Melissa, having noticed the turfing of the battery acid, shot me a covert grin. Of Tristan, however, I had seen nothing, and I was beginning to think she’d lured me out under false pretenses. But apart from Gary’s (or Larry’s) boomerang arm, it was actually turning out to be a pretty awesome night. I’d already planned on getting a ride home with Melissa, who was the self-proclaimed designated driver, because Chris was already well-lubricated on firewater.
It was a beautiful night and only a handful of Thorne Bay denizens were out to appreciate the gibbous moon floating high over the water. It mantled the ripples with bands of silver. It seemed to me an otherworldly moon with its strange halo of diaphanous clouds. I was suddenly stuck with sentiment, thinking about all the amazing things that had happened since I’d left Florida. If someone had told me, at the beginning of the year, that by July I’d be watching an Alaskan moon rise over the bay with my new friends, I’d have never believed them.
Melissa nudged me suddenly, distracting me from the view, and gestured over towards a group of people that had appeared around some rocks. My stomach instantly twisted with disappointment as they neared and the moonlight caught each of their faces. Dean was one among them, but not Tristan.
This brother was, admittedly, something to look at, and so I took the opportunity to study him because he was by no means a lesser exemplification of male beauty. As though he’d felt my scrutiny, Dean turned to look right at me, instantly putting the kibosh on my curiosity. Sighing, I shifted my attention half-heartedly to Chris who had been telling me a joke I’d hardly heard.
“Whoa,” Melissa whispered with another poke at my ribs, “he can’t stop looking at you.”
“Gary?” I asked distastefully.
“No”—she made an impatient sound—“Dean.”
I looked over at Tristan’s brother, and then just as quickly snapped my head back around to my friend. “Shit! What the hell for?”
She sniggered into her cup so that all I could see was the knowing hike of her brows. “You know why.”
With a blank stare, I tilted my cup of pretend vodka to my lips.
“You’re a hottie, Ev. Shit, I stare at you all the time and I’m straight.”
I hadn’t meant to dispute that with a fit of coughing, but somehow I’d managed to snort up a lungful of water. Clearly, I struggled with compliments. As I bent over gasping for air, Melissa gave my back a patronizing pat, laughing unrepentantly. When I raised my watering eyes back up it was to see Dean’s mouth curving slyly as he watched me make a mess of myself. He wasn’t the only one who’d witnessed me inhaling my drink—Tristan had joined the group.
My stomach somersaulted excitedly as I met his eyes, but instead of walking over, as I’d half-expected, he only acknowledged me with a cursory nod and continued talking to the blonde standing beside him. Nicole.
Standing? Pfft. There was far more clinging and leaning than actual standing on her part.
My throat constricted as he bent his head to her, those blood red lips practically wrapping themselves around his ear as she whispered. Next thing she’ll be tonguing him, the tart. But that was unfair of me. If she really was his girlfriend, which seemed very likely now, then she had every right to do all manner of things with her tongue. Bile settled bitterly into my gut.
Nicole must have sensed me watching too, or had noticed Tristan ‘greeting’ me earlier, because she fired one helluva stink eye in my direction. That was interesting. Was her touchy-feely display more a means to mark her territory than to show affection? Either way, watching them together had turned my gut and instantly soured my good mood. But I didn’t want to make Melissa and Matt leave early on my behalf, so I pulled my big girl socks up and resolved to ignore the couple.
My only consolation was that I’d not seen Tristan smile at her even once, nor had he returned her embraces; the canoodling was all, admittedly, pretty one-sided. Still, I decided then and there that Tristan was off limits and I was not going to be doing any more sketches of him. My diary would, from now on, be a Tristan-free zone. And so, figuratively, would my shower be.
Sometime during my lovelorn looks and inner monologues, I’d lost track of Melissa’s whereabouts. The sneaky little wench had vanished by the time I dragged my eyes away from Tristan to look for her. I waited for what felt like an hour (but was likely only five minutes), studiously avoiding Tristan while my poor ears were being filled with Chris’ nattering. Melissa was probably off snogging Matt’s face off in the dark somewhere, and getting pine needles in unfortunate places. She’d be back soon, I hoped, and then we could finally go.
