“It’s no problem. I would hate for your books to get wet.”
He blinks.
“My what?”
“Your books,” I say, gesturing in their general direction.
Most of them made it out okay, but his copy of Manhurst is now dripping on the table, and I cringe.
“Sorry about Manhurst,” I add. “I hope it’s not too damaged to finish. It’s one of my favorites.”
“O-h,” he stammers, and I can tell just from the way he’s looking at me that he’s nervous. He keeps glancing at my face, then my chest, then back at his books. He wants to stare, but he’s doing his best not to. It’s admirable, I guess, but I wish he’d just pick one. The back-and-forth is giving me whiplash.
“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I can always get a new one. You-you’ve read Manhurst?”
There is an unmistakable tone of surprise in his voice, and I suddenly remember why I have put off hunting for so long.
It’s exhausting. And it’s moments like these that remind me why Isaac doesn’t encourage talking to your marks. They rarely have anything interesting to say. They’re just too blinded by the glamour to see past it.
“Yes,” I answer, short as I can manage.
“That’s amazing!” he exclaims, causing a few heads to turn. “It’s so nice to meet a girl who takes an interest in the finer things.”
I blink, wishing he’d stop talking before he ruins my appetite.
“Likewise,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tongue.
But it goes unnoticed as the wolf merely smiles and nods.
“Most men are too concerned with their egos to pick up a book these days,” I add.
I grin and pick at my French fries as I watch my words land, and his face darken, a shadow creeping into his eyes.
“I agree,” he says.
No, he doesn’t. And he’s a piss poor liar. His irritation is splashed across his face like a blood stain. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the space between his ears.
I rest my hand on his arm, dragging my nails across his skin, slow and deliberate, until a flavor creeps into the air. Like a rain cloud forming, his lust congregates, an odd mixture of metal and wood.
Gods, they’re so easy.
I lean forward in anticipation, prepared to make a meal out of him, only for a deep voice to cut in.
“Hey, baby.”
A heavy hand settles on the back of my neck, squeezing gently as the chair beside me scrapes across the floor, making room for the one person I’m almost never excited to see.
He presses a swift kiss to my cheek as he drops into the seat with a wide grin already on his face.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, eyeing the young wolf like a fresh kill.
The boy stands abruptly and drops his head, eyes trained on the floor.
“Cross, sir. I didn’t mean?—”
“This is your last warning, Covington. I see you near her again, Iwillhave you docked. Do you understand me?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
