Chapter 7 The Hangout
CHAPTER SEVEN
the hangout
IVER
Isquint at the picture on my phone as my fingers work to rearrange the various pieces of meat and cheese across the wooden board, trying to get my version to look as close to the photograph as possible.
It doesn’t, but that isn’t for a lack of effort on my part.
I’ve been fiddling with this thing for the past twenty minutes, trying to twist a piece of salami to look like a rose, and that’s after cutting all the blocks of cheese into bite-size pieces, which took for-fucking-ever.
Despite it all, this sad little charcuterie board looks like it belongs on a Pinterest fail post. Should’ve just ordered a pizza.
I’m so focused on my task that the sharp knock at the front door makes me flinch, my breath catching as I whip around and rush over to answer it. She’s here. I’ve been eagerly anticipating seeing my mate all damn day, and she’s finally here at my packhouse, right on the other side of that door.
In light of how well our casual hike went in comparison to dining out, I figured a low-pressure hangout would be better than another formal date.
Chey agreed. It takes some pressure off both of us so we can just focus on what matters, which is getting to know one another.
The more we do, the less nervous I am around her.
And thankfully I’m not experiencing those annoying pre-date jitters right now since this isn’t technically a date.
I still want to get it right, though, which is why I put far too much time and effort into prepping our snack. And styling my hair. It takes way longer to achieve that messy, tousled look than you’d think.
Grasping onto the knob, I twist and pull the door open, beaming a grin at Chey when our eyes meet.
She’s dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the top half of her golden blonde hair pulled back in a half-ponytail.
My heart stutters in my chest at the sight of her; I swear this girl just gets more gorgeous every time I see her.
“Hey, beautiful,” I croon, stepping aside to allow her entry. “Come on in.”
She smiles shyly as she steps over the threshold and right into my waiting arms. Yeah, we hug now. It’s cool.
Pulling her in tightly against my chest, I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply, stifling a groan at how fucking good she smells. What I wouldn’t give to bottle up that scent and carry it around with me all the time.
“How was your day?” I ask as I reluctantly pull back from the embrace, dropping my arms to my sides.
“Uneventful,” she replies with a sigh, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and cocking her head. “Yours?”
“Pretty much the same. Had to deal with some petty squabbling amongst my pack that should’ve been squashed by the enforcers last week, but grown men have a tendency to act like toddlers when given half the chance.”
“Fun,” she snorts sarcastically.
“Oh yeah, a laugh riot,” I chuckle, beckoning her to follow me toward the kitchen with a flick of my head.
“You hungry at all? I made us a snack, but please don’t judge it by the way it looks.
I was trying to copy this picture I found to make it all neat and shit, but instead it’s just kind of a mess.
” I gesture to the charcuterie board sitting on the island with a wince, a flush of embarrassment heating my cheeks.
“So what? We’re just gonna eat it anyways, right?” she scoffs.
“Right,” I agree, my shoulders slumping in relief. At least she’s chill. I’ve never tried this hard with a girl before, but Chey also seems refreshingly easy to please.
Leading her over to the kitchen island, I gesture to the charcuterie board resting upon it with a wince, a flush of embarrassment heating my cheeks. She stifles a giggle when she sees the haphazard piles of meat and cheese stacked on the plank, shaking her head as she looks up at me.
“What was it supposed to look like?”
I slip my phone out of my pocket, pulling up the photo and turning the screen her way.
She snorts a laugh, eyes bouncing between the picture on my phone and my failed attempt at mimicking it. “Hey, it’s better than I could’ve done,” she remarks, plucking a cube of cheese off the corner of the board and popping it in her mouth. She smiles as she chews, then swallows. “Tastes great.”
“Guess that’s all that matters,” I reply with a bashful shrug, stepping around the island to the vodka bottle and glasses of ice waiting on the counter. “Want a drink?”
“Yes please,” she sighs, picking up another piece of cheese and nibbling on the corner.
“Coming right up,” I quip as I open the fridge and take out a bottle of cranberry juice. There’s no way we’re running out tonight– I stocked up after last time. Four bottles might’ve been overkill, but I’d rather be prepared. Don’t want her to think I can’t take care of my woman.
I mix up the drinks and carry them back over, handing Chey’s to her before taking a sip of my own. “So, you think they’ll merge tonight?” I ask as I set it back down on the counter.
“Doubt it,” she murmurs as she stacks a cracker with meat and cheese. “The tribes think they’re heading into the merge, so that means it’s the perfect time for Jeff to throw a twist.”
“True, but in past seasons, they’ve merged by now,” I murmur contemplatively.
“Exactly, they’re trying to throw them off!” she exclaims.
As if I wasn’t already ridiculously attracted to Chey, the fact that I can nerd out with her about Survivor is like the icing on the cake.
We debate the topic a little more, each hedging our bets on how the episode is going to play out, then load up a couple small plates with charcuterie and head into the living room, eager to settle in before it starts.
