by Bru Baker
“I can’t,” Jordan said, shrugging. “This is coming from a place of love, Jackson. You need to stop sulking. Either accept that you’re into Harris and go get a piece of that or come out and find someone to hook up with. You need to blow off steam before you end up wolfing out on a suspect.”
He’d had a near miss yesterday, though he hadn’t told Jordan about it. He’d almost called Harris, since he was second on Jackson’s speed dial for a reason. They told each other everything. Except it was weird after the kiss and the agreement to forget about the kiss. Jackson sighed and pulled the blanket he’d wrested back over his eyes. He needed more time, and then all of this would go away.
He huffed out a breath when Jordan jumped over the back of the couch and landed hard on his chest. He wanted to scream at him, but he didn’t have the breath.
“Either you’re coming out to the bars tonight to find a little somethin’ somethin’ or I’m calling that fae prostitute you busted last year and hiring her for you.”
Jackson shot up, dislodging Jordan and sending him sprawling to the floor.
“I will literally kill you if you call Dfearlie,” he said, anger pumping through him. “Fuck you for even suggesting that. You know she was a victim of trafficking. She wasn’t on the streets willingly. That bastard was feeding her iron supplements to keep her docile.”
Jordan held his hands up. “Dude, I know. Besides, do you really think I’d risk the wrath of the Fae Council by propositioning one of the court? I just wanted to get you up.”
Jackson’s temples throbbed. “You can’t joke about that shit.”
He rubbed his face, surprised to find stubble there. Hadn’t he just shaved this morning? He looked out the window, shocked to see it was pitch black. Had he been on the couch watching Netflix for that long?
“Seriously, though, the Fae Guard will fuck your shit up if they hear you say anything like that. You know they already monitor us because of Fang and Fury. You want to get on their bad side? They make Tribunal Enforcers look like preschool teachers.”
He shuddered at the memory of finding a mutilated Were corpse a few years ago when Fang and Fury was new. They’d been working a missing persons case, and they’d found him—but only after the fae had finished with him. There was no concept of innocent until proven guilty among the fae. They were the top of the paranormal political food chain, and no one messed with them. For the most part, they let the other supernaturals govern themselves, but if they deemed someone a risk of exposure, they’d deal with it—brutally.
“Well, now that you’re up, let’s get you showered and dressed,” Jordan said cheerfully.
Jackson sighed but let Jordan steer him down the hallway. Maybe he had a point. Jackson had been having a dry spell, so this attraction to Harris might be lust. That was easy enough to test by going out. And if it was, he could satisfy that with anyone and then be back to his normal self.
WHEN they arrived a Jordan’s favorite club a little after eleven, the place was packed, which wasn’t a huge surprise since it was Friday. Or was it Saturday? Jackson honestly had no idea. He got up and went to work, then came home and huddled up in his room or on the couch. He hadn’t exactly had a booming social life lately.
“How about that one?” Jordan asked, voice pitched low so none of the humans would hear him. Not that he had to bother whispering. The bass was so loud the humans had to shout to hear each other, even the ones standing side by side.
Jackson followed his gaze to a tall, wiry blond. He looked fit and tan in his mesh shirt and skinny jeans, and when he saw Jackson looking, he flashed him a megawatt smile and winked. It did absolutely nothing for Jackson.
Jackson offered him a small smile and shook his head, earning an eye roll and hair flip from the guy.
“Ah,” Jordan said, stroking his chin. “A brunet? I figured you’d want to get away from that, but you do have a type.”
No one in the club held a candle to Harris. Jordan pointed out someone with the same dark hair and broad shoulders, with Harris’s bone structure and skin tone. Looking at him made Jackson physically sick.
“You know, I think I’m going to go for the first one,” he muttered. The twink looked nothing like Harris so there would be no confusing the two.
He wandered to the bar and ordered a double pour of Jameson and a can of the local microbrew the twink was drinking.
“You on the prowl tonight, cutie?” the bartender asked when he handed the drinks over.
Jackson flashed him a grin. “Might be.”
