Chapter 27
RODERICK
Moose slides another beer across the bar for me as I take the last swallow of my current one.
He’s a good man.
Although I may need to switch over to something stronger if I really want to use alcohol to block out the memory of Juliet riding me to her climax, then turning me down flat.
Multiple times.
“I can’t dance in front of you.”
Her words echo in my head as if she were sitting right next to me, saying them.
And, damn all the gods, I want to see her dance. Even if it’s bad, I can’t think of anything I want more in this moment than to see my librarian be completely uninhibited.
But she doesn’t trust me. Thinks I’ll judge her.
She worries I’ll hurt her.
And what proof does she have that I won’t?
Should’ve known being an asshole to her within the first five minutes of meeting would shoot myself in the foot. I wonder if there’s a certain number of apology pies that would get her to trust me.
But asking forgiveness only means you’re sorry for something you’ve done. Doesn’t mean you’ve changed at all.
The bar door opens, and I catch a familiar scent. Not the lemon-and-paper one I want, of course. This one is wolf with a side of fresh-cut wood.
Warner walks into The Rabbit Hole, but he’s not alone.
Of course not. He has a woman now. My brother’s arm encircles Zoey’s waist, possessive.
The human is talking about something I can’t hear over the racket of my other pack mates.
But I don’t need to listen to the conversation to know my brother is rapt.
He gazes down at Zoey like she’s the only thing that exists in his world. Does he know they’ve arrived at the bar? Probably not. Warner seems unwilling to look away from her for even a second. If he could stop blinking, I bet he would.
I’m torn between calling out his name, just to see if he’d hear me, and staying silent so I don’t intrude upon his happiness.
And damn if I’m not jealous. What I wouldn’t give to have Juliet here, at my side, arguing with me so I could stare at her just as hard. I want to lose myself in the soft curves of her face and green sparks in her eyes. I want her permission to touch every inch of her.
Maybe we’d stay here for a drink or two, but then we’d go back to my place, or her little house, and tear each other’s clothes off. She’d ride me again—only this time, she’d be bare above me, and I’d be buried between her strong thighs.
Reality slams into me when an elbow jabs into my ribs.
“What has you giving your beer sexy eyes? Looks like you’re about to dip your dick in that innocent lager.” Courtney gives me a wild grin as she hops on the stool beside me.
Great. I’ve been caught dirty daydreaming in the middle of a bar.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Really? So, this has zero to do with you trolling for a mate?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Right. Of course.” Then my friend calls out to the bartender, “Moose, a Moscow mule, if you please.”
The bearded, tattooed wolf glares back at her, not making a move to prepare anything.
Courtney leans her elbows on the bar, staring him down. “Some of your customers like mixed drinks. Get used to it, or get ready for me to climb back there and make it myself!”
Turns out, the threat is bad enough to get the guy to relent. Only a minute later, she’s sipping a beverage that smells strongly of ginger and lime. I study my friend for a moment, a strange sense that something is different about her. But I can’t quite figure out what.
“So, Robo-Ricky”—she distracts me from my thoughts with the ridiculous nickname—“did you find a lady who does not compute?”
Should’ve known she’d keep digging. Courtney is a wolf after all, scenting a hunt.
But I refuse to let my love life be her prey.
“No.”
“Hmm. Interesting. I could’ve sworn a certain librarian caught your eye.” Her words have me tensing. “Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe I’m thinking of when Juliet came over to my place and she was asking about …”
As Courtney trails off, I physically lean toward her, suddenly much more interested in this conversation. But she doesn’t finish her sentence, just takes a long sip of her drink and peers around the bar, waving at Warner and Zoey.
“Asking about what?” I prompt.
“Hmm. What was that?” The wolf swings her long legs on the stool, her glittering boots brighter than a traffic light.
Gritting my teeth, I do my best to keep my voice steady. “Juliet was at your place, asking about what?”
“Oh, you know, a lot of things. My chickens, recipes, crafting, you, fun things in town, my donkey—”
“Me? She asked about me?”