Not only have we graduated to greeting each other with hugs, but she also sits nice and close when she sinks down beside me on the couch.
I toss an arm over the sofa cushions behind her, and it isn’t long before she’s leaning against me, snuggling in as the show starts to play on the large flatscreen TV.
I won’t admit to how much I sniff her hair through the duration of the episode. Not my fault it smells so damn good.
I swear everything in life is better with Cheyenne, and watching my favorite TV show is no exception.
We toss snarky commentary back and forth throughout, poking fun at the drama brewing between the contestants, and when the credits roll, I’m bummed it’s over.
We’ll have to wait another week for the next installment, but with any luck, we’ll be watching together.
“You were right,” I sigh, turning to look at her as a commercial starts to play. “No merge.”
She lifts her chin, a smug grin creasing her lips. “Told ya.”
“You won the bet, so name your prize,” I say, smiling back at her.
We hold eye contact for a long moment as she contemplates it, my pulse kicking up a notch when I realize how close our faces are right now.
All it’d take is a dip of my chin to press my lips to hers.
I want to, but I also don’t wanna push my luck when it comes to her boundaries.
I’m willing to take this as slow as she needs me to.
Clearly we’re on the same page, because Chey’s gaze flickers down to my lips as she wets hers with her tongue, drawing a shallow breath. “How about a kiss?”
Fuck yes.
I can’t contain my responding grin as I lift a hand to cup her face, tilting her chin up further and leaning down to capture her lips.
I plant soft kisses against them, slowly warming her up as she relaxes into it, completely attuned to the signals she’s putting off.
Her tongue glides against the seam of my lips, letting me know she wants more, and I’m all too eager to give it to her.
Up on that mountain, our kisses were tentative and exploratory.
This one may have started out that way, but it rapidly turns hot and heavy as we lose ourselves in the moment, completely consumed by one another.
Our lips glide, tongues tangling. She fists the front of my t-shirt as if she can’t get me close enough, and I start to get carried away myself, my hands wandering.
One grips her waist while the other slides up her arm, the ridges of the scars on her bicep rough beneath my fingertips.
I feel her muscles tense the moment I touch them and immediately ease off, but the moment’s ruined.
Chey breaks the kiss by pulling back, her lashes fluttering as she blinks her eyes open.
“Sorry,” I pant. “I…”
“No, it’s fine,” she interrupts, reaching out to cup my jaw with a soft smile.
“I know this isn’t easy, but I appreciate how amazing you’ve been about it.
More than I can even say.” Her smile fades as her hand slides away from my face, reaching over to tug up the sleeve of her t-shirt and show me her scar.
“I got this one the same night as my mark,” she quietly admits.
I furrow my brow, glancing down at the scar, then back up into her eyes. “How?”
She blows out a slow breath, letting go of her sleeve so it falls over the scar once more. “He wanted to mark me, but the only way he could get his canines down was by shifting. His claws…”
I suck in a startled breath, eyes popping wide. “But why didn’t it heal?”
She averts her gaze, shrugging faintly. “I don’t know if it’s because it happened at the same time I was marked, or if my body was just in shock at the time… my shifter healing wouldn’t touch it. Hence the scars.”
“Shit, Chey, I’m so sorry,” I grumble, reaching out to take her hand. I lace my fingers with hers, lifting it and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe,” I tell her, meaning it with every fiber of my being. I’ll stop at nothing to protect what’s mine.
The corners of her lips curl in a smile, a faint blush touching her cheeks.
Lowering our joined hands between us, I glance down at the cuff bracelet on her wrist, remembering the other scar she has that’s concealed beneath it. “Is that how you got this one, too?” I ask, eyes lifting to hers.
She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, her blush deepening. “That one’s a story for another day.”
“Ah, so that means you plan on seeing me again,” I drawl with a wink.
“Obviously,” Chey snorts. “You’re doing a hell of a job at sweeping me off my feet, Iver Anderson.” She leans in to smack another kiss against my lips, smirking as she pulls back. “Keep it up.”
“I plan on it,” I declare, grinning widely. “You wanna do something tomorrow?”
“Sure, like what?”
Shit, probably should’ve thought of that first.
“I dunno,” I mumble, racking my brain for ideas. “We could go out for dinner again, or a movie or something…”
“A movie sounds good,” she replies with a nod. “But could we do it here? I’m more of a low-key kinda girl. And then I can wear sweatpants instead of having to do laundry.”
I chuckle at her joke, but part of me is starting to wonder whether she’s kidding around when she says stuff like that. I’ve never wanted for anything, but Cheyenne grew up a lot differently. She was orphaned young; her pack was nomadic. Maybe she didn’t have much because money was tight.
“That sounds good to me,” I say, making a vow to myself to fill her closet full of more clothes than she could ever wear once I win her over. “But since you laughed at my charcuterie board, I’m ordering pizza.”