Chapter Eleven #8
“Perfect, thanks.” Sasha took a long sip, the mint and lime cutting through the rum in a refreshing burst.
Derek scooted his stool closer, cologne intensifying with proximity. “Come on, Red. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”
“And I’m just trying to drink in peace.” Sasha kept his tone light, but the nickname grated. He’d had enough of being reduced to his hair color by the time he’d left high school. It also felt slightly insulting compared to firefly.
“Playing hard to get?” Derek’s hand landed on Sasha’s thigh, warm and uninvited. “I like a challenge.”
Sasha swatted the intrusive hand off his thigh. “Not playing anything. Just not interested.” He shifted away slightly, creating more space between them. Quinn’s hands had been steady, reverent, a promise wrapped in touch. Derek’s? Grabby, entitled, invasive.
Derek’s smile hardened at the edges. “Stuck up much? I’m just offering to buy you a drink, not marry you.”
“And I said no thanks. Twice.” Sasha took another sip of his mojito, wishing the guy would take the hint and evaporate.
“What’s your problem?” Derek scowled, refusing to back down. “You think you’re too good for me, or are you just a frigid little bitch?”
Before Sasha could respond, a basket of golden fries appeared between them, followed by the bartender’s massive presence.
“Problem here?” His gaze locked on Derek, expression making it clear there was only one correct answer.
“I–”
“Actually, don’t care,” the bartender said. “Piss off before I toss you out on your ass.”
For a moment, Derek looked like he might argue, but after a glance at the bartender’s arms, he slid off the stool. “Whatever. He’s not even that cute.”
The guy disappeared into the crowd.
“Thanks,” Sasha said. “I was seconds away from tossing my delicious-tasting mojito in his face.”
“Would’ve been a waste of good rum.” The bartender extended a hand. “I don’t tolerate harassment in my bar. I’m Ash, by the way.”
“Sasha.” They shook, and Sasha felt himself finally relaxing. “Appreciate the save. His pickup lines were about to knock me unconscious.” He hadn’t used any, but his parting words still stung.
Ash chuckled. “They were probably horrible.”
“The worst.” Sasha smiled then leaned in and whispered, “Betcha he has a small sailor.”
Muscle Mountain let out a booming laugh. “Drink’s on the house, bud.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet.” Sasha pushed his second origami across the counter. “On the house.”
Ash picked up the small fox and examined it then set it on one of the liquor shelves on the backlit wall. “Thanks. That’s pretty cool. Holler if another asshole drops next to you.” He rapped his beefy knuckles on the counter before he walked away, leaving Sasha smiling.
Sasha devoured his fries while scrolling mindlessly through his phone, the combination of alcohol and carbs creating a warm bubble around him.
Now, the empty basket sat pushed to the side, not even a salt crystal remaining as evidence of the fries’ former existence.
Time had become a vague concept. The bar had filled up more, bodies pressed closer together as the music grew louder. Ash kept the mojitos coming, and Sasha kept emptying them. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up with a finger that didn’t quite go where he aimed it.
How many drinks had he had? Three? Four? The ice in his current glass clinked musically as he swirled the remains of his drink.
His phone sat heavy in his palm, Quinn’s number pulled up on the screen.
He’d been staring at it for what felt like hours, thumb hovering over the call button.
Quinn wouldn’t answer. He was probably still a wolf, licking his wounds or doing whatever injured shapeshifters did.
Probably curled up in a den somewhere, healing.
Screw it. Before he could overthink any further, Sasha hit Call and pressed the phone to his ear.
One ring. Two rings. Three—
“Sasha?” Quinn’s voice rumbled through the speaker, deep and rich as molten chocolate, somehow even more intense without the visual distraction of his face.
Sasha’s breath caught. He hadn’t expected Quinn to actually answer. The sound of his name in that baritone sent warmth cascading through him.
“You’re not a wolf anymore!” The words tumbled out before he could filter them. “I mean—hi. Hello. You answered. I didn’t think you’d answer. It’s your voice.”
Quinn’s laugh was low and warm. “Been human for about an hour now. Healing works faster when we’re in animal form.”
“Right. Shifter stuff. Wolf things.” Sasha took another sip of his drink, liquid courage burning a path down his throat. “So you’re okay? Not bleeding all over someone’s carpet or anything?”
“I’m fine. How’re you doing? Today was…a lot.”
“Oh, I’m great. Totally normal reaction to finding out the hot guy I was smooching can turn into Cujo’s bigger, scarier cousin. Having a drink. Or was it three? How many have I had?” Sasha squinted as he tried to remember. “Math is hard right now.”
“And where might you be?” Concern colored Quinn’s voice.
