by Lizzy Prince
“Little triangles, huh?” Bridget raises a brow, picking up one of the pieces of the sandwich.
I wink at her, then grab a bag of chips from the counter behind me and toss a few in the center of her plate. “Needed room for chips.”
She takes a bite of her sandwich and then nods toward my hands, swallowing before she speaks. “Aren’t you having anything?”
With a groan, I settle onto the couch next to Bridget, hooking an arm around her legs, swinging them up on my lap. I start rubbing one of her feet through her ridiculously-fluffy socks. Bridget moans, and her head lolls back against the couch.
“I ate almost an entire pan of brownies before I got here. I’m not really hungry.”
Her head shoots up. “You ate my brownies?” she acquiesces.
“I had to make sure they were edible.”
Bridget snorts and goes back to eating her sandwich while I keep working on her feet. I feel the weight of her gaze on me and cock my head, the ghost of a smile on my face. She surprises me when she leans forward and tugs on a piece of my hair.
“I think you got some brownie in your hair.” Her eyes crinkled with humor.
I touched my hair, my fingers tangling with Bridget’s. “Hazard of the job, right?” I laughed. “I need a haircut.”
“I can cut your hair,” Bridget offers up before finishing off the last of her sandwich. She brushes her fingers together over the plate, getting the crumbs off before extracting her feet from my lap and getting up. I watch her as she makes her way to the kitchen, setting her plate in the sink.
“Ah, Toots. I appreciate the offer…” Shit. How do I nicely tell her that I don’t really want an amateur chopping off my hair without offending her?
Her laughter cuts through the air, the throaty chuckle infectious and so sexy. “I used to cut my dad’s hair all the time, and I volunteered at a local nursing home and did haircuts there. My mom was a stylist, and she taught me how to cut hair. I swear I’m not some hack with a Flowbee.”
“What’s a Flowbee?”
“Never mind. Let me get my shears and clippers. Wait, how much do you want to cut off?” She pauses midway off the couch, suddenly wary, tilting her head to look at my hair. Her eyes skim over my face, and she looks undecided.
“Whatever you think.” I shrug, surprised that I’m not actually all that worried she’ll mess it up. If anything, she’s the one who has to see the haircut. If I look like a fool, she’ll have to suffer the consequences.
“Mmm. Okay. Get a stool from the kitchen and move it over there. Maybe flip back the rug.” She calls out commands as she rushes toward the bathroom, probably to gather up some supplies. I obey without question, loving how bossy she gets with me. No one tells me what to do, but this little devil of a woman can boss me around all day.
Before she comes back into the living room, I whip off my shirt and toss it on the couch. No need to get hair all over it. I flip back the rug covering the hard wood floors and turn around when Bridget makes a tortured sound as she rounds the corner. I guess taking off my shirt was a good idea because Bridget’s eyes are glued to my stomach, glazing over as she bites at her lip. A flush creeps up her neck, and I realize if I don’t say something soon, this is going to turn from a comical situation to a very tricky, possibly awful one that leads to me losing my memory and Bridget getting hurt again.
“Ahem.” The edges of my lips tip up as I pretend to narrow my eyes at her. Bridget blinks rapidly, and I hear her swallow as she tries to collect herself. Not going to lie, it feels fucking amazing to have her looking at me like she wants to tear my clothes off and lick me all over.
“Well then. Okay. Yeah. Let’s get you sexed up. Set up.” Bridget smacks a hand against her forehead and rolls her eyes. “Good lord,” she mutters, and I chuckle as I take a seat on the stool.
“I’m all yours to do with as you like.”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbles as she lays a towel over my shoulders, her breath catching when her fingers brush against my skin. Just that small contact causes goosebumps to break out over my neck and shoulders, and I freeze, my shoulders tense as I try to get control of my raging wolf and the quickly hardening cock in my pants. I try to think of horrible things, like standing in zero-degree temps after taking a dip in glacier water, or Vic plucking nose hairs. I’ve seen him do it. It’s a fucking tragedy.
