Chapter Eleven
Emerson
I watch, frowning, as Jamie all but runs from the pub. The man who just joined us—I didn’t catch his name, and I don’t think Jamie knows him well, either, not from the way they shook hands—pats Dax on the arm when he goes to follow.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
Vince scowls and opens his mouth to protest, but Nick shakes his head.
“Might be better sending someone new,” he mutters.
I don’t understand at all. It makes little difference. The man ambles out into the evening air, leaving me staring after him.
Is something wrong? I drag my gaze away and fix it on the glass in my hand instead.
I debated coming tonight. I’m here for a job, not necessarily to make friends.
Of course, being friendly with the people I’m living with can only be a good thing, but I could have begged off.
Could have said I had to work or had plans already or any of the numerous excuses I’ve used to avoid gatherings in the past.
Only, I didn’t want to, did I? Jamie asked, looking ever so hopeful, so of course I said yes immediately.
“He’ll be all right,” Nick says quietly. “It’s nothing as serious as you’re thinking.”
Does he know what I’m thinking? I’m not even certain that I do.
“Yeah, no, I—We didn’t have to come here. If it’s a problem.”
“It’s not,” Vince says. He speaks a little louder and ends the utterance with a sigh. Dax, his boyfriend, purses his lips in what I think is displeasure. Vince’s eyes flick to the man behind the bar.
He’s still staring at us. Has been since we walked in, and I can’t work out why, the same way I can’t work out why I’m so worried about Jamie, or why my skin feels tight, stomach all fluttering. The man who just joined us was talking to him for a minute before. They obviously know each other well.
“Who is he?” I ask before I can stop myself.
I’m staring back at him now. I can’t help it.
His eyes look dark from this distance, but I can’t tell their true colour, even through my glasses.
He’s wearing a forest green jumper, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he plants his hands on the bar now, absolutely unabashed to be caught looking.
“Patch,” Dax says, sharply enough that I snap out of the weird trance I’m in.
Somehow, Patch seems to, as well. He pushes off from the bar and busies himself at the counter behind, but from this angle, it looks like he’s just moving things around.
“I lived with him before Vince and I moved in together.”
“So you’re friends?”
A smile curls the corner of Dax’s mouth. “Yeah. The best of. He’s usually much… calmer than this.”
“Has something happened?”
Dax shrugs. “He’s not said anything,” he replies, and it feels awfully like he’s avoiding the question.
I scowl and take another sip of my drink. I asked for pop, which seems like a good decision, considering I’m now thinking how much less awkward it would be if I had a couple of pints in me. No. I’m on my best behaviour. Not my fault that Patch is strangely intense and Jamie is just…
I look helplessly at the door again. Whatever he is. How ever he is.
“I’m gonna get another,” Vince says, and Dax grabs his arm, giving him a significant look. “No, it’s fine. I’m done, see?” He holds up his empty glass, shaking it from side to side.
“I’ll go,” I say. If Jamie’s problem is with Patch, then maybe I can find something out. If not, at least I can tell him it’s rude to stare. “What did you order?”
Vince looks at me, then at Dax, then at Patch, then back at me again. “Uh… Yeah, okay. Just a beer. He knows what I like.”
“Nick?”
“Yeah, same for me, too.”
Cecile shakes her head, and Dax holds up his half-full beer when I look at him. “I said I’d get Jamie a drink,” he says, and I nod. I’ll grab that one, too.
I square my shoulders and walk up to the bar. This close, I catch the way Patch’s back stiffens, which only serves to make annoyance rise in my throat. Do he and Jamie have something going on? That’s fine. It’s not like anything would happen between the two of us anyway. Or not like it should.
I can’t figure out what else it could be. Either a breakup or Jamie isn’t interested, surely. Dax doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be friends with a homophobic dickhead. Don’t see how that would be possible when he and Vince are living together.
Patch spins to face me, features carefully still. His eyes are hazel, I notice, with green flecks, but that might be the light catching them. He’s unfairly handsome. Ridiculously so. My stomach twists again.
“Um. What can I get you?”
I will my voice to remain steady. I can handle this. Him. Whatever. I came here to find a werewolf, didn’t I? One man is nothing in comparison to that.
So I channel as much public-school attitude as I can muster—I don’t want to be rude, just want to make it clear that he’s being rude—and ask for our drinks. “When Dax and Cecile order their next ones, I’ll pay for those, too.”
Patch stares at me for a moment too long. I raise an eyebrow.
His shoulders rise, colour sweeping up the back of his neck as he turns to grab a glass. Ah. He knows, then. He knows but keeps doing it anyway.
I feign disinterest as he pulls the pints, turning my gaze on the rest of the pub. It’s filled up some since we arrived, and this place is clearly the local for a lot of these people—they all know each other, even between the small groups they’re in.
Another man steps up to the bar beside me. He’s maybe ten years older than I am but has a wicked smile and seems to know Patch well. “Fill her up when you’re done with those, huh?” he asks Patch as he sets his empty glass on the top of the bar.
“Sure, got it.”
The stranger looks at me. Really looks at me, but still not with quite the same intensity as Patch did earlier. The grin widens, becoming something wolfish. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
“To this pub? Sure.”
“I’m Leo.” He sticks out his hand.
“Em.” I shake it and for a beat or two, Leo doesn’t let go.
Patch sets the next pint down a little harder and snatches up Leo’s glass. Leo doesn’t even look his way.
“How are you finding the place? I know the barman could be friendlier…”
Patch makes a sound under his breath. Almost like a growl. I shake my head. “It’s all great. I’m here with some friends.”
I jerk my chin in the direction of Nick and the others, and Leo’s eyes go a little wide. Patch puts his pint down in front of him so hard that some of the beer sloshes over the rim.
“There you go.”
The words are hardly more than a growl, but Leo doesn’t seem to take that to heart. He gives me another grin and takes his pint, making his way over to a group of similarly aged men and women sitting in one corner.
Patch glares after him. I scowl. Whatever is going on here—and I’m not a fool, not really—I don’t like it.
“Patch,” I say, and when he doesn’t look at me, more firmly, “Patch.”
Startled, his gaze leaps to mine. “You…?”
“I don’t appreciate the way you acted just now. The way you’ve been acting all night.”
“I haven’t—”
“Enough,” I say and hear that steel thread of command in my voice that has become increasingly rare of late.
Patch instantly falls silent. His eyes go wide, and he swallows hard.
“You’ve been rude. I don’t want you staring at me all the time. And that was uncalled for, how you just acted.”
“He was—” Patch begins, then snaps his mouth shut. We’re both silent for a beat. Then, “Sorry.” He tips his head to the side, tendons tight in his throat.
It’s my turn to swallow hard. I force my voice steady. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes! Yes, I—” He pushes a hand through his hair, and I’m surprised to see it’s trembling. “I am sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but that feels like a lie. Patch pours the remaining drinks and when I look back at the group, Jamie and the other man have come back inside, though Jamie is watching me worriedly.
I pay and then pause, looking at Patch for a moment.
“Is anyone else working with you today?”
“I finish at eight.”
“All right.” I summon that command from before, the one he responded to without thinking. “Join us after that. I want to get to know you.”
He wants to argue. I can see it. But he shivers a little, eyes wide again.
“Yeah, okay.”