Sloane’s laugh was rich and magnetic, sinking into Jamie like it belonged there. “Deal.”
Chapter Two
“You okay to drive home?” Sloane asked, knowing full well his mate wasn’t. His mate. Motherfuck. The human was his mate. Sloane couldn’t stop thinking it. That fact was still unbelievable. He hadn’t been looking for a mate. Not now. Not when his life was a complete mess. And from Jamie’s flinch—which wasn’t from a goddamn espresso machine—his life was possibly a mess too.
Hazel eyes half-closed, Jamie pointed to his feet. “Got me here. Tank’s half empty, but I’ll manage. Just as long as no other feet cut me off.” He smiled up at Sloane. “Or I don’t crash into a telephone pole.”
Something warm unfurled in Sloane’s chest. His wolf rumbled with satisfaction at the sight of their mate smiling. It was a far cry from the frown Jamie had worn when he first saw him. “How about I use my car to drive you home? Telephone poles have a way of sneaking up on you in the dead of night.”
It looked as if Jamie was trying to arch an eyebrow, but his face wouldn’t cooperate, making it appear as if his eyebrows were trying to escape his face instead. “You drive a minivan? Please tell me it’s not a minivan. It would totally ruin your badass persona.”
Sloane shook his head, smirking at the image of pulling up to the pack house in a soccer van. His brother would never let him live it down. “Not even close. Dodge Charger, dark blue. Back seat’s clean, in case you’re worried about leaving DNA evidence.”
The blush that swept over Jamie’s face was almost enough to make Sloane feral. “What if I want to leave a little evidence behind?”
Jamie was drunk, which meant nothing would happen tonight, but the shit the guy was saying… “We’ll negotiate those terms outside.”
As well as finding out who’d hurt his mate. Sloane was dying to slip off Jamie’s jacket to examine his arm, but without the guy’s consent, Sloane was hands off.
“You gonna sweep me off my feet and carry me out the door like a scene from An Officer and a Gentleman?” Jamie swayed on his stool, his eyes glassy as he studied Sloane with a pout Sloane was dying to nibble.
“Baby, if that’s your fantasy, consider me Zack Mayo.” Sloane brushed his lips over his mate’s ear. “First, you have to be sober. Second, do I get to kiss you like Zack kissed Paula?”
Jamie gasped. “Omg! You know the movie!” he said with drunken seriousness. “Nobody ever gets the referb…reference, but you got it!”
Sloane fought back a smile, a low growl threatening to rumble in his throat. “There’s a lot about me that would blow your mind, kitten.”
“Blow me!” Jamie whispered loud enough to turn a few heads. Jesus. Sloane wasn’t going to survive the night. He was pretty sure Jamie was trying to say “blow my mind” instead. But it made Sloane’s reaction even more feral, even more delighted, and even more amused.
“Did you really bury bodies?” He held up his hands, palms out. “Swear I’m not undercover fuzz.”
If his mate were any more adorable and sweet, Sloane would need to schedule an emergency dental appointment. His wolf was practically rolling over and begging for belly rubs, tail wagging like it was attached to a power drill.
“Let’s get you home.” Sloane pushed from his stool and offered Jamie a steadying hand.
Cool night air hit them as they stepped outside. The street stretched empty except for a few parked cars, their windshields reflecting the glowing moon. Crickets chirped from somewhere in the darkness, and the faint smell of honeysuckle drifted from a nearby garden.
The guy wiggled like a fish trying to prove his sobriety, which only made him sway harder.
“That’s it. One foot. Other foot.” Sloane kept his voice even as Jamie’s weight shifted against him.
“'M fine.” His mate’s declaration lost some effect when he nearly walked into a parking meter.
An amused sigh escaped Sloane. His mate was an adorable handful, all loose limbs and determination to walk in anything but a straight line. “You realize gravity’s not your friend right now.”
“Gravity’s nobody's friend. Keeps pulling us down,” Jamie philosophized while listing dangerously to the left.
Sloane guided him between two cars, one hand hovering near Jamie’s elbow without quite touching. No need to aggravate whatever injury hid under that jacket. The Charger waited three spaces down, dark paint blending into shadow.
Jamie’s head swung toward the car like he’d discovered buried treasure. “That’s not a minivan!”
“Told you.” Sloane opened the passenger door, calculating angles as Jamie swayed. “Watch your—”
Too late. Jamie’s forehead grazed the doorframe before Sloane could redirect him. No impact, just a brush, but Jamie giggled like it was the funniest thing that had happened all night.
“The car attacked me!” His mate dropped into the seat with zero grace, legs sprawled.
Sloane crouched to help arrange Jamie’s limbs inside the vehicle. The seatbelt proved challenging when Jamie kept trying to help, fingers fumbling over Sloane’s.