“Ok, stay still. I don’t want to mess up your hair.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bridget huffs in exasperation as she sprays down my hair with a water bottle and combs through it. Every scrape of her nails on my scalp, each tug of a lock of hair, is a lulling seduction. I’m slowly becoming more relaxed and aroused than I’ve been in… well, forever. For a second, I consider telling her not to cut my hair, wanting her to do this to me again and again.
She parts my hair into sections before clipping it up on top of my head.
“Admit it, you just wanted to make me look ridiculous.” I laugh when I feel her twist part of my hair into a bun on the top of my head.
“I think you could have flowers woven in your hair and still look all manly and hot,” she grumbles.
“You think I’m manly and hot?”
“As if you don’t know you’re good looking,” Bridget scoffs, beginning to cut my hair. I don’t really care what she does to it anymore. The sweet torture of having her close is worth whatever she does.
She works her way from my back around to my front, and I’m acutely aware of every accidental touch of her body and mine. The brush of her arm against my shoulder, her breasts against my back. Her fresh vanilla essence is filling my lungs, and it’s such a luscious, sensual scent that I almost feel drunk from it. Everything about her calls to me, as if she’s the perfect answer to any question I could ever ask.
This haircut is a mistake, because all it’s done is turn me on to the point where my entire body is humming with need. My fingers dig into my thighs because I need grounding. I need a bite of pain to keep me from losing myself and dragging Bridget down with me.
She comes to stand in front of me, and I automatically part my legs so she can fit between them. It’s done without thought, my body moving to make space for her instinctually. Her chest is directly in my line of sight, and when she raises her arms to cut my hair, her breasts arch up like an invitation. I want to bury my face in the soft comfort of her. As if she can sense the direction of my thoughts, Bridget’s breath hitches, and my hands land on her hips in response. My fingers squeeze the supple flesh before traveling around back to grab her perfect, lush ass.
“Silas.” Bridget says my name on an exhale, and the shears tumble from her fingers to land on the ground behind me. Her hands float down to my shoulders, and my skin practically sizzles with the contact. My eyes lock onto hers, and I see the same hunger and need burning in her. The pulse in her neck is hammering, and I want to run my tongue over the evidence of her vibrant life. Every nerve in my body is alive, throbbing beneath my skin, making it feel like Bridget is charging me with electricity.
My grip on her ass tightens as I draw her in tight to my body. Bridget’s hand slides up into my newly-shorn locks of hair, and the soft bristles on the back of my head make a soft rasping sound. Her other hand is splayed over the hard muscles of my upper back, fingers stretched like she’s trying to touch as much skin as possible.
Bridget’s breath is ragged, coming out in little puffs that mingle with mine. Even though I’m sitting, I’m still a little taller than her, but right now, our lips are a mere whisper apart.
“Bridget,” I murmur, lips barely grazing hers as I say her name. Her eyes close like she’s reveling in the feel of me. In the heat of my skin, the strength in my hands.
Abruptly, I stand, my body fighting the need to crush her against me. Somehow, with a mental strength of will I didn’t know I possessed, I manage to push her away. Bridget’s eyes fly open, and her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Another few moments and I probably would have thrown her down on the f
loor and been thrusting inside her. Bridget takes an unsteady step back, and I curse at my own weakness.
“Sorry. I just don’t want… if we start something, I doubt I’ll be able to stop.” My heart is hammering in my chest, and my dick is straining painfully against my pants.
Bridget nods, but it doesn’t look like she’s heard what I’m saying.
“I don’t want to forget you again, Bridget. Until we figure this out, I just can’t touch you. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself.” My voice is raw and full of anguish. Even though I was able to restrain myself this time, I still feel like I’ve failed her. My chin drops to my chest as my unfinished haircut falls in front of my face.
Bridget takes a tentative step toward me, a stunned look on her face. I have fucked up so badly with her. The fact that she’s surprised I wouldn’t try to get in a quick fuck and forget her again is telling.
“Okay.” She nods briskly, clearing her throat. “Okay.”