Surely five minutes was enough time for them to ‘do it like they do on the Discovery Channel’? I was tired of removing Gary’s hand and listening to Chris’ verbal diarrhea, so I figured I was fully within my right to call in the friend card. My thumbnail was hooked impatiently behind my eyetooth as I pressed my phone to my ear, waiting for the ringing that never came. It went straight to voicemail.
I turned my back to Chris, not that he could hear me over Gary’s horrific belching anyway. “Mel, you deserter,” I hissed after the tone had beeped. “You’ve literally left me to a pack of drunken wolves!” Then I jammed my finger at the screen and hung up.
“Not all of us wolves are drunk,” a voice drawled from behind me.
I squeaked as I whirled around. How had I not seen or heard Dean sneak up on me? The man was built like a brick shit-house, for God’s sake. “Sorry, didn’t see you there…” Eavesdropping.
“Evan, is it?” His dark eyes and wily grin were strangely hyena-like.
“Yes.” I only barely stopped myself from appending that with a ‘sir’.
Chris had made himself scarce as soon as Dean had joined us, unlike Gary who held his ground and stood swaying dangerously between us. But Dean’s cold glare finally seemed to blast through the booze fog in Gary’s brain. With a pained little hiccup, he eventually staggered off, probably to go find Chris or pass out in a bush. Hopefully a bush with nettles and fire ants.
He took my cold hand confidently in his, his palm like a furnace. “I’m Dean.”
I know. I nodded, pulling my hand safely away.
“Can I refill your water for you, Evan?”
“This isn’t…I’m actually drinking…” I dropped my gaze into the red cup. Busted.
“It’s okay. I’m not much of a drinker myself.”
What? You don’t drink the blood of newborn babies? Better not, I decided. Even Tristan was somewhat sensitive about the cult jokes lately.
“Like to stay in control, you know.”
Like his brother. What was it with these Thorn brothers and their control freak tendencies?
“So my little brother’s caught your eye.” It wasn’t a question.
Little brother? There was nothing “little” about Tristan.
Dean, I noticed furtively, was looking sternly between Tristan and I.
Here I’d thought I’d been sly about my unreciprocated mooning. I couldn’t very well deny it because my stupid blush incriminated me instantly. In cases such as these, I determined, silence was the only answer. Damn, he unnerved me. “We’re just friends.” The word tasted like lemons.
“Relax,” he said, eyeing my fidgety hands. “Look all you like, it’s nothing to me.”
“Gee, thanks,” I finally mumbled. What a jerk. He was right, it was no business of his where I bloody looked.
“What does concern me, however, is the way that he keeps looking at you.” Yup, that definitely stuck in his craw. “Neither of you are fooling anyone with your friendly looks.”
“And that’s a problem because Nicole’s his girlfriend?” I asked, forcing restless eyes up at him.
Dean smirked. “Nice try. You should ask him that.”
“He seems a little busy.” That awful lump from this morning rose into my throat as I recalled the moment he’d nearly kissed me.
Dean’s brows pleated. “He’s not so much busy—” with an impatient s
igh “—as obligated.”
“What does that mean?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Evan.” His lips compressed as though talking had become a nuisance. “He’ll either make it your business or he won’t.”
Was Nicole preggers or something? Was it that kind of obligation?
“And I don’t have to warn you not to get on Blondie’s bad side,” Dean said, throwing a nod at Nicole, “because it’s too late for that.”
Yeah. I was already there. “Does she even have a good side?”
“Nope,” he said candidly. “And, unfortunately for you, you’ve already established your rank in the pack.”
“Huh?”
“The pack of ‘drunken wolves’,” he answered.
Ugh. I’d almost forgotten that he’d heard me.
“So guess where timidity gets you in the hierarchy.” When I made no answer he took a step closer. “Want some advice?”
Okay, creepy-hot-guy-who-I-barely-know. “Uh, sure.”
