“And you thinkhedoes it lying down?” the third asked, condescendingly. “Besides,” she went on, “he only goes for older, more experienced women. How don’t you know that already?” Clearly, someone still hadn’t healed after being rejected.
The teenage obsession with egotistical wereball players was one mystery I would never solve. There weren’t enough brain cells in the world to make sense of it. He probably had an overworked hamster running laps inside his spacious skull while they all drooled over him.
“I can lie about my age,” the first girl declared. They were all wearing clothes that their parents probably didn’t know they owned, more skin than fabric.
The second girl giggled. “You’d need a fake ID and a master’s degree in deepthroating!”
“What are you gonna do when he’s standing in front of you, full Terminator mode, expecting some experienced action?”
“You’d probably faint,” the friend added, patting her arm. “That’s if you even survived a quarter of his?—”
“Shutup!” the first snapped, blushing. “You have a mate!”
“So what? The Terminator’s hotter. Even my mate admits it.”
“Yeah, and unless you’re one of his regulars or BYOL, forget it.”
“BYOL?”
“Bring your own lube,” she said with a shrug, “or he won’t fit.”
I was about two seconds away from letting my wolf out and sitting on them to give a lecture.Like, please read a book! Or at least stop inflating this dude’s ego.
Then someone squeaked. “I hope the Highlander is here, too!”
Lachlan stiffened like he’d just been electrocuted. I bit back a laugh.
“Do you think he’ll let me touch his Scottish hair?”
“Oh yeah, I want all his Scottishness!”
Lachlan hid his impossible-to-hide oversized alpha self under a hoodie and big black shades. People threw weird looks his way, noticing he was too wide and too tall to be a normal werewolf. Or maybe they thought two werewolves were under there—but his aura practically shouted,Alpha here, beware.
“Everyone can still recognize those freckles,” Amaia deadpanned, receiving a scoff.
“They glow at night, like plankton,” I teased.
“So true!”
“You two comparing me to sea bugs now?” Lachlan grunted, his arms swooping around us and tugging us close as protection.
“They aren’t invertebrates. Part animal, part plant,” I informed.
“That makes it so much better.”
“They’re bioluminescent!” Amaia giggled. I raised a brow. She never giggled. It was a sight…especially since Lachlan grinned back and booped her nose.
At the entrance, the camouflage failed spectacularly when Lachlan, like the rest of us mortals, had to scan his face. Screams and cheers exploded around us. I was suddenly glad I’d come, if only to see my twin flounder around awkwardly—his price for playing wereball and worrying me sick.
“Later,” he groaned, vanishing into a reporter swarm.
We headed off to find the medical program manager. Amaia immediately launched into a speech about how turmeric might cure cancer and how she was drafting up a paper about it in her free time.
Amaia’s mind never rested, a supercomputer working for the good of society. People might have mocked her behind her back, but no one truly bullied her—too scared of her IQ and her friends. I never got why her brilliance didn’t attract more than sideways glances.
“Yvaine!”
Oh, no.