“Sit down. I’ll finish up quick, and then we can sit on separate sides of the room.” She points at the stool, and I sit down without a word.
A few more minutes of the torment of her fingers in my hair and I’m mentally reciting the ages of each of my pack members to distract my mind. When my phone rings, I mutter a “thank fuck,” for the distraction. I don’t care who the hell it is. I just need something to divert my attention.
“I’m all done. Go ahead, I’ll clean up.” Bridget nods toward the ringing.
I hop off the stool, putting some distance between me and Bridget. Yanking the phone from my pocket, I grunt when I see the name on flashing on the front.
“Hey, what’s up, Killian?” My intention of cooling down fails miserably as I track Bridget’s movements into the kitchen. She’s not doing anything other than walking, and I still can’t think of anything but tearing her clothes off and sinking inside her until she’s crying out and clenching around my shaft.
“No news yet. Hollis isn’t… she’s not acclimating well. She thought her sister might be able to help you with the curse, but she can’t be around humans right now and definitely not a witch.”
I grunt, because that fucking sucks.
“Okay. Thanks, man. I’ve got one more lead I’m following but let me know when she’s ready.” I try to keep the disappointment from my voice. It’s not Killian’s fault the witch can’t control herself. Hell, it’s not even her fault. It’s actually one of my God damn wolves' faults. Fuck.
“Yeah, you got it,” Killian says distractedly, ending the call with a “later, wolf.”
I pluck the dustpan and broom out of Bridget’s hands and finish sweeping up. After dumping the mess in the garbage, I turn to find Bridget standing in the same spot in her living room. She looks tense and uncertain.
“Do you want to go get drunk?”
Her head snaps up, and she exhales loudly. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bridget
I was upset that Silas didn’t stop in to visit me at my store earlier in the day. But if the last hour and change has taught me anything, it’s that we really shouldn't be left alone together. We’re like two horny teenage kids who can’t keep their hands off each other. I want to make out with him in movie theaters and give him a handy-j underneath a blanket in the basement of our friend’s basement. Huh. Maybe I have a voyeuristic streak that I wasn’t aware of. When I consider the fact that Silas and I first had sex in an alley in the middle of a crowded festival… well, I’m just going to lock that away for future examination.
After the haircut, where the sexual tension and pheromones were practically dripping down the walls, it was so thick it’s obvious we need babysitters to keep us in line. Silas is on the phone with Dante, and I’m calling Remi.
“Are you calling to make sure I’m okay? I’m not. I need saving. Save me from myself, Bridget.”
“Oh my God, Remi,” I laugh. She’s only dramatic when it’s something completely stupid. When serious stuff happens, Remi shuts down and folds in on herself like a cheap fan. “Are you still watching The Bachelor?”
“Yes. I can’t stop. It’s like a car crash. I want to look away, but my eyeballs are drawn to the horror. Help me.” She whispers the last two words like she’s in a horror movie, hiding from the axe-wielding murderer.
“Want to go to Dante’s?” Silas raises a brow in question, and I shrug and nod in agreement.
“You’re in luck, Remi. I need to get drunk. You need to be saved from yourself. We’re headed to Dante’s house. Meet us there.”
“Are you a we and an us now?” Remi chuckles.
“Shut up. Meet me there. We’ll be there in twenty.”
“Oh, so bossy. I like it.”
“Twenty minutes, Remi. See ya.” I roll my eyes and hang up before she gets a chance to say something embarrassing that Silas will definitely be able to hear through the phone.
Dante Sentire’s house is a contemporary masterpiece. It’s all glass windows and square angles. It’s beautiful and edgy. I’m not saying I wouldn’t live there if someone gave me a house like this, but I prefer something a bit more lived in, comfortable, and homey. Silas’s house comes to mind. It’s not that it’s any smaller than Dante’s place, but the warm wood and overstuffed furniture makes me want to light a fire, curl up under a blanket, and take a nap. Or maybe it’s just that I want to do those things with Silas.
