Archer nodded. “Nice. I was debating on this or a Charger.”
“Camaro all the way. This sleek design will wet panties, if you know what I’m saying. No problems except for the brakes. I also had to fix a dent on the hood that some wild animal made, but I guess that’s the shit you deal with in the country.”
“My name’s Archer Swift. I’m with the Arrowhead pack.”
The man jerked his whiskery chin up. “Noah Miller. Tiger. I run alone.” He stripped off his jacket, turned, then lifted the back of his shirt to reveal a massive tattoo that covered the entirety of his back.
“That’s badass,” Archer said, hating to admit the truth.
Noah lowered his shirt and faced him. “The liquid fire to seal it was a bitch. You got anything else besides that?” He tapped the base of his throat, referring to Archer’s crown of thorns.
“Just a small one.”
“Let’s see it.” Noah tucked his dark shades in the collar of his shirt.
Archer hated this idea already. He shucked out of his leather coat and gripped it. Then he twisted his body to show off the tattoo on his upper arm.
Noah glanced at the winged bow firing an arrow, and then his direction changed course. “I didn’t know you were a tripod. It must be a bitch for your wolf to get around, but you’re pretty jacked. Where the hell do you get that fit around here? There isn’t a gym.”
Archer put his jacket back on. “I’ve got a private gym. You should come check it out,” he said, instantly wishing he could stuff those words back into his mouth, swallow them, and send them to the bowels of regret.
What the actual fuck am I doing?
Noah arched his brows and revealed a glimmer of genuine excitement. “Seriously? I’ve been wanting to tighten up my quads and work on my abs.” Noah flexed his arm. “Decent biceps, but the rest could use work. Shit. If a tripod can get that ripped, I’m just being a lazy-ass. Arrowhead pack, you say?”
“Yeah. You know Hamish? We’re next door.”
Noah groaned. “Jesus. That guy is a fuckwit.”
“I’m not trying to hold you guys up, but I had to check out your ride.”
“It’s fine,” Noah said loudly before clearing his throat. “I can respect a man with good taste.”
“It must have set you back a bundle. I’m still saving up.”
Noah scratched his stubbly jaw. “I know someone who can give you a good deal. He owes me a favor.”
Archer liked that idea a lot. “Any type of car?”
Noah shrugged. “Pretty much. It depends on your budget. Are you a personal trainer?”
“Sure,” he said, realizing that his lies had now woven into a ten-foot tapestry. “Come by and check it out. But you should be careful with that Camaro. The roads out here are fucked up with all the potholes, and it looks like you’ve had a few drinks. It’s a pain in the ass to pull your car out of a ditch around here since there isn’t a tow service. Maybe you should see if the little lady can handle something that powerful,” he said with a laugh.
Noah smiled wide. “That one’s as timid as a mouse. But you’re right. I drank too much free beer today.”
Archer scoffed. “Free beer? Was I asleep?”
Noah shifted his stance and kicked the gravel around. “That hot little waitress said we won a door prize, so everything was paid for—unless she was coming on to me.”
Archer pondered on that for a minute. Mercy was always talking Calvin into things, so maybe they had a contest going on. Or she could have figured out who this woman was. Inany case, Archer kept his mouth shut. “I won’t keep you guys. You’ll have to give me your friend’s contact info.”
“See you around, Archer. I’ll swing by one night. I work most days,” he said, grabbing his sport jacket from the hood. “But I’ll figure something out. Cool?”
“Cool.”
When Noah made it to the passenger side and opened the door, Archer retreated to the bar while contemplating whether he had just unlocked a new level of stupidity. The car pulled out, brakes squealing.
Invite the enemy over. Brilliant idea. Make friends with a guy who’s mated to a girl you slept with. Great job. Why the hell didn’t I get her name? Because that’s what psychos do—they ask randos in a parking lot the name of their girl.
