by Liza Street
Looking down at her clothes, she guessed she was dressed all right for a party in the dump—cut-off jean shorts and a black v-neck t-shirt. At least she was in her own clothes now…although she fully planned on using Jase’s t-shirts to sleep in. They were roomier and they smelled good. And he hadn’t asked her to stop wearing them.
He took two big strides to the door and opened it for her, then he took her hand as they stepped outside. Blythe held his hand in a death grip as she picked her way through the dark, swearing under her breath as she nearly tripped. Jase caught her every time.
“I need some night vision goggles or something if we’re going to make a habit of this,” Blythe grumbled.
“Or I could carry you,” Jase suggested.
“No, I think I can walk to a party on my own two feet,” she said.
Faint light appeared ahead, silhouetting the hulking shapes of old cars, industrial machinery, and scrap metal. Blythe smelled cooking meat and spices. Low chatter reached her ears, along with the snapping sound of a bonfire. Jase led her around a large pile of debris, then stopped so she could take in the scene.
Several men sat on crooked lawn chairs, ice chests, and tree stumps around a bonfire, cups or bottles in their hands. Noah’s long blond hair wasn’t loose and tangled, but had been cut and combed. The rest of the guys looked like they’d cleaned up, too. And on top of their heads were…cone party hats?
“What is this?” Blythe asked.
“Look,” Jase said with a smile, gesturing.
A long table rested off to the side, laden with mismatched dishes full of food. But that wasn’t what he was pointing at—a large banner stretched between the side mirror of an old Volkswagen Bug and the side mirror of a car so rusted, Blythe couldn’t discern the make or model. More important than the cars, though, was the message hand-painted on the banner: Happy Birthday, Blythe.
Ronan stood at the barbecue, a spatula in his hands. “Ready to eat, birthday girl?”
“It’s…it’s not my birthday,” Blythe said. “Is it?”
“Technically, no,” Jase said with a laugh. “I had to check the date, too. We’re almost two weeks too late, but I figure this is close enough, right?”
Blythe laughed. “How did you even know you were close?”
“Your wallet, when I found your bag. Your license is right there on the outside.”
She couldn’t believe this. It was overwhelmingly sweet.
“Do you like it?” Jase asked.
“Like it? This is amazing,” she said. “Thank you, everyone!”
Ronan passed her a plate with a grilled chicken breast and handed one to Jase as well. Then the others got up and filed over to fill their plates. Every one of them shook Blythe’s free hand and wished her a happy birthday, even Fred Barnum.
Jase led her to the long table laden with side dishes, where Blythe loaded up her plate. It was a real feast.
“And here I thought you were partying because of killing the bad guy,” Blythe said to Jase.
He laughed. “I know. I’m sorry I laughed earlier. It was just the complete opposite of what this party is for. This has nothing to do with the interloper. And we’re all affected by Alleman’s death, in our own ways. He wasn’t a nice guy, as you know. But this doesn’t have anything to do with him, and everything to do with you.”
Her eyes watered and she quickly blinked. It would be some birthday party if she burst into tears in front of everyone.
“Hey,” Jase said, taking her to one of the nicer, cleaner chairs in the circle around the fire. It had even been decorated with painted paper streamers, homemade.
Jase tugged another chair closer and found a party hat on it, which he set on his head. “Hey, Buenevista, will you toss me a beer?”
Damien found one in a nearby cooler and threw it to Jase, who caught it and then had to adjust his party hat.
It was hard to be too emotional when seeing Jase and everyone else wearing those ridiculous hats, and Blythe laughed. “Okay,” she said, “I need to know where you got the hats.”
“I asked Grant for a favor earlier today,” Jase said. He eyed the bottle of beer as if trying to decide whether it was safe to open after its hurtling projection through the air, then he faced Blythe. “Really, though—are you okay?”
“I’m great,” she said. “Honestly. This is going to sound pathetic, but nobody’s ever done this much for my birthday before.”
Not all of her foster families had been terrible, but money had been tight for many of them. This party wasn’t elaborate by any sense of the word, but they’d made it happen. This was such a reversal of her initial reception here, she could hardly fathom the change.
Jase took a risk with the beer, and only a little bit of foam erupted as he yanked off the cap. He offered the first sip to Blythe, who took it gratefully.
Ronan finished up with the grill and came to sit next to her and Jase. His shaggy brown hair hid his eyes when he bent over his plate, but every now and then he shook the stray locks away to talk to Blythe about what she’d been up to before coming to the Junkyard.
“Writing a little. Working, mostly.”
“Yeah? What work did you do?” Ronan asked.
“I waited tables part-time and got short-term jobs through a temp agency,” she said. “How about you?”
Jase stiffened next to her, and she worried she’d broken an unspoken rule by asking about the past.
“Sorry,” Blythe said, “you don’t have to say.”
But Ronan shook his hair out of his face and grinned. “I’ll answer if you do two shots of moonshine with me.”
“Okay,” Blythe said. “It’s on.”
Ronan got up for a bottle and four mismatched shot glasses, then returned to Blythe’s side. He poured the moonshine and gave her two of the glasses. The moonshine burned as it went down, one gulp after the other, and she felt pleasantly warm.