The bartender had kind eyes that were the same shade as Harris’s, and Jackson didn’t protest when the man leaned across the bar and tucked a slip of paper into the pocket of Jackson’s leather jacket.
“I get off at four if you haven’t found anything that suits your fancy by then,” the guy purred.
Jackson thanked him for the drinks and made his way back through the throng. The blond twink wasn’t standing against the wall where he’d been a few minutes ago, but after weaving through the haphazardly placed tables, Jackson found him hovering on the edge of the dance floor, talking to Jordan.
The dick.
Jackson stalked up to them, fixing a murderous glare at Jordan before turning to the twink and offering him the beer.
“Your friend was just telling me you’re a cop!” the guy yelled.
“I was explaining you’re coming off a long shift and you’re a little grumpy,” Jordan said with a shit-eating grin. Raising his voice to yell like the others, he added, “This is Tim, he’s—what is it you do again, Tim?”
“I’m the director of vibes for Ratr,” Tim shouted. “It’s a dating app where you can rate your dates with people and they get a rank.”
That sounded appalling. “Like Yelp for dating?” he asked, incredulous.
Tim’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Dude, we should totally use that in our marketing.” He pulled out an iPhone and fired off a text.
Jordan was stifling a laugh, and Jackson wanted to kick him. Instead he took Tim by the crook of his arm and guided him farther from the dance floor so they could talk a little easier. Mercifully, Jordan didn’t follow, disappearing in the opposite direction to find someone for himself.
“So, director of what? I didn’t quite catch it,” Jackson said, hoping he’d misheard.
“Vibes,” Tim said, bobbing his head. “Like, I make sure employees are happy and help with hiring and company policies and benefits and shit.”
“So you’re in HR,” Jackson said.
Tim rolled his eyes. “We try to avoid language like that. We’re a very forward-thinking company.”
God, this was a disaster. He gulped down the rest of his drink and watched as Tim chugged his beer. It smelled weird, and it was a challenge not to wrinkle his nose.
“Wanna head around back?” Tim asked, a twinkle in his eye. “I mean, we can keep talking and shit, but that’s not what you’re really here for, right?”
Jackson wondered if Tim came on this strong with everyone or if Jordan had told him Jackson was just looking for a quick hookup.
“Sure.”
Tim wound an arm around his waist. Jackson flinched when Tim’s hand came to rest against his ass, cupping him through his jeans. No small talk or foreplay, apparently. Which was usually right up Jackson’s alley. He couldn’t help but compare the thrill of Harris brushing against him by accident to the complete lack of reaction he was having to Tim’s hand on his ass.
Fuck. Don’t think about Harris. That was the point of tonight, wasn’t it? Right.
They made their way to the back of the club where there were dark alcoves. Some were curtained off, but the one Tim led him to was just a high-backed booth with no table. It was dark enough he wouldn’t have been able to see much without his Were senses, so he supposed it was sufficiently secluded. Jackson had never been a prude, but he also couldn’t afford to get arrested for public indecency.
“Are you sure you want to do this here?” he asked when Tim star
ted unzipping Jackson’s jeans.
Tim laughed, but his expression turned incredulous when he seemed to realize Jackson wasn’t kidding.
“This is what you’re here for, isn’t it? I mean, you wanted a quick fuck. I’m not looking for anything other than an orgasm, man. If you’re—”
“No! I’m not. Looking for anything more, I mean.”
God. Did Tim think he was hesitating because he wanted to get to know him? That he was looking for a boyfriend or something?
Tim relaxed back against the pleather sofa and let his legs spread out. Jackson’s eyes were drawn to the bulge he started to caress. Surely Tim had noticed he hadn’t been the slightest bit hard when he’d been going for his zipper.
Sweat broke out along Jackson’s upper lip and his stomach rolled. He had to get out of here.
“I need some air. I’m—I’m not feeling well. Sorry, man.”
He didn’t stop to see how Tim had taken the rejection; he just turned tail and sprinted down the dark hallway. He didn’t stop until he was outside, puking in the parking lot.
