Chapter Eleven #3
Quinn waited until Zeppelin left before checking his phone again. Still no response. Not that he was obsessing or anything. Totally not obsessing.
Should he have sent a second text? Maybe he should’ve just stuck with sending that first one and left it alone. Would Sasha think he was too needy?
Fuck. Quinn wasn’t sure.
He decided to take a shower, which killed a whopping twenty minutes. Quinn was ready to climb the walls. The water had been too hot, then too cold, then he’d gotten shampoo in his eyes like some kind of amateur. His reflection in the fogged mirror looked exactly as wrecked as he felt.
Deodorant, cologne—not too much, Jesus, he wasn’t trying to gas the guy out—wallet, keys, phone.
Phone. Still no text from Sasha.
The garage called to him like a siren. Nothing cleared his head like getting elbow-deep in engine grease.
His truck sat waiting, black paint gleaming even in the dim overhead lighting.
He’d already swapped out the stock exhaust for a Flowmaster, which gave it a throaty rumble.
The lift kit had added three inches of clearance, perfect for the mountain roads around here.
Quinn lost himself in checking fluid levels, tightening bolts that didn’t need tightening, wiping down surfaces that already gleamed. The familiar smell of motor oil and WD-40 filled his lungs, grounding him in something real and fixable.
“Heard congratulations are in order.”
Bayne’s voice drifted from the garage entrance. The younger wolf sauntered in, hands shoved in his pockets, trying too hard to look casual. Quinn knew that tone though. The barely concealed longing underneath the fake cheer.
“Wade needs a muzzle.” Quinn held out his hand without looking. “Half-inch socket.”
Metal clinked as Bayne sorted through the toolbox. “So what’s he…she like?”
“He,” Quinn corrected automatically, taking the offered socket. “And he’s…I don’t know. Witty. Gorgeous. Different.”
“Different how?”
How to explain that one conversation over coffee had Quinn ready to rearrange his entire life?
“Just different.” He adjusted the ratchet, focusing on the bolt in front of him. “Probably out of my league.”
Bayne’s hand landed on his shoulder, brief but solid. “You’re selling yourself short, man. Always have.”
Something in his tone made Quinn look up. His packmate’s expression held an edge of something that might’ve been envy if Quinn didn’t know better.
“At least you found him,” Bayne continued, voice carefully neutral. “Some of us are still looking.”
Ah. There it was. Quinn set down the wrench, wiping his hands on an already filthy rag.
“Hey.” He squeezed Bayne’s arm, just hard enough to make sure he was listening. “It’ll happen for you too. When you least expect it, boom. There they’ll be.”
The look Bayne gave him said he’d believe that when pigs sprouted wings and started their own airline. “Been telling myself that for over two centuries. Starting to think my mate got lost in the mail.”
Quinn knocked his shoulder against Bayne’s, the kind of casual contact that said everything words couldn’t.
Pack bonds ran deep, but there were some things you didn’t talk about directly.
The loneliness of watching your brothers find their perfect matches.
The wondering if you were broken somehow, if fate had forgotten to write your name on someone else’s heart.
“When you least expect it,” Quinn said, echoing what everyone always said, because what else was there? “That’s how it works, right?”
They tinkered in companionable silence, the clink of tools and distant bird calls filling the space around them.
This was pack. Not the feeling-your-feelings stuff the mates tried to force on their caveman pack members because boundaries were just suggestions, but this.
Showing up. Being present. Handing someone a wrench when their world felt off-kilter.
Quinn’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He nearly dropped the ratchet in his hurry to check it, oil-slick fingers fumbling with the screen.
Work’s been slow, but I’ll be ready at three. Looking forward to it too.
The simple message shouldn’t have made the rest of the world fade. But there it was—evidence that Sasha was thinking about him too. That his mate felt the pull just as strongly.
“Good news?” Bayne asked, eyebrow raised.
“The best.” He grinned. “Shit!” How was he already running late? Time had done that weird speeding-up thing while he was distracted. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Tools clattered as he tossed them aside with more haste than care. Quinn was already moving, grabbing his keys from the workbench and heading for his truck.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Bayne called after him.
“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” Quinn shot back, sliding behind the wheel as Bayne laughed.
The engine roared to life, that modified exhaust announcing his departure to the whole mountain. He peeled out of the garage maybe a touch faster than necessary, tires screeching. Three o’clock. He had a date with destiny. Or at least with a cute barista who made his wolf want to do backflips.
