My gaze flicks over him in irritation, at the space across his chest and stomach where his seat belt should be. The dashboard dings again, but I don't dare tell him to put it on. He'd start crowing about how Icare.
He catches me glaring at him and he glances down at his body, then back up at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smirk. I curl my lip right back at him and he puffs a burst of air through his nose in response.
Like having a damn bull in my car.
I should be grateful for the reprieve from his endless commentary, but instead, I find myself increasingly unsettled. Whiskey thinking is never a good sign. It invariably leads to some half-baked plan or impulsive decision that causes utter chaos for the rest of us to clean up.
Like breaking into Wraith's loft.
Like antagonizing our new teammate.
Like pushing and prodding at me every chance he gets, as if testing how far he can go before I break.
My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as I take another turn too sharply, the bags and the box from the omega store rustling in the trunk. I force myself to loosen my grip, to steady my breathing.
Control. I need control.
"Are you going to share whatever profound thoughts are occupying that head of yours?" I finally ask, unable to tolerate the mounting tension. "Or am I supposed to guess?"
Whiskey shifts in his seat, angling his body toward me. "Do you really want to know?"
There's something in his tone that warns me to say no.
"Yes," I say instead, because apparently my rationality has abandoned me entirely today. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him studying me, his usually boisterous presence subdued in a way that puts me even more on edge.
The dashboard dings again. My jaw clenches.
"I'm thinking about Ivy," he finally says, his voice low and rough. "And I'm thinking about you. And I'm thinking about why those two things keep getting tangled up in my head."
My grip tightens on the steering wheel again. "We're all affected by her scent. It's biology. As I've already explained."
"Yeah, that's what you keep saying." He leans back in his seat, but his gaze remains fixed on me. "But here's the thing. It doesn't explain why I was dreaming aboutyoubefore she ever entered those same dreams."
The words hit me like a slap. I keep my eyes fixed on the road, fighting to maintain my composure even as heat crawls up my neck to my face.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" He's watching me too closely, tracking every micro-expression I fail to suppress. "Don't say it out loud? Don't acknowledge what's been happening between us for years?"
"There's nothing happening between us," I say through gritted teeth. "We're packmates. Nothing more."
"Bullshit. You feel it too. That's why you're always so wound up around me. Why you flinch when I get too close. Why I piss you off just by existing."
"I'd appreciate if you'd drop this line of conversation."
"Would you?" He shifts again, leaning closer.
"Yes," I bite out, taking the turn onto our street sharply enough to knock him back into the passenger seat where he belongs.Ding.I gesture angrily to the pack house looming up ahead as we pull into the parking garage. "Look. We're home. We don't have time for this."
"Fair enough," he says dryly, already opening the door even though I haven't even had time to pull into a damn parking space yet.
"For fuck's sake, Whiskey!" I slam the brakes, jerking us both forward.
He's already got his foot half out of the door as we roll to a stop in the parking spot. The dashboard dings one last time in final protest.
"What?" He blinks innocently at me. "We're here."
"We're not evenstopped," I hiss, throwing the car into park with more force than necessary. "Do you have a death wish? Oh wait. You do. I already know that."