There was no reason he shouldn’t be back there getting off with Tim. The guy was gorgeous and willing. But even thinking about it made Jackson’s stomach lurch again. His hands were shaking, and he realized tears were blurring his vision.
Jackson pulled out his phone blindly. He could call Jordan, but what if he was in one of the other alcoves? He had to get out of here, and he was in no shape to drive. Jackson hesitated over Harris’s name and then skipped over him for the third person on his speed dial.
It only took two rings for Drew to pick up.
“What’s wrong?” Drew rasped out, his voice muzzy with sleep.
Jackson winced when he realized it was almost one in the morning.
“Never mind,” he said, guilt eating at him. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Sorry.”
“Wait,” Drew said, sounding clearer already. Jackson pictured him sitting up and turning on a light. He’d always done that when the hospital called in the middle of the night. He said it kept him from drifting back to sleep and helped his brain wake up. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
Fuck, he was stupid. Of course his brother would think he was hurt. Families of police officers were always primed for a late-night call. God, he was so selfish.
“No, no. I’m not on shift tonight. I was at a bar and—never mind. It’s fine. I’ll call an Uber. Go back to sleep. Tell Nick I’m sorry.”
There was no way Nick had slept through the phone ringing. Jackson had been so caught up in his own shit he hadn’t thought about what time it was.
“I’m calling Jordan,” Nick said in the background.
Jackson slid to the ground, his back against the brick wall of the club, burying his face in his knees. This was mortifying.
“Jordan is coming out to take you home. We’ll meet you there.”
As much as he’d love to see him right now, Jackson couldn’t let Drew make the two-hour drive in the middle of the night just because of a booty call gone wrong.
“No. There’s no reason for you to drive out here.”
“You sound like you’re halfway to a panic attack,” Drew said, his tone sharp. “We’re coming. Go home, shower off all the club smells, and wait for us. Jordan needs to know where you are. Are you still at the club?”
“I’m outside, around the back. In the alley.”
A few seconds later, footsteps crunched over the gravel and broken glass that littered the alley, and Jordan appeared at the mouth of it, phone pressed to his ear and a worried expression on his face. His shirt was misbuttoned and his fly was unzipped. Perfect. Jackson had managed to cock block both of them.
“I’m here,” Jordan said into the phone.
Jackson swallowed hard. His senses were seriously fucked. He couldn’t concentrate enough to hear the other side of the conversation. He needed to get out of here. His wolf was freaking out at being so vulnerable.
“We’ll see you soon,” Drew said before the call ended.
Jordan walked over, held his hand out, and pulled Jackson to his feet. He dusted the gravel off Jackson’s ass and led him around to the car, which was a few blocks from the alley.
Jackson’s face burned with shame. It felt like the time he’d gotten in over his head at a house party and his father had to come get him. Except he wasn’t fifteen, and alcohol didn’t affect him anymore. He wasn’t drunk. He was lovesick.
Scratch that. It felt worse.
Jordan bundled him into the car, taking so much care Jackson wanted to yell at him. He kept his mouth shut, knowing full well he was damn lucky Jordan wasn’t yelling at him. Jordan was the one who had the right to be angry.
Jackson spoke up a few minutes into their drive when Jordan turned in the opposite direction of home.
“Where are we going? I want to go to bed, Jordan.”
“I told Nick it was stupid for them to come to us. They both have responsibilities at camp tomorrow. We, on the other hand, are off. You don’t work again till Sunday night, so we’re going to them.”
“Just take me home.”
Jordan shook his head. “It’s either take you to them or have them come here, and all things considered, taking you there is the lesser evil.”
That meant seeing Harris. Jackson’s chest seized. “No! I’m fine. I’m being a drama queen.”
Jordan looked over and flashed him a grin. “Ain’t no one disputing that, sweet thang,” he drawled. His expression turned serious, his gaze raking over Jackson before he turned back to the road. “You need to talk this out, man. And I love you, but I’m not the right person to help you right now. You need Drew and Nick. So, I’m taking you to them.”
