We hunted for a while, Cameo huffing occasionally with either irritation or disgust, I wasn't sure. But even as the sun started to slip behind the low buildings, we never managed to find the tracker.
"I'm sending that piece of shit to the junk yard," Cameo swore, using some cleansing wipes from his glovebox to wipe his hands thoroughly. "She needs something more reliable anyway."
"You can't just get a woman a brand new car?" I said incredulously. “Besides, what stops them from putting another one in the new car?”
"It's a courting gift," Cameo said, as though this was remotely normal behaviour. “And as for the tracker issue… I’ll sort it.”
It was pointless to ask how exactly he planned on doing that. The problem with being best friends with a tech genius when the most school you’ve done was learning how to properly spatchcock a chicken was that when he really got into the technical speak, he might as well have been speaking a foreign language, like those dramas Joon watched in the evenings.
"She hasn't agreed to anything yet, Cam, you can't just?—"
"She will, though," he interrupted, and the confidence in his voice made me wonder again if he'd fucked her before dropping her off.
"You can't be certain of that.”
"Call it manifestation then, stronzo," the alpha said with a shrug that made his leather jacket creak around his shoulders. “Is it really too difficult for you to imagine that I just understand women better than you do?"
I scoffed.
There was about as much of a chance that he'd wear a hot pink powersuit as there was that Cameo understoodanyone, much less awoman, better than I did.
And, there it was. Pushing out of the earth again.
Pesky, cloying, hope.
Eva was beautiful, delightfully submissive, and, if Joon's jealous ranting was to be believed, smart. Those were good qualities, the types of things you'd check off on a form if we'd begun looking for a surrogate the typical way. But we weren't a typical pack, and the idea of picking the mother of our baby from a stack of file folders felt a bit soulless.
Besides, we needed someone who understood our pack's unique… quirks.
Artificial insemination wasn't off the table, for example, but it certainly created a lack of mystery when it came to who the father was.
In my ideal situation… I saw it as more fluid. That we'd all make efforts to create the little life that we'd raise together.
The hole in our pack left by Mindy filled at last.
"You're hoping I'm right, I know you are," Cameo continued, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. "And when I am, I expect first dibs."
I snorted, shoving as many of Eva's belongings into her gym bag as would fit. "If she agrees, you can fuck her in front of me on the kitchen table."
I straightened up, closing the door, no matter how futile it was with a busted window, just in time to catch the excited glint in Cameo's eyes. "On theisland."
Internally, I cringed. I wasn't half the germaphobe that my friend was, but the kitchen was my domain. I liked my stuff to be in its place. The surfaces to be sanitary…
"Fine," I said, pretty sure that a woman like Eva wouldn't be swayed by a couple of expensive gifts. "I'll even make pina coladas."
Cameo turned his nose up, sticking his tongue out in a way that could only be described as childish. "Coconut is disgusting. Strawberry daiquiris would be better."
"Whatever," I laughed. "It's not going to happen anyway. You heading out?"
"I'll wait for the tow truck," Cameo said. "I'll see you at home."
I got into my car, waving to my packmate as I pulled out of the lot to head back to the restaurant.
She wouldn't say yes, I knew she wouldn't. But I risked being late to dinner service to stop at the grocer to get the ingredients for the daiquiris anyway… just in case.
I rubbedat my heavy eyes and closed all the tabs I had open for stream with a relieved sigh.
All evening, it was “Eva, you okay? You look tired,” or “damn, you’re off your game tonight.” And the most annoying thing was that none of them were wrong. It’d been a few days since Cameo dropped me off at home, and ever since, I’d been on edge.
