone. Time waits for no man.”
GREEN CREEK had two bars. The Lighthouse was the one everyone went to on Friday nights. Mack’s was the one most people tried to avoid, given that the glasses were dirty and Mack was more than likely to spit in your drink and spout obscenely racist rhetoric while watching the old television mounted on the wall perpetually showing old episodes of Perry Mason.
We went to the Lighthouse.
There was no lighthouse in Green Creek. We weren’t anywhere near the ocean. It was just one of those things that nobody questioned.
The parking lot was full when we pulled up in Tanner’s truck. Loud honky-tonk poured out from the open doorway, along with bright bursts of laughter. People stood outside in groups, smoke curling heavy up toward the night sky.
“Crowded tonight,” Chris said.
“We could just go home,” I pointed out.
“Nah.”
“I could just go home.”