Jackson fell back against his seat. “You’re having an intervention?”
Jordan raised an eyebrow at him. “Your brother-in-law called me panicking and pulled me away from a perky little coed to go rescue you. Yes, we’re having a motherfucking intervention. And there better be beer.”
THERE was beer. The good stuff, not the asparagus-infused microbrew or whatever the shit Tim had been drinking at the club. Drew liked dark beer, and when Jackson saw the Dragon’s Milk bottles on the table in the kitchen, he knew things were serious. It was a barrel-aged stout Drew hoarded like, well, a dragon. He and Nick drove all the way to the Costco in Louisville to stock up once a month because none of the local liquor stores carried it.
Drew stood up and hugged him hard when they walked in. Jackson melted into the embrace, burying his face in Drew’s neck and breathing in the comforting scent of Pack.
“There are sweats upstairs in your rooms. Why don’t you go shower off the bar, and we’ll go out on the patio.”
Oh fuck. Candice was staying at the infirmary. Had he woken her too? He glanced upstairs, worried, but Drew just chuckled.
“She moved over to a cabin a few days ago. There are some good eggs this month, and she fell in with a couple of them. Emma was one of the wolflings who got in trouble the first day, but since then she’s been a model camper. She and a few other wolflings rallied around Candice and have been keeping her from the worst of the rumors and jokes going around campus. They’re in Kayla’s cabin.”
Jackson let out of whoosh of breath in relief. So he’d only wildly inconvenienced Nick and Drew. And Jordan. And whoever was patrolling tonight and stationed at the gate.
Ugh.
“Shower,” Nick said, pointing up the stairs. “You smell like beer and smoke and something weird.”
“It’s the beer,” Jackson muttered as he left the kitchen. “Fucking hipster-shit vegetable beer.”
Jackson showered quickly, relieved to scrub off Tim’s scent. He’d been low-key nauseated the entire drive to Camp H.O.W.L., his stomach cramping every time he’d caught a whiff of it. The sweats Drew had left for him were Harris’s. He felt instantly better when he pulled them on, cocooning himself in his mate’s scent. The headache building behind his eyes dissipated, and his stomach calmed en
ough that the beer waiting for him downstairs actually sounded good. Though he was afraid to ask how Drew had gotten Harris’s clothes. Had he gone over to Harris’s cabin and borrowed them after Jackson had called? Did Harris just keep clothes stashed here?
That was probably it, he realized as he padded down the stairs. All the staffers kept clothes stashed in buildings around campus in case they had to shift unexpectedly. He’d bet there was a closet here in the infirmary with something from everyone.
He flicked a glance at his phone screen. He’d been tempted to text Harris on the way over to get all this off his chest, but he was glad he hadn’t. That would have made things messier, even if it would have been a relief.
Jordan was sitting at the table, wet hair slicked behind his ears, but he grabbed his beer and stood when Jackson came in.
“This is a family thing,” he explained as he headed for the stairs. “I’m going to finish this and get some sleep.”
The clock on the microwave said it was almost four. Probably not a good time to be drinking. Then again, the alcohol didn’t affect him, so there wasn’t any reason not to drink a beer in the morning, and if his very human stepbrother didn’t care—well, who was he to judge? Jackson shrugged and picked up the bottle Nick opened for him.
He followed Nick and Drew out to the porch, settling in a wicker rocker.
“What happened tonight, Jackson? We’re worried about you.”
Drew’s voice was laced with concern, and Jackson’s stomach churned with guilt. He’d been a real head case, and everyone had been walking on eggshells around him for weeks.
“Jordan convinced—” He stopped and shook his head. He was an adult. He made his own choices. “I went out to get laid and… I don’t know. It didn’t feel right?”
Drew raised a brow. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
Jackson shook his head. “It didn’t feel right,” he repeated. “But I got into it with a guy anyway, and once we started—” He swallowed back bile. “Nothing happened. We didn’t even kiss, but just the idea of it made me sick. Like, literally. I puked in the parking lot.”