“I did landscaping, construction, and all kinds of stuff. Then I was a short order cook at a diner for a bit. That was my favorite job.”
She was dreadfully curious about what this happy, easygoing guy had done to be torn away from his favorite job and thrown in the Junkyard, but she definitely knew enough to avoid that question.
“You’re an excellent cook,” she said, using her fork to point at the chicken on her plate, which was nearly demolished. “Thank you for making this.”
“My pleasure,” Ronan said. “Happy to help throw a party for the alpha’s mate.”
The easy chatter happening around the fire ceased immediately, and a tension draped over the group. It wasn’t the mate thing that had interrupted the party, Blythe thought. It had to be something else.
“Alpha?” Noah, the Viking-looking guy said loudly.
Blythe looked around at everyone. A couple of guys—Damien Buenevista and Fred Barnum—had set down their plates and held tightly to their bottles. Stetson merely sat with his book balanced on one knee, plate balanced on another. A piece of paper fluttered from the book’s pages. Blythe wanted to tell him about it, because he didn’t see it happen, but the way everyone had frozen, as if something big was imminent, caused her to keep her mouth shut. She took a deep swig from the bottle of beer Jase was sharing with her.
“The fuck are you talking about, Markowicz?” Barnum asked, pointing a thick finger at Ronan.
“What?” Ronan said. “He’s the alpha. Right?”
No one said anything. Stetson reached down to retrieve his fallen paper. When he straightened again, he said, “Well, I think he should be.”
Noah tilted his head back and forth, like he was trying the idea on for size and wasn’t sure yet whether or not it fit.
Ronan shrugged. “Well, what do you think, boss?”
Blythe hated being yet another pair of eyes staring Jase down in this moment, but she had to see his face. Did he agree with the title? If he did, what did it mean?
“I think,” Jase said slowly, “first, you have to stop calling me ‘boss.’ As
for the alpha question, I have to think more on it. I’ll be alpha if that’s what we need.”
Barnum laughed. “Don’t deny it—you’ve been thinking about this for ages.”
“I have,” Jase said. “Doesn’t mean I’m eager to jump up and claim the title. Why—are you?”
Barnum muttered under his breath, but didn’t answer Jase.
“Anyway, we don’t have to figure this out now,” Jase said. “Let’s all think about it, and focus on what’s important tonight—Blythe’s birthday.”
Blythe was amazed at how the tension dissipated. Barnum still didn’t look thrilled, nor did Buenevista, but conversation resumed.
Stetson went back to reading his book, Noah and a guy named Konrad Vezirov started talking again. And Ronan was shoving his bangs off his forehead as he asked Blythe, “Hey, do you know how to give haircuts?”
It seemed the smaller problems, at least, would be resolved. And maybe, just maybe, Blythe had found a place to belong.
12
Jase couldn’t help smiling as he watched Blythe interact with all the other shifters. He’d told her she could make a family out of the guys here, and it seemed she was working on it.
Eventually, though, she would have to leave. Jase needed to be ready to make his peace with that, even though right now, the thought sent a dagger of regret through his heart.
Ephraimson, Buenevista, and Markowicz started clearing up the trash and throwing it in plastic garbage bags. Blythe went to join them, but Jase reached out and grabbed her wrist. Unsteady on her feet, she whirled around and crashed into his chest.
Yeah, this was something he could live with. Blythe, pressed against him.
“I should help clean up,” she said.
“Next time, if you really want to help, you can,” Jase said, unable to resist kissing away the scowl wrinkles on her forehead. “But this was your party—you don’t have to do a thing.”
He joined the other three with clean-up, but after a minute, they waved him off.
“Take your mate home,” Ephraimson said. “She’s wobbling on her feet.”
“If she is, it’s because of your moonshine,” Jase said to him in a disapproving tone.
“Hey, I didn’t ask her to drink it,” Ephraimson said. “That was all Markowicz.”
Markowicz laughed. “I happily take credit, boss.”
Jase looked back at Blythe. Sure enough, she was standing but holding onto the back of a chair. She scowled when she saw him looking at her. Jase grinned to himself. She was so freaking fierce and cute at the same time.
“Yeah, I’ll take her home,” he said to the guys. “Thanks for taking care of the mess.”
“No problem, alpha,” Markowicz said, giving him a mock salute.
Shaking his head, Jase said, “Watch it with the boss and alpha talk, or you’ll have the whole Junkyard on my case again.”
Blythe narrowed her eyes at him when he approached. “You guys were talking about me.”
“Noah said you looked ready to go home. Shall we head that way?”
“I guess so. It’s funny to think of it as home, huh?” she mused. “But I totally do.”
“I think of it as home, too,” Jase said, reaching for her hand so they could start walking.
Blythe stumbled on her own foot, as far as Jase could tell, but then she righted herself before Jase could catch her. As they continued walking, she said, “I like it here with you. Everyone’s so nice now, I don’t get it. Well, not Barnum. He’s not nice. He tried to teach me fishing, but then he was a dick about me being your mate. Which was why I told you we should fuck, but then you said no. That hurt my feelings, Jase. I’m not saying you should say yes because of my feelings or even feel bad for saying no, but I just wanted to tell you that. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s like I’m the douchey boyfriend pressuring the girlfriend into sleeping together. Except we already sleep together. Every night. It’s hard.”