Same thing, really.
The winding mountain road demanded focus.
Its curves and switchbacks had caught more than one tourist off guard.
Quinn knew every turn, could probably drive it blindfolded, but today his mind kept drifting to blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
To the way Sasha had smiled when Quinn had said it was a date.
An actual date with his actual mate who had no idea what he was getting into.
Quinn’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as town came into view. The drive usually took twenty minutes. He made it in fifteen, which definitely had nothing to do with being eager. Just efficient driving. That’s all.
The clock on his dashboard flicked to 2:58 as he pulled into a parking spot in front of Cyril’s.
Whew. Talk about cutting it close. Quinn did a quick breath check then glanced at his hair in the rearview mirror. It never did what he wanted it to. “You’d think after two centuries you’d know how to style a crop of hair.” Rolling his eyes, he exited his truck then stopped dead in his tracks.
Sasha wasn’t inside the cafe. He stood to the right of the quaint building with the guy his mate had been staring at earlier.
The cousin.
Quinn started to hang back to give his mate some privacy to talk with his family but noticed how stiff Sasha’s posture was. His shoulders were pulled back, and he was glaring at his cousin, but his mate couldn’t quite hide the slight trembling. “I’m not giving any of it back.”
Sasha’s cousin took a menacing step forward.
Oh, hell no. The guy was asking for his spine to be repo’d. Quinn would do it free of charge if the son of a bitch didn’t back away from his mate.
Quinn sauntered over and glanced between them.
The cousin turned to look at him, brows scrunched, lip curled. “You gotta problem, buddy?”
Don’t rip out his throat. Your mate might freak out if you end his cousin’s sorry-ass life. God, Quinn wanted to at least connect a solid punch to the prick’s jaw.
“Stop being rude to my friends, Marcus,” Sasha said vehemently while pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. How fucking adorable was a kitten with claws? Quinn wanted to kiss the shit out of Sasha right there on the street.
He planned on clearing up the friend-zone thing later. They were so much more. But he also noticed how Sasha had stopped trembling as soon as Quinn appeared. His body knew it was safe with Quinn, even if his mind couldn’t figure out why.
Marcus looked up at Quinn, still sneering. Then he directed his attention back toward his cousin as traffic at the light started moving forward. “We’ll talk later.”
Not if Quinn had anything to say about it. As Marcus turned to walk away, Quinn narrowed his eyes, smirked, and gave the guy a single nod. Marcus studied him for a moment then headed down the block.
Sasha ran a hand through his red strands, causing them to stick up in all directions. “Sorry about that. He’s still complicated.”
“Seems pretty simple to me.” A bully who thought he could intimidate family.
That was all Quinn needed to know. The details were irrelevant as far as he was concerned.
He would’ve asked Sasha if this was the first time his cousin had intimidated him, but life had taught Quinn that men like Marcus were born with a chip on their shoulder and a damn good radar for vulnerable prey.
If he fucked with Sasha again, Quinn would bury him so fast not even his ghost would have time to figure out what happened.
“You…uh, want to go someplace specific?” Sasha glanced over his shoulder, clearly forgetting about the gyro truck. Quinn placed his hand on the small of his mate’s back and guided him to his truck.
“Hungry?” He opened the passenger door, keeping his hand on Sasha’s back to not only steady him but he liked touching his mate. Warmth seeped through the human’s shirt as Quinn deeply inhaled. Cherry blossoms. The scent had his cock hardening.
“Not really. Is there something else we can do?”
Right before Quinn closed the door, he said, “Baby, we can do whatever you want. Name it, we do it.”
That wasn’t an empty offer. If Sasha was hankering to rob a bank, Quinn would supply the bandanas and weapons, though he doubted there was an immoral bone in the redhead’s body.
“Got a place in mind,” he said after he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Do you care if we make a pitstop to switch rides?”
Sasha frowned. “What exactly are you planning?”
Quinn winked. “I’d rather surprise you, firefly.”
“Firefly?” A burst of laughter bubbled out of Sasha, quick and sweet, leaving traces of joy in its path.
Oh, yeah. Quinn was so screwed.
Chapter Three
Sasha had lost his ever-loving mind. Not only had he agreed to run off with a stranger but he was on the back of a motorcycle, clutching Quinn like he had seconds to live.