“I know, right?” She bumps her shoulder into mine. “A woman actually found you slightly interesting. Try not to die from excitement.”
Before I can push for more information, someone turns on the jukebox. Courtney gasps in pure joy, likely because Moose banned her from using the jukebox for life. Most nights, she’s bribing other pack members to turn the music on.
“I love this song!” Courtney launches off her stool before I can grab her and demand she play back every word Juliet said about me.
A lot of the pack members roll their eyes as the wildest wolf among us shimmies to the beat.
But they also can’t help smiling at the sight of her.
Courtney is … herself. I’ve heard the term manic pixie dream girl applied a time or two, and it’s not too far off.
Especially because pixies are vicious when provoked.
Half the town is in love with Courtney. The other half pretends to be annoyed by her when, really, they just want her light shining on them.
Again, I think how she would be a good co-pack leader if there was any way we could romantically stand each other. But she was right. I’d end up strangling her within a fortnight.
I’d rather have her as my supportive-in-her-odd-way friend.
The sight on the dance floor is cringe-worthy.
Courtney demands more people join her, but Zoey only laughs and waves at her friend while Warner hoots encouragement as his arm stays slung over the back of his woman’s chair.
Used to be he was the one pining for a human.
I study the two of them at their small table in the corner.
Warner gives me a grin when our eyes meet.
Zoey focuses on the yarn she’s always fiddling with—the crafting equipment she always has on hand.
My mind brings up an image of the corkboard in my office. The place where I normally pin to-do lists or bills that need to be paid. Now, in the corner, there’s also a homemade apology card that still smells like lemon pie.
I mean to turn back to my drink and morose thoughts but find myself studying the crafty woman my brother intends to mate.
She’s friends with Juliet.
I grab my glass, stalk over to their table, and take the unoccupied seat.
“What can you tell me about Juliet Adair?” I ask, my stare focused on Zoey.
Which means I don’t miss her eye roll.
“I’m not going to help you drive one of my few friends from this town,” she replies, deadpan.
“Hello to you too,” Warner grumbles as his thumb strokes Zoey’s shoulder in a loving caress. As if he can’t stand not to be touching her.
“I don’t want Juliet to leave.” No reason to be coy. “I want her to stay and date me.”
There, now all motivations are clear.
The pair of them go still simultaneously, as if they practiced the maneuver. They both gape at me, wearing matching expressions of astonishment. Warner’s melts first into guffaws of laughter.
Zoey shakes her head, then studies me. “Did you tell her that?”
I nod. “After she kissed me.” And did other things I don’t plan to share. “But she claimed I’m intimidating. That she can’t date me because she can’t be vulnerable around me.”
“I don’t know how I can help with that.” Zoey holds her hands up with a shrug, one still clutching a bundle of yarn. “You’re an intimidating guy.”
“Bet you wish you weren’t such a grumbly grump now, huh?” Warner needles me, not being supportive in the slightest.
He’s not intimidated by me.
But Warner is my brother. He’s seen me at my worst. Like the time I fell on a hornet’s nest when I was ten and swelled up to twice my normal size.
Or when I went through a bleach-blond hair phase.
Or the time I proposed to the absolutely wrong woman.
Hard to be truly intimidated by a guy after that.
And that brings me back to Juliet’s point.
“Is there anything you like to do that you’re bad at?”
“It’s about vulnerability, Roderick.”
Maybe she would change her mind if I embarrassed myself in front of her. Or at least showed her I’m willing to be. That I’m not a prideful, unbending asshole.
Zoey’s hands drop, her craft settling back in her lap, where she proceeds to hook yarn with a tiny metal implement without looking.
“Give me the balls.” Warner nudges her, then smirks at me. “I’m the official ball holder.”
Zoey huffs a chuckle as she passes over the balls of yarn. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never,” he hums, even as he carefully cradles them in his lap.
Zoey, meanwhile, continues to weave at an impressive pace.
My beefy hands could never move so nimbly.
I blink, an idea forming.
Leaning across the table, voice low, I ask, “Did you bring more yarn?”