Bryce’s voice grabbed his attention, and he glanced up to find Bryce’s eyes quartering his face, and the rest of the pack falling quiet and looking between the two of them.
Jason froze. He hadn’t given anything away, had he?
“Or Jason just got laid,” Bryce concluded. “No other reason for a smile like that.”
Jason’s cheeks were hot as he stared down at the plate in front of him. He wanted to tell Bryce to shut the hell up, but even if Bryce hadn’t outranked him as pack beta, Jason knew he wouldn’t have said it. He hated confrontation.
And it didn’t matter, not really, because even Bryce’s jokes couldn’t knock the warmth out of him. Riley had kissed him. No teasing could take that away.
“’Bout timesomeonearound here was getting laid,” Christian muttered.
“Thank youverymuch.” Despite his words, Dave didn’t sound upset.
“You know what I mean. Someone other thanus.”
“Sittin’ right here,” Jesse chipped in, and was promptly ignored. It was clear reality didn’t fit with the point Christian wanted to make.
“Think Bryce has that more than covered for the rest of us,” Tristan pointed out.
“Selfless to the last,” Matt agreed. “Now, while everyone’s here—there’ve been a few visitors in town recently. Almost certainly just passing through, but remember to be careful.”
Funny, Jason hadn’t noticed any strangers in the diner. Except Riley, of course, who didn’t count. He’d have to keep his eyes open. Maybe they were eating at the Italian place or The Darcy’s restaurant. Or maybe they were visiting friends or family, in which case, they’d be genuine visitors—no danger to the pack at all.
If the wrong people found out that Jesse was an Argent, they’d want him. They’d want to claim him and control him to boost their own power, whatever their agenda was. That was what Matt had told them, and Matt knew shifter politics. And the only way to get to Jesse was through the pack, which meant anyone who came looking wouldn’t hesitate to tear them apart.
At least Matt’s words had shifted Bryce’s attention away from Jason, for which he was deeply thankful. Bryce could be like a teenage boy in a grown man’s body when it came to talking about sex. When he wasn’t making dad jokes.
The various conversations flowed easily past him, like a tide pulling out to sea. And he went from being relieved to be left alone to ending the meal feeling a little out of place. It wasn’t that he wasn’t welcome. He just wasn’t sure he’d be missed if he weren’t here.
He wondered what Riley was doing right now. Probably working hard on that book of his. He’d have to ask how he chose Elk Ridge to write about. It wasn’t as if there was much here.
Chapter Eight
RILEY
The report Riley finally sent to Amy wouldn’t keep her happy for long, sparse on facts as it was, but at least it would buy him breathing space. He was going to break this story wide open because he wouldn’t accept any other alternative. He just needed her to give him enough time. He also needed to kill that lingering doubt in the back of his mind, the one that said she’d sent him on a wild goose chase as an excuse to get rid of him when he failed.
He closed his laptop with a firm click. Amy wouldn’t need an excuse to sack him—she’d just tell him to gather his stuff and get out. She’d been less than pleased when he’d been parachuted into the newsroom as a completely rookie journalist, whose only talent was in sucking the right person’s dick to get the job. She hadn’t known that last part, of course, and had either believed he had the talent for investigation he claimed, or didn’t care enough to give Riley more than a second’s thought.
He grabbed a couple of ancient peanut butter crackers and a bag of Doritos from the vending machine in the lobby, ate a lonely dinner in his depressing room, and then headed out. Nerissa Taylor had mentioned a couple of bars to him, and he’d given the news of his arrival in town enough time to circulate. He wanted to ask questions and finally get some of those answers he was after.
He wasn’t sure if he’d find shifters in the bars. Didn’t they spend their nights as wolves? Then he remembered that the source who’d tipped them off about the Argent in Elk Ridge had been a shifter and gotten himself knifed in a bar fight, so clearly they didn’t spendalltheir time running wild in the woods.
Maybe it didn’t matter if he found shifters tonight. Locals who weren’t shifters might be more useful. They’d know who the shifters were, and a drink or two would persuade most to share any gossip.
He barely made it two steps inside the first bar before the smell of cheap beer hit him. The place was crowded with college-age kids, already three drinks deep and way too loud. There was little chance of getting information here.
Before he could retreat, he had to gently unpeel the girl who’d already latched onto his arm, babbling about football. Once he got a blast of fruity vodka on her breath, he made sure to hand her back to her friends, rather than leave her to be picked up by one of the frat bros who were circling.
A few hundred yards down the street, a blue neon sign announced the presence ofThe Blue Oyster.Wondering who the hell came up with the name, Riley pushed through the door to find himself in a dimly lit bar with old-school country playing quietly. It was the sort of place a man could nurse a drink instead of chugging it. Figuring this was much more promising for his needs, he sat at the bar and ordered a beer.
It turned out every small-town movie he’d watched was a lie, because the middle-aged guy behind the bar didn’t instantly fall into conversation with him. Instead, he handed over Riley’s beer without missing a beat in his conversation with other customers.
Riley sat and sipped occasionally at his beer, wondering if it would be too rude even for an investigative journalist to break in on the conversation. It wasn’t only his investigative side that had him wanting to interrupt—some numbskull was claiming the Chevelle SS was the best car America had ever produced.
He only realized he was shaking his head when the guy closest to him turned and spoke. “I know, right? Can’t beat a ’68 Charger.”
“With the Hemi,” Riley clarified. “Pure sex on wheels.”
