Chapter 40
chapter
forty
“I know he’s a huge pain in the ass, but we have to be nice .”
Am I proud of the way I more-or-less snuck up on Bridget, just to hear her talk to her cat? Not particularly.
But when I saw her, standing on her back patio with bare feet and a yellow ribbon in her hair, I’m not sure how much actual decision-making occurred.
I saw her, so I went to her.
I suppose it was inevitable after thinking about her all day at practice. Waiting impatiently for the moment I got to come home.
Because that’s what this is. What Bridget has turned this tiny house into.
Home .
I feel it in every colorful corner. Her essential oil diffusers. The over-watered plants that I suspect survive simply to bask in all the attention she gives them. Even her collection of penis figurines. And the fact that they take up shelves in the foyer, the bedroom, the living room…
She always has music playing, too. Colt claims it drives him crazy, but he must be napping in her room. Maybe that’s why today’s selection is more mellow than her usual songs—an acoustic playlist instead of pop music.
Bridget continues scolding her cat, who gazes up at her like she’s explaining the secrets of the universe. The plump tabby meows, and a smirk curves her lips. “Yes, but he’s trying , Munchies. No more hissing.”
Since we moved in, her pet has taken to each of us with varying degrees of success. He clearly respects Adrian the most, which is typical when an alpha has as much innate dominance as ours. If our leader is present, the creature slinks around with big, hopeful eyes, waiting to be noticed.
He spends the most time with Colt during the day. So much so, the two of them now bicker like an old married couple. My packmate will grumble and grunt, and Munchies mewls in reply, arguing with the bastard.
I’m starting to suspect the creature may have figured that Colt needs emotional support, because he also insists on cuddling up next to him at all hours. The fact that Colt allows it makes me think he might need a hell of a lot more than emotional support.
At first, the cat approached me with simple curiosity, until I started feeding him pieces of my food. Now, the second I sit down to eat, he thinks we’re best friends.
Which can only mean Dante is the tabby’s Designated Asshole.
Munchies doesn’t seem thrilled about being nice to my packmate. He lets out a deeper, bellowing meow. I smirk as I step onto the house’s back porch.
“I’m with him.”
Bridget startles, darting wide eyes up at me from her crouched position. Munchies speaks again, then winds through her legs. The combination sends Bridget falling backward.
I try to lurch forward, but her cut-offs hit the porch floor just as my fingertips graze her bow-tied ponytail.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping to my knees. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry, bumblebee.”
She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have my music so loud.”
She has great taste, though. The song pumping through her porch speakers happens to be a cover of one of my favorites.
“I don’t know,” I hedge, smiling as I help her to her feet. “There are definitely worse things to come home to than good music.”
Her eyes sparkle with the most genuine kind of delight. “You like this song, too?”
I nod, my fingers twitching at my sides. Aching to reach for her. For some reason, this particular tune makes me want to sweep her into the sort of slow-dance teenagers usually do around gymnasiums.
My Alpha nudges me. Hard .
When I listened to him at the nest store, it made everything between us more complicated, but what happened in the locker room changed things. And last weekend, when we apologized…
I promised to be better. Do better.
So I offer her my hand. “Dance with me?”
She blinks at my palm, her scent sweetening and dimming. Shyness creeps into the tilt of her chin. “I—Seriously?”
Ignoring the pang of chagrin that socks me in the stomach, I curl my fingers. More earnest than I’ve ever been. “Seriously.”
Her screwed-up features are adorable—pinched somewhere between wariness and wavering. She places her hand in mine anyway, leveling me with a deadpan stare. “Slow jams only.”
“Deal.” I laugh, relieved. The extent of my dancing skills is exactly this—rocking back and forth.
Bridget doesn’t seem to mind, though. As I pull her flush against my front, her cheeks blaze the sweetest peach to match the sudden burst of her sugared lemon perfume.
I nearly smirk at how much taller and longer-limbed I am. She has to stretch to loop her arms around my neck, while I settle my hands at the small of her back without any effort at all.
When my thumbs graze the strip of bare skin between her denim shorts and her tight white T-shirt, a shiver streaks down my spine. It lands in my groin with a hard tweak to my knot, but I ignore it, focusing on her delicate, makeup-less features. Memorizing freckles and flecks of blue.
She catches me, darting a narrow-eyed, suspicious look into mine. “What?”
My shoulders bounce under her forearms. “You’re beautiful, Bee.”
She snorts. “The way you say that is so funny. Like it’s…”
A fact. Because it is. “It isn’t news ,” I chuckle, “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”
A purr starts in my chest when her eyebrows leap up. She automatically huddles closer to the vibration under my navy T-shirt, pressing her cheek to my sternum. That one soft touch feels like a lightning bolt, impaling my heart. My rumbling deepens, and she hums, sounding much more relaxed.
“The last time I heard this song, I was at prom,” she muses absently. Like she’s simply sharing her thoughts as they drift, though I wonder if she might be changing the subject on purpose.
But that statement unlocks a memory. Likely the reason I asked her to stand here and sway with me in the first place.
She’s right . They did play this cover at prom. And I remember the exact moment… because I was looking at her .
“You were beautiful that night, too,” I recall. “In your light green dress.”
I’m not usually one for clothes, but I can picture her exact outfit in my mind. The lightest jade silk, pooling at her waist and flowing down to a pair of strappy gold shoes. White tips on her nails. Peach warming her cheeks. A sprig of tiny pink flowers braided through her auburn hair.
Bridget slowly raises her face, gaping at me. “Y-you remember my dress ?”
I shake my head. “I remember you . Standing on the side of the dance floor. With a book.”
The shy version of her smile makes a brief but breathtaking appearance. “Yeah, I’m the genius who brought a book to prom and then wondered why no one wanted to dance with me.”
That isn’t even half-true, I realize. Because—“ I wanted to dance with you.”
The words shouldn’t be a revelation. But if the last month has taught me anything, it’s how little I knew my own mind back then.
Of course I wanted to dance with Bridget. Why else did I spend half of my senior prom stealing glances at her? Ignoring the burn low in my belly every time I spotted her standing alone?
Her face freezes, arrested between shock and doubt. “You… did?”
I press my palms flat to her back, hugging her closer and bending to scent-mark her forehead.
Staring right into her skeptical blue eyes.
“Yes.” My brows crease as another memory materializes.
“I actually think I ended up getting in a fight with my date because she accused me of being ‘distracted.’”
My mouth flashes into a grimacing smile. “Oops.”
Bridget giggles, and the quiet, warbling sound is enough to make any level of humiliation worth it.
“Oh boy. If I ever run into Brianna, I’ll have to apologize.”
I’m glad she can recall my date’s name, because I wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain of it. When I cock a teasing brow at her, Bridget sniffs regally, tossing her ponytail back. “What? It’s not like I made a voodoo doll of her when I got home that night or anything.”
The offhand way she says it makes me think that’s exactly what she did. And the swooping ache in my stomach tells me I might have just fallen in love.