Jase raised his eyebrows. This was the most talkative he’d ever heard her and she was telling him everything. He didn’t want to take advantage, but he was dreadfully curious. “Why is it hard to sleep together?”
She tripped again and he caught her in both of his arms. They were in the woods now, a few yards from the dump where the others were done cleaning up and heading off to their own dens. Her face was just a few inches from his, her eyes wide, her heart beating fast.
In a soft, breathy voice, she said, “What—what did you ask just now?”
“I asked you why it’s hard to sleep together.”
“Ah.” She licked her lips.
Did she have any clue what she was doing to him? His inner lion was pacing back and forth within, begging Jase to claim her.
“Just, the bed’s narrow,” she finally said.
He didn’t need to be a shifter to detect the obvious lie. Grinning, he held her hand and started walking again. In an offhand tone, he said, “I could make a second bed. Or I still don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I’ve been talking too much, anyway. Dammit. I always talk too much when I drink. I should know better. It causes problems.”
“It only causes problems if you’re keeping secrets,” Jase said lightly. “And you’re not keeping any secrets, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Not a single one.”
He laughed, but she ignored him. She walked—if Jase could call it walking, continuing to trip and stumble. On the way to the party, she’d had enough of a hard time managing to walk through the woods in the dark. Now, after a couple shots of Ephraimson’s moonshine, he doubted she’d be steady even on a smooth floor.
“Come here,” he said. “Let me help you.”
She pouted up at him. “I’m fine.”
“Damn right you’re fine. But I want to carry you.”
“How much farther until we get home?”
“Ten minutes. Thirty, if you keep tripping.”
She sighed, then her mouth quirked up in a smile. “I suppose I’ll let you carry me. If you really want to.”
“I insist. Bride style, or piggyback?”
Laughing, she said, “Piggyback. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.”
He turned around and went down on one knee so she could climb onto his back. When her hands were locked over his shoulders, he stood.
“Whoa, this is high,” Blythe said.
The warmth of her body pressed against his back was erotic even though he thought it shouldn’t be. But her breasts were smashed against him, and that was erotic enough. He just wanted her on the other side, facing him. Maybe with her lips slightly parted while she panted his name and he made her come over and over again.
If he kept thinking this way, he’d have a hard time walking back to the cabin.
“Ready to run?” he asked her.
“What—?”
But he was already off and running, his strides sure and strong even in the dark. He loved running, he loved the dark, and he loved these woods. Best of all, he loved sharing it all with Blythe.
She shrieked and giggled. It was over too soon. He opened the door to the cabin, then crouched slightly so she wouldn’t bang her head on the door frame as he walked through. He leaned back toward the bed so she could fall into it without hurting herself. Even so, she yelped and muttered, “Ouch.”
“What is it?” He whirled around to check on her.
She rubbed her elbow. “Nothing major, just banged my elbow against the wall.”
He reached for her arm and ran his fingers over her skin, applying a little pressure to check that nothing was too damaged. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt her.
“Jase, really,” she laughed. “It was just a little bump.”
Satisfied that nothing was broken, he let her go, only then realizing their position. She sat on the edge of the bed, her legs on either side of him, as he knelt on the floor. He gazed at her gorgeous face. The lanterns were out, but he could see her as c
learly as if in daylight, even the faint freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks.
“Jase?” she said, more of a question than anything else.
“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he said.
“What are you talking about? You just hurt my elbow. And that was more my fault than yours.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from hers. “I mean earlier, you said it hurt your feelings that I said I wasn’t interested in sleeping with you. In…how did you put it? Doing the hanky-panky?”
She closed her eyes and looked away. “I can’t believe I said it like that. Please don’t remind me.”
“I’ll only tease you about it once a week,” he said. “Promise.”
“That is not funny.”
“Yeah, it is,” he said, lifting a hand so he could touch her chin and redirect her gorgeous green gaze back to his. “Anyway, I know it wasn’t fair, but I lied to you that day.”
“Not fair?”
“Because I can sense lies, but you can’t.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re right. That isn’t fair. Um…what did you lie about?”
“I lied about not wanting you, Blythe.”
Staring back at him, she darted her tongue out and wet her lips. He held back a groan. That mouth of hers—so smart, and so sexy. Her forehead scrunched in concentration. “This will sound like a stupid question,” she finally said. “But if you lied about not wanting me, that means you do want me, right?”
“More than anything,” he said.
As soon as the words left his mouth, she leaned forward and kissed him. Her mouth was warm, her lips sweet. She tasted like pineapple and moonshine, some kind of fruity cocktail, and he immediately ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, wanting more. She opened for him, making a soft sound and wriggling closer to the edge of the bed.
He grabbed the back of her shirt in his fists, wishing he could tear the fabric right off of her. Restraint, though. He wanted to prove to her that he wasn’t an animal. He could be gentle. No bruises, no biting.