I sigh.
Figures.
“It’s been a minute,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since…”
“Yeah.”
We stand there for a moment, listening to the heavy bass rattle in our ears.
“Well, good luck,” I say when neither of us speaks for a while.
He lifts his cup and bows his head.
“You too.”
Shit. That’s not good.
I turn, prepared to ask him who he’s here for, but he’s already gone, replaced by a burly wolf shouldering his way through the crowd.
From the look on the boy’s face, he’s had too much brew. Which he confirms the moment he crashes into me, and my drink sloshes over my fingers.
“Hells!” I shout, shoving him back a step.
His body jerks and he whirls, face twisted in a grimace.
“What the fu?—”
He groans, surprised to find someone behind him. Or maybe just surprised that other people exist. I can’t tell which. But the anger in his face washes away as he focuses on me.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters, straightening himself. “My bad, sweetheart.”
“You can’t say excuse me?” I snap.
Beside him, a young, willowy wolf with bright white fur fists his jacket.
“D, don’t—” the white wolf warns.
But it seems D isn’t the brightest wolf in the pack.
“I’m Deacon,” he says, jutting out his hand and knocking into my cup again.
“Gods damnit!” I snap.
The white wolf steps in.
“We’re sorry. He’s sorry. Please forgive him.”
I take one long look at him, at his strangely muscular physique and sweaty outstretched palm, and leave his hand hanging dead in the air as I turn to make my way through the crowd. But Deacon is either the bravest man in this house or the dumbest. My bet’s on the latter.
He snatches me by the wrist, yanking me back a step as he bemoans.
“Ohhh, come on,” he slurs, pulling me closer and resting a hand on my hip. “Don’t be like that. It was an accident.”
“An accident?” I echo.
He nods, still grinning, and I almost gag as his lust perfumes the air.
It tastes stale, like sweat and nickel, exactly what you’d expect from a boy who looks like he practices picking up women in the mirror.