Silas walks right into Dante’s without knocking. I’m beginning to realize that’s just how he operates. At least Dante knows we’re coming over. He’s lounging on a chaise looking far too pleased with himself. I don’t know what put such a smug look on his face, but it’s practically dripping off him.
“Ignore him,” Remi calls out as she comes from a hallway―the bathroom, maybe―and saunters over to my side, hooking her arm through mine. She pulls me into the living room, indeed ignoring Dante as if we aren’t in his house. I toss a look to Silas over my shoulder, and he just shakes his head, waiving me off.
“Where’s the booze?” I spot the kitchen and head that way, but Remi tugs on my arm, redirecting me to the other side of the room. It’s all open concept in here, and now that I’m paying attention, I realize that there’s a kitchen and dining area to the left of the living room, and on the right-hand side is a bar.
“He has one of those fancy houses, Bridge. His liquor is behind the bar.”
The bar is just as modern and sleek as the rest of the house, with built in shelves that are backlit with a softly glowing white light. There are four steel high-legged chairs tucked beneath the perfectly polished gray quartz bar top.
I let Remi lead me to the bar and blink when I see Dante is already standing behind the counter. My head whips over to the chaise and then back to Dante as my eyes narrow on him. I know he was just sitting down a second ago. Whatever. Damn supernatural beings and all their enhanced abilities. Dragging out one of the stools, I have to pull myself up and do an awkward hop to get up there. Even then, my legs are dangling, making me feel like a toddler who shouldn't be allowed in such a nice house.
“What can I get you, darling?”
I don’t bother acknowledging his playful tone. Dante might be the most flirtatious man I’ve ever met. I think it’s part of his nature, and I’m not sure he can turn it off.
“Something fruity, please,” I ask, going along with the notion that Dante is my personal bartender.
“Care to share your troubles?” He lifts a brow as he begins mixing up a drink that has a lot of different types of liquors in it. He starts doing that bartender thing where he shakes a silver cup, and I’d be blind if I didn’t notice the way the muscles in his arms flexed with the movement.
Remi slides into the seat next to me while Silas moves in behind me. He’s not touching me, but he’s close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. I sneak a peek at Remi, noting that she’s also eyeing Dante. My cousin thinks she’s all sly and sneaky. That she’s a closed-up vault that no one can crac
k, but I can see straight through her. She’s had a thing for Dante Sentire for who knows how long. I don’t know why she doesn’t pursue it because he certainly would go for it. He basically eye fucks Remi every time he sees her.
I sigh and wait for my drink. I’m not going to play matchmaker. My own quasi-relationship is messed up enough. I don’t need to be taking on someone else’s problems too.
Dante pours out a pink frothy liquid into a tall, skinny glass before dropping in a straw and a little umbrella, which he makes a production of opening before he deposits it in my drink.
“And for the other ladies?” Dante gives Remi a steamy look before he turns his gaze to Silas and blows him a kiss. I chuckle and take a long pull on my fruity concoction.
“Mmm, that is yummy,” I say, licking my lips.
Remi makes a choking sound next to me and then starts laughing. “Bridget, you are going to be on your ass. Do you know how much booze is in there?”
Dropping my gaze to my glass, I cringe, realizing I’ve managed to suck down half of it with that one long drink. Then I shrug and take another smaller sip. “Well, that’s the goal, isn’t it?”
Silas makes a noise behind me that sounds suspiciously like a groan. Dante winks at me, and I wink back. Oh shit. I might be drunk already. That can’t be possible. The door opens and closes, and I hear Hazel call out before I get a chance to turn around.
“Hazel!” I shout excitedly, and then frown. Seriously, what was in that drink?
Hazel’s smile lights up her whole face. She’s living in a fog of new love, and she’s practically glowing with it. A wave of jealousy washes over me, immediately followed by a tsunami of guilt. I’m happy for my friend, and I know consciously that her finding a happily ever after doesn’t mean I won’t get mine. And yet, I can’t help the annoyance I feel toward the universe for all the bumps in my proverbial road to find love.