“Pierce hates most people,” Thierry said firmly. Then he glanced at us. “Do you two wish to dance?”
I froze, flashing a nervous look at Eli. Eight centuries, and I was probably as poor a dancer as Pierce. I had never bothered to learn how.
“I, um—”
“I can’t dance,” Eli said, immediately saving me. “There was a disastrous attempt at my senior prom. It’s now illegal in all fifty states for me to move to anything but a slow song.”
Thierry rolled his eyes. “You two are perfect for each other.”
Eli beamed at him. “Yeah, we are, aren’t we?”
* * *
“I’m going to need at least two more glasses of champagne. And maybe some whiskey,” Harris told the bartender firmly, his back to us.
A dark-haired werewolf standing behind him in line snorted. “Is it a smart idea to get drunk with so much mixed company?”
Harris turned to glare at him. “Did anyone ask you? This is my first supernatural wedding. I’m definitely not doing it sober.” But as he searched the werewolf’s face, something changed in his expression—softening. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be fine.”
The werewolf looked momentarily startled as he met Harris’s eyes. His lips parted and his posture relaxed. “Um… have we met?”
Harris’s brows pulled together. “You do look familiar,” he admitted. “But no, I don’t think so. Have you ever been to Los Angeles?”
“I can’t say that I have.” The werewolf extended his hand. “Reed. I’m the alpha of the Crescent Springs pack. I’m Jeremy’s best friend.”
“Pack, huh?” The detective took Reed’s hand and shook it. “Harris. I’m a detective—and one of Cole’s friends. He’s Thierry’s brother.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he met Reed’s gaze. “It’s… nice to meet you.”
Behind them, the bartender cleared her throat, looking less than amused. Harris glanced at her. “Right. Sorry. Maybe just the whiskey, actually—something top shelf. And neat.”
“A man after my own heart,” Reed said, studying him intently. There was a warmth in his tone that hadn’t been there before. “Good whiskey shouldn’t be ruined by adding anything to it.”
“Make that two,” Harris said immediately, glancing back at the bartender. She nodded and set to work pouring the drinks. He turned back to Reed. “Weird question, but do you want to dance?”
“Why is that a weird question?” Reed asked, tilting his head.
The bartender placed the drinks down on the counter with an audible click. Harris fished a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and set it in front of her, then took the glasses.
“It’s an open bar,” Reed said, frowning.
Harris nodded toward the line of people waiting behind them. “She’s working hard. She deserves to be tipped well.”
“I manage a bar,” Reed said softly, stepping out of line and accepting the drink Harris offered. “I wish we had more customers like you.”
Harris shrugged, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He still didn’t notice Eli and me standing a few feet away—his focus on Reed was total. I had no problem listening shamelessly, and because I heard every word, Eli caught most of it as well through the bond.
“Maybe I’ll visit sometime,” Harris said. Then he grimaced, flashing a sheepish look at Reed. “But not in a weird stalker way.” He paused, his expression turning vaguely horrified as though he’d just heard how ridiculous he sounded. “Sorry, man. It’s been a while.”
Reed took a sip of his whiskey, then grinned at Harris, his dark eyes bright with a strange emotion—it looked oddly like devotion. “It’s been a while since what?”
“Since I’ve tried to be smooth or whatever,” Harris admitted. “I’m not exactly good at it.”
“Nah, you’re doing fine. Why would it be weird for us to dance?”
“I’ve never—err—” Harris’s blush deepened. “With a guy.”
“Danced? Or—”
“Anything. I’ve never wanted to.” Then Harris froze. “Holy shit, why am I telling you this? I swear I’m not a psychopath.”