“Frothy Pine. It’s a bar. With alcohol. And stools.
They got peanuts. And this nice bartender named Ash who saved me from a creepy-creep with bad cologne and even worse pickup lines.
” Sasha leaned forward, whispering into the phone like he was sharing a state secret.
“Did you know your eyes are the exact color of storm clouds right before lightning strikes? I noticed that when you kissed me. Before you went all furry.”
There was a smile in Quinn’s voice. “You’re drunk.”
“Tipsy,” Sasha corrected then giggled. “Okay, maybe drunk. But I’m a very responsible drunk. I’m sitting. Sitting’s responsible. I even have my ankles crossed. Safety first. Oh! They have really good fries. And mojitos. So many mojitos.”
“I can tell.” The amusement in Quinn’s voice made Sasha’s toes curl inside his shoes. “Having fun?”
“Not really.” Sasha leaned closer to the phone, lowering his voice to what he thought was a whisper but was probably audible three stools down. “I keep thinking about you. And your mouth. On my mouth. Before the whole furry thing.”
“Is that right?” A beat of silence. “Want company?”
“Yes,” Sasha said, breathy enough to fog glass. “I want company. Your company. Specificy…sprecifically… I give up.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t move your gorgeous backside off that stool, firefly.”
“Where would I go?” Sasha laughed. “My legs are very unreliable right now. They’re like... like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships. All wobbly and floppy.”
The line went dead, and Sasha stared at his phone in mock offense. “Rude,” he muttered before sliding it back onto the bar with more force than necessary.
Sasha’s attention drifted to the door, anticipation building in his veins. Every time it opened, he perked up like an eager puppy, only to deflate when it wasn’t Quinn.
When Quinn finally walked in, Sasha nearly fell off his stool. The guy paused in the doorway, scanning the crowd until his gaze landed on Sasha. A smile bloomed across his face, transforming his already handsome features into something that made Sasha’s heart stutter.
“You came!” Sasha called, waving enthusiastically. “And you’re not bleeding anymore!”
Quinn reached him in a few long strides, sliding onto the stool beside him. “Indoor voice, firefly.”
“Sorry,” Sasha whispered loudly, leaning in close enough that his glasses went slightly askew. “I’m very happy to see you.”
“I can tell.” Quinn gently straightened Sasha’s glasses, fingers lingering on his temple. “How’re you feeling?”
“Floaty.” Sasha demonstrated by wiggling his fingers in the air. “And hungry again. And...” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I have questions about the thing. Your thing. So many questions.”
Quinn caught Sasha’s fluttering hands in his own, thumbs stroking over his knuckles. “And I’ll answer them all. When you’re sober.”
“I’m perfectly—” He blinked so slowly he swore five minutes passed him by. “Okay, maybe Imma a lil alcohol. But my brain works fine.” He tapped his temple and nearly poked himself in the eye.
Quinn’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he signaled to Ash. “Can we get some coffee and whatever food you’ve got that might soak up the mojitos?”
“Coming right up, Quinn,” Ash replied, shooting Sasha an amused look.
Sasha leaned against Quinn’s shoulder, drawn to his warmth. “You smell nice. Like trees but also not trees. Does being a woof make you smell like that? Do I smell different to you because you’re a woof?”
“You smell like mint, lime, and rum.” Quinn’s arm circled around to steady him. “With a hint of cherry blossoms underneath.”
“That’s my shampoo!” Sasha beamed up at him, absurdly pleased. “You can smell my shampoo? That’s so cool. What else can you smell? Can you smell emotions? Is fear smelly? What about happiness? Does happiness smell like cupcakes?”
Quinn’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “One question at a time, firefly.”
“But they’re all important questions.” Sasha poked Quinn’s chest for emphasis. “Imma need-to-know guy.”
“I see.” Quinn’s eyes danced with amusement.
Ash returned with a mug of coffee and a basket of what looked like loaded nachos. “On the house. Your friend here has been entertaining.”
“I bet.” Quinn slid the coffee toward Sasha. “Drink up, sweetheart.”
Sasha obediently took a sip, making a face at the bitter taste. “Needs sugar. Lots of sugar.”
“Tough.” Quinn pushed the mug back toward him when he tried to set it down. “Keep drinking.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Sasha took another sip then reached for the nachos. “These look amazing. Want some?” He held up a cheese-covered chip toward Quinn’s mouth without waiting for an answer.
Quinn’s lips closed around the offered nacho, eyes never leaving Sasha’s. The simple act sent heat rushing to Sasha’s cock.
“Good.” Quinn licked his lips, and Sasha moaned.
“I want you to lick my lips like that.”