Chapter 7 #2
"Babe," I said loudly, turning my brightest, most innocent smile on Stan. "Don't let your