“Keep your eyes up,” he warned, the words almost too low to hear. “And beware the wolf you don’t see.”
What the hell did that mean?
He backed away, eyes flashing with amusement. At first, I thought the smirk was at my expense, but when I followed his gaze I was confronted by Tristan’s. There seemed to be a silent argument raging across the space that lay between them—the crossfire in which I stood.
Nicole had also noticed that she no longer held Tristan’s fulminating attention, so she promptly added her black scowl to theirs.
Yeah, this is getting weird. “Sooo, I’m gonna go find Melissa.” I offered Dean one of those awkward smiles I was good at, wished him a good night, and then turned to scuttle away while ignoring Tristan altogether.
“Evan…”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Hmm?”
“Melissa’s over there.” He gestured to the makeshift parking lot.
“Uh, thanks.” I removed my hoodie and tied it around my waist, finding it suddenly too uncomfortable and hot against my skin. “Seeya.”
“Seeya,” he mimicked.
I found Melissa exactly where Dean said she’d be. “Don’t you answer your phone anymore?”
“Battery died.” Her brows arched inquisitively. “Are you okay? You look flushed.”
That she could tell how hot and bothered I was, even in the dark, only exacerbated the color further. “I’m fine, let’s just go.”
Melissa looked past my shoulder, grinning.
Since I could still feel two heavy gazes on my back, I had no need to see for myself what amused her now.
“Hot damn, girl. You just got eye-poked by two hotties.”
“Jeez, Mel, shut up!” Remembering their bionic hearing, I pulled her away, trying to smother her words with a desperate hand.
“Sure you wanna leave?” She easily dodged my frantic hands. “I think they want to know you biblically.”
“Shh!” I then begged Matt to leash his woman, but he only chuckled and shrugged in surrender.
“Someone wants a bit of the ole in and out,” Mel went on. “Some lust and thrust.”
“I’m gonna kill you!” As soon as she got me home I would literally strangle her.
When she began to sing Sexual Healing I sprinted after her towards the car, ready to tackle her if necessary. Maybe after I’d smacked her around a bit, we’d have a serious talk about the girl code.
14
The Patient Wolf
I had just closed my door as the storm, that had been hovering broodily in the northwest, finally rolled in. The sound of it was strangely soothing. A remembrance of home. After my mother, the storms were what I missed most about Florida.
It was late, I realized, checking my watch as I trudged into the bathroom, but luckily I wasn’t working until tomorrow evening, so I could afford a lazy sleep in.
Not till I had almost scoured the enamel from my teeth did I relent and gentle the strokes of my toothbrush. But it wasn’t the cloying taste of Chris’ jungle juice, still clinging to my tonsils, that had me feeling so splenetic. It was the fact that I was still thinking about Tristan. I uttered a groan of disgust and spat the toothpaste rudely into the basin.
The unexpected knock on the door startled me suddenly. I hoped it wasn’t Chris again. I wasn’t in the mood to fend off drunken flirtations. Simply ignoring the knock was an option that briefly crossed my mind, but my lights were still on and Sia’s lyrical rasping filled my room. All proof enough to any determined visitor that I hadn’t yet gone to sleep.
I marched impatiently to my door and yanked it open. My ready rebuff died instantly on my lips. “Tristan.” I stood there gaping at him, stunned.
“Saw your lights on…” he said, rubbing agitatedly at the back of his neck as though he’d been drawn to my light like a moth, knowing he might be burned.
I opened my mouth to speak, but when nothing sensible struck my tongue I merely closed it again. Clearly, I had no talent for accurately guessing who was behind my door.
“I’m kinda disappointed.” He cocked his head ruefully. “No welcoming condom confetti this time?”
“I’m all out of condoms.” I folded my arms over my chest. And humor. It was late and suspicion had rapidly replaced my shock. Despite what I’d said this morning, I wasn’t feeling any inclination toward friendship. Not now. Not for a man who’d nearly kissed me despite the reality of a scary girlfriend who was very possibly pregnant.
