by Jax Garren
Coyote stiffened a bit like she’d upset him, but he just nodded, his amber eyes studying her carefully. “So you don’t have a boyfriend, but you’re dating someone.” His eyes widened as if he’d thought of something, then flashed darkly. “And you know him from—”
She waved a hand, seeing where this was going. “He’s nothing like EJ. He’s possibly the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I’m completely safe. It’s part of what I like about him.”
He breathed out, looking somewhat relieved. “Okay.”
“And we’re not dating. He doesn’t... he doesn’t think of me that way.” Understatement. She thought Rafael hung the moon. He felt sorry for her and thought she was a good math tutor. “But even if I’m not dating him, you, my amazing partner—and I mean that; you’re amazing—deserve someone focused entirely on you.” Her gut burned with unfair jealousy as she said that, but Coyote did deserve someone who wasn’t pining after another guy.
As she spoke, though, Coyote’s expression transitioned from worried to calculating as he leaned forward and looked her over. “You knew him before you met me?”
She nodded, wondering what, exactly, was passing through his mind and how, exactly, anyone could look so damn intriguing and dangerous at the same time.
He grabbed her ankles and spun her until she was lying across the couch.
“What are you doing?”
And then the damn man proceeded to crawl over her—not touching, just leaning, as one hand landed above her ankle and the other beside her knee. His voice came out somewhere between a growl and a purr that made her insides quiver. “You know, when you walked in from the bathroom wearing that”—his gaze dropped to her shoulders, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth—“lovely, shoulder-baring top, I thought you looked amazing. I wondered if it was one of your favorite shirts—because it should be. You look incredible.” He continued forward, one hand at her waist, then the other. “When you picked a horror movie and then sat on my lap and put your hands on my chest, I thought maybe that’s the way you watch them with your friends, piling like puppies, you said.” Finally his hands reached her shoulders until he was practically doing a push-up on the couch over her. Damn, he smelled good. And he looked like a dream—the wet kind. “And then when you grabbed a second beer for both of us, I thought, I guess we’re getting to be better friends, since you can relax around me.”
She really had done all those things. Her face heated at what he must think—what any normal person would think.
“A hopeful, conceited guy, though—which I am—might also think it’s possible you’re toying with the idea of ditching Mr. Sweetface, who’s a moron for not wanting you in every way imaginable, and giving a chance to”—he grinned his best arrogant smile—“a rich, good-looking—”
She poked him in the chest, which was awfully close to hers. “Humble.”
“—not even a little humble, guitar-playing god who makes you laugh.” His smile turned kind as he slid his thumb gently down her cheek. “A guy who proved he’d go to hell for you and wants to put you center stage in his life.”
She sighed at the soft touch that left a line of sensation in its wake. “Well, when you put it that way...” She swallowed.
“When I put it that way, what?” His amber eyes glowed bright with intensity.
“What do you want with me, Coyote? A roll in the hay? Partners with benefits?”
“A girlfriend.”
She wanted to laugh, but her hand was spread across his chest, and it felt really good there. “You don’t even know who I am. I’m not as impressive without the godstone.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” His brow arched. “Want to tell me your name so I can find out?”
“Want to tell me yours?” she countered.
His eyes shifted to the side in a moment of hesitation before returning. “I’ll tell you when you agree to be my girlfriend. Until then...” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she sucked in a breath as anticipation sizzled through her. He leaned in until she could feel his breath across her lips. “I’d like a chance to convince you of what a great catch I am.”
“Oh my.”
“And, mi diosita,” he continued, his breath moving across her cheek to whisper against her ear. The feel of his body hovering next to hers and the smell of earth and new rain that seemed to be a part of him nearly overwhelmed her. “I’m even better without the godstone.”
His smooth cheek brushed hers as he moved to look at her again, his eyes blazing with undisguised longing. His body trembled against her hand from holding himself just above her for so long. For a moment more he stayed there, his lips so close to hers without kissing, until she thought it would drive her crazy.
She closed her eyes and took a breath, ready for whatever he was about to do next.
Or she thought she was.
He dropped to the side, between her and the cushions, and she felt immediately cold, despite the fact that he was still right beside her. “What?” She nearly screeched the word at him, shocked at how damn deprived she felt.
He raised his brow, looking way too innocent. “What?”
She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t reply.
“Did you want something?”
Turning to face the jerk, she stabbed him in the chest with her finger, still working on words. Finally she sputtered, “You know I did.”
With the casual air of a man who had no pressing needs at the moment, he reached his arm behind his head, resting on it like a fucking supermodel as he issued a challenging look. “I don’t have any rules for you. No boundaries, no stopping points. You see something you want? You take it.” He winked. “Make my day.”
Some rational part of her brain knew he was playing her, putting her in charge so he could get more. Taking a hit to win the fight.
She knew that and didn’t give a shit. She grabbed his hips and pulled, sliding him beneath her until she straddled him. His face lit up as he made a wordless noise of pleasure, and she was lost. All the stress of life—college, Ande, her fucked-up family—and the weight of keeping it together lifted at the sight of his joy as he reached for her. She collapsed forward, and he met her halfway, his fingers curling around her neck as she found his mouth with her own.
