“Yes.” He smiles all the way now, and I think the act isn’t the most natural for him, but I take it like the sun setting in the sky for the first time.
“Give me your number.” I say, but then his face drops.
“I don’t have one.” My heart immediately fucking drops.
“Uh, you don’t have to give me your number; you could give me your social media, so you can block me after, in case you hate me,” I brush off, trying not to be hurt. But the sting lingers on my cheeks.
“It’s not that. I don’t have a phone.”
“You don’t?” Oh, maybe he isn’t rejecting me? I’m so confused. My mind is racing as I try to figure out what this really means.
“You’ve been to a hockey game?” he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the arena. I smile, more embarrassed since I’ve been avoiding the arena, knowing Cherry God will most likely be there, him being a hockey player and all. But if a giant, tanned, and handsome man wants to take me out to a hockey game, then well, I guess I could put my big girl panties on and go.
“I have.” The loud cheering sets my nerves off, and the bright lights are bothersome. Also, all the scents,and dirty seats, and… I catch Havoc’s eye again, and they sparkle. He must like hockey.
Of course, he likes hockey. What else would he be doing here?
“How about dinner tomorrow instead?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Was I that obvious?” I huff in annoyance at myself.
“Loud arenas aren’t my favorite either,” he shrugs.
“The sounds, the smells, it’s… a lot, though I’ve only been to one, maybe it’s different now.” I try to give the game the benefit of the doubt, but he nods his head, still smiling. His smile makes me feel less bad about not loving the hockey suggestion.
“It’s not,” he chuckles. “But most folks around here love the game.”
“I’d prefer dinner, can’t go wrong with food,” I say. “I close at 7.” I got myself a date.I did the asking, too.Wow, my therapist would be so impressed with me right now.
“Dinner it is then, sweetheart.” As he walks out of the store, I can’t get my smile to relax as another customer comes in. A couple this time, and I run around turning on all the humidifiers on full blast to get our scents out of the air. I’m feeling possessive as I want that chocolate scent to myself.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
THORNE
“You've got a date?” Silas sputters. His eyes are wide as his jaw hangs from his mouth. It’s the day of the game, and Havoc walks through the door from, I guess, Cozy Bear Blankets and right into interrogation.
Silas disappeared after morning practice yesterday, and this morning, Havoc was up bright and early and left before I could make him breakfast—the damn jerk.
“Yes, I’m taking her to dinner.”
“Andsheaskedyou?” Silas asks. It’s not that Havoc doesn’t pull women; it’s that they’re scared of him, at first. He doesn’t talk much, which puts most people on edge.
“Yes.”
“She didn’t ask me. Did she ask you, Thorne?” Myhead darts to them, now being brought into the fold of their conversation.
“Um, no.” She didn’t. The second I mentioned the samples, it was like her brain switched into business mode. I know I’m not the best flirt, but almost falling on my ass takes the damn cake. Even when we scent-matched Havoc in that bar, I was too damn… scared to approach him. That was all Silas and his charm got Havoc to open up.
Silas is the charmer in our Pack. He’s got smooth brown skin and dark eyes that lure people, and that damn smile. That damn smile — I could eat off his fucking face; it looks so damned good.
Havoc was a tough nut, no pun intended. Between his past and his time with the mafia, he was not interested in Pack life. But scent mates are hard to resist.
I am damn glad for it too.
“You have to introduce us,” Silas says. He sits beside Havoc at the kitchen island while I make us the most basic fucking sandwich for lunch. I grumble, but these huge men in front of me could give less of a fuck what they put into their mouths. At least I can slap some lettuce on this and get a damn vegetable in them.