The deluge was, meantime, coming down in slanting sheets as the wind drove it hard, throwing fine droplets into the air to settle at his lashes. Each tiny bead gleamed mesmerically like citrine under the outside light.
“Um, it’s raining,” said Tristan archly, giving a sexy flick of his head to clear his sodden hair from his eyes.
I girded my loins and told myself he wasn’t all that sexy really, but lying to myself was about as effective as a knitted condom. Damn his pretty eyes! I could feel the ice calving off my cold resolve every second he remained standing patiently at my door, looking all wet and sexy. “I see that. What’s your point?” I asked him tartly. He was partly under the eave, so I didn’t feel too bad about making him stand outside.
“My point is that I’d like to talk to you.”
“That’s why you’re skulking out here?” I peered over toward his truck, expecting to see Nicole there, but the passenger seat was blessedly empty. “To talk in the rain?”
He lowered his gaze pointedly to his drenched jeans where most of the water struck him slantways. “Preferably not in the rain.” Then he moved in closer beneath the eave to lean a muscled shoulder on the doorframe. “And, for the record, Spencer, I’m not skulking. I come bearing gifts.” He then produced a pair of rubber boots he’d been concealing behind his broad back. “Ketchikan sneakers. Better late than never.”
“Thanks.” I resented the smile nudging the corner of my lips. And I resented the fact that he looked as good wet as he did dry. I would have looked like a drowned sewer rat if it had been me standing where he was. “I didn’t realize Thorn Aviation does midnight deliveries too.” I took the boots from him and placed them just inside the doorway.
“We don’t.”
“Then what do you really want, Tristan?”
“Now there’s a loaded question.” He dropped his gaze fleetingly to my lips before releasing a sigh. “For now, just to use a towel please.”
“Fine.” Despite myself, I was intrigued by his sudden appearance. I bit the inside corner of my lip and I stepped aside, holding the door open for him to enter. “But you could’ve just Jedi mind tricked me, you know.”
Out came that skewed smile to shake my foundation yet again. “Inviting me in should be your choice, not mine. Although I promise to be the perfect gentleman.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and said, “What’s that saying about gentlemen being nothing more than patient wolves?” I closed the door after he’d stepped across my threshold.
His eyes darkened a
ppreciatively. “A wolf will never waste his patience on something not worth having.”
“And how might this wolf behave if she lets him in?”
“Unpredictably,” he admitted.
“Then I won’t ask about those sharp teeth.”
The green seemed to brighten in his eyes. “Then I won’t tell you what I’ll do with them.”
“I warn you, Little Red Riding Hood got the better of the wolf in the end.”
He gave a lift of his shoulders. “Depends on which variant of the story you tell—the sanitized version or the original.”
Wise-ass. He was right though. Originally Little Red had been devoured in her grandmother’s cottage. I had a feeling he’d just countervail whatever I threw at him (not a man to play chess with, obviously), so I gave a roll of my eyes, held my tongue (since his folktale knowledge evidently eclipsed mine), and pointed to the bathroom. “Help yourself to a towel.”
He left his muddy boots at the door and prowled into my bathroom, but instead of grabbing the fresh towel I’d expected him to use, he reached into the shower and, from the towel bar on the wall, lifted the one I’d used earlier. I angled a narrowed look overhead, from which I imagined the universe was smirking down at me. My earlier promise of keeping even my shower (where I often thought of him) a ‘Tristan-free’ zone seemed to taunt me now. Because there he was, in my shower. Very funny.
Actually, the thought of Tristan, even a fully clothed Tristan, in my shower was enough to enkindle my nether-verse. Taking a bolstering breath to quell my hormones and clear my head, I headed over to the mini fridge. “Can I get you a drink?” I called out to him, deciding to be hospitable.
“Sure,” he replied, emerging from my bathroom a little dryer.
Apart from soy milk, which I knew he distrusted, there was little else to offer him but wine, so I grabbed two stemless glasses and, opening the bottle on my countertop, poured us each a glass of my favorite Malbec.
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