Despite his earlier cool, he pressed against her, drinking her in like he needed this. He sat up, her ass dropped between his legs, and suddenly he was taller than her. His mouth crushed down on hers as his hands stroked her back with such kindness she melted into his touch.
This was so dangerous. She didn’t know how she was going to look at him later with this memory burning through her. Or the memory of whatever happened next.
Loosen your grip.
He pulled back, his breathing heavy as he pressed his forehead to hers, then backed away, eyes still closed. His tongue touched his top lip and he groaned.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice breathy as a lounge singer’s.
His eyes fluttered open, and one side of his mouth curled up in a grin that seemed both satisfied and hungry at the same time. “That is the best kiss I’ve ever had.”
She snorted. “Liar.”
He ignored that and cupped her face with his hands. “I want to kiss you everywhere until you’re screaming for me and then...” His gaze darted from her mouth to her eyes, and he shook his head as if trying to dismiss the thought. “But tonight...”
Tonight sounded a helluva lot less intimidating than it had thirty minutes ago. She breathed out, trying to find some balance between the demanding rush of emotion and the methodical planner she usually was. It was too easy to get overwhelmed and then freak out later—which would definitely happen if she let Coyote proceed with anything involving his mouth everywhere. Didn’t stop it from sounding pretty damn awesome in the moment.
No, she wanted to do this right for once. She put a hand on his shoulder and realized she was trembling. Standing up for herself was hard. She didn’t want him angry with her again, and it wasn’t
like he wanted something at least part of her wasn’t clamoring for. It would be a lot easier to just make him happy.
But she wasn’t ready. For once, it would be nice to be really and truly ready.
She’d never met a guy who took “no” well, but if any existed, Coyote seemed like he could be one of them. She swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry, but tonight—this once, anyway—she’d trust him. Looking up shyly, she shook her head. “Not tonight. Not yet.”
He stroked his thumb down her jaw, and she stiffened up, but he just pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and let her go. “No regrets,” he muttered.
She looked him in the eye, not sure what he meant by that. “Regret you didn’t push a little harder?” You could’ve had me. I’m not sure I would’ve been happy about it tomorrow, but I would’ve given in.
He smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear with such affection she shuddered. “I plan to be the best thing that ever happened to you.” A little of the wolfish grin returned. “You’re going to want me so badly there will be no doubt, no hesitation. And it’ll be so worth the wait. For both of us.”
He took her hand, playing with her fingers like joints were fascinating, and she stared at him for a moment, finding her center again as warmth for him, her partner, spread throughout her body. He wanted to work with her—together. Partners in this too.
“Can I hug you?” she asked. “Or is that mean?”
He tilted his head, expression confused. “How is a hug mean?”
“Because it’s not what you want.”
He shook his head, like that didn’t clear up his confusion, and pulled her against him in a great hug. “I always want to hug you.”
His hands smoothed up and down her back, and she felt safe, despite not catering to him. “I trust you,” she muttered, and he squeezed harder. “We should do this again sometime.”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe not with a horror movie? You can sit on my lap with a comedy...”
She leaned back to find him blushing. Unable to stop herself, she gave the darling man a kiss. Instead of pressing for more, he grinned at her, like that made him happy. She ran a finger down the soft leather of his Coyote mask, wondering if he could feel it the way she somehow felt things through her thin mask. Wondering what he looked like beneath it. “A comedy sounds great.”
“Now,” he said, slipping off the sofa and pulling her with him, a suddenly quite devilish look in his eyes. Uh-oh. “I have something I really do want you to do for me tonight.”
Her instinct was to shrink away from his tone, but she shook it off, trusting that he understood their arrangement, and just raised a brow at him. “What’s that?”
His hands came up in something that looked vaguely like a fighting stance. “Teach a grown man how to throw a punch.” He shrugged, suddenly looking chagrined. “I’m tired of getting my ass kicked.”
“Oh!” She nodded, completely at ease with that request. “We’ll start with a jab.”
“Cool. Oh, hey, do we need equipment?” He put his hands down and got way too excited about yet another shopping spree. “Like gloves and punching bags and shit? We could make a training facility on the balcony!”
She laughed as she settled into a fighting stance. “Buy whatever you want, moneybags. For now, you’re going to get your fists up and train with your most important equipment—your hands and your brain.” A thought crossed her mind, and she stood a little straighter. “Are you really going to teach me how to play guitar?”
He nodded. “Yeah! I’d love to.” He started to copy her stance, and she settled back into a good one for him to mimic. “I need to warn you I’ve got a crazy busy week and a half ahead of me. Work stuff. If you need me for anything, call—always call if you need something—but after crunch time’s over, I’ll make sure we’ve got a couple guitars and”—his eyes gleamed with excitement—“a tricked-out training area. On the balcony.” He sighed with happiness. “Life is good.”
She grinned back at him. “Yeah, it is.” It felt so weird saying it. Weird and wonderful. “Life is really good.”
Chapter 37
“TELL ME WHERE WE’RE going!” Giselle punched her roommate lightly on the arm as they continued down another highway that was no longer in the middle of nowhere. It was Friday afternoon, a mostly calm week and a half after last week’s crazy, and Rawan had suggested a drive with a mysterious smile on her face. After a couple hours of nothing, they appeared to be entering the suburbs of a city that wasn’t Corpus.
“I got you a really early Christmas present.”
“You don’t celebrate Christmas!”
Rawan stuck her tongue out. “Neither do you! Yule present, then.”
Giselle blushed, pleased but embarrassed by the gesture. “In September?”
“Kinda had to be.”
Giselle tried not to get her hopes up but... a big city on Friday—the opening night of Rage Riot’s tour? And Rawan had tossed Giselle her newest Riot T-shirt when she’d suggested going for a drive.
Three days ago a box of merch with an apology note from Rafael, assuring he’d paid less than five dollars, had shown up at their dorm room. But as she’d gaped at the stack of identical T-shirts and posters for the Whirlwind tour, all with Rafael’s angular scrawl placed prominently across it, she’d started calculating the resale value in her head.
She was going to make hundreds—possibly a full grand, if she got lucky—in recompense for one cheap, ruined shirt. Every time she thought she would be okay with them just being friends, he did something awesome that made her sigh.
One T-shirt in the box had been different, though, and she was wearing it now. She touched the autograph across the Icon tour graphic. A note there read, “To Glendabelle the Genius, Thanks for saving my ass this semester. Rafael,” with a heart above his name.
Rafael was such a darling. And he’d been a fidgety mess in English today because his tour was starting tonight. She looked out the window, trying not to hope. “Are we in, uh, San Antonio?”
“Yes!” Rawan laughed. “You know what we’re doing?”
Giselle slapped a hand across her mouth. “Are you kidding me?”
Rawan held up a hand in warning. “We’re in the nosebleedingest of the nosebleeds—it was almost sold out already when I looked—so we’ll be watching the JumboTron because the band will be specks in the distance.”
“That’s totally cool—we’ll be there! I’ve never even been to a concert before! Like, any concert at all.”
“And I have lavender glow sticks, which I told Rafael to look for so he can find us later and personally thank us for attending his show.”
“You did not!”
Rawan laughed, and the embarrassing part was she probably had told him that. “Don’t worry! He thought it was funny.”
Embarrassed but pleased as all hell anyway, Giselle took a photo of herself squealing a giant squee to post on social media.
“Besides, I wanted him to know we support him because even if you’re famous, that kind of thing is still meaningful when it comes from friends.”
Giselle posted the picture and laughed. “I’m not that meaningful to him.”
“I think you are.” Her voice sounded awfully thoughtful as they reached the first stoplight of civilization. “More than you realize.”
Giselle rolled her eyes and leaned in. “Photo!” Rawan giggled but leaned in gamely for the pic. “If I’d known where we were going, this whole trip would’ve been documented.”
Rawan’s tone turned droll. “Why do you think I didn’t tell you?”
The clock ticked with agonizing slowness as they made their way to the AT&T Center, parked, and traversed toward the arena among a growing throng. They were hours early—to avoid rush hour making them late, Rawan had explained—but the energy was already electric. Rage Riot was internationally popular, but San Antonio was where they’d had their big breakout. The occasional bits of Spanish in their songs and the subtle influence of mariachi in
fusing their glam-rock sound had made them particularly popular in cities with a high Hispanic population, and San Antonio quite possibly held their biggest fan base.
“I can’t believe you got us tickets to opening night!” Giselle enthused for about the zillionth time as Rawan ran her phone over the scanner at their entrance.
And it gave an audible negative.
Rawan huffed and tried again as successful dings around them sent hordes of other people into the venue.
Another splat. “What the...” Rawan said, checking her phone. “I got these through Ticketmaster. They’re legit resale—I’ve got my name attached and everything.”
The ticket taker gave them a little shrug and pointed toward a different entrance. “Customer service is that way. Sorry.”
Rawan tried one more time, but the same depressing blat kept them from going in.
Giselle tried not to shake with disappointment. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. But we’ll fix it,” Rawan said, grabbing her wrist and dragging her toward customer service. “Maybe they can print them out or something if my phone’s being dumb.”
Giselle nodded, holding back stupid tears—an hour ago she hadn’t thought she was going to the show, so it shouldn’t feel like the world was ending now. Rawan had tried to do something nice. Falling apart on her would make it worse. But the tragedy of it made her ache.
Scrunching her face at the palace turned fortress, Giselle leaned closer to her friend and whispered, “I’m trying to figure out how Freyja could get us in. Any ideas? My lock trick doesn’t work with scanners.” Mictecacihuatl, though, could walk through walls...
But that didn’t get Rawan in.
She thought harder. “Maybe if we transformed into Micte and Sekhmet? Surely Sekhmet could—”
Rawan shot her a peeved look. “We’re not using godstones to get into a concert. We’re using the legal tickets I spent legal tender on.” At the glass ticketing window, she showed her phone to the staff member, who scanned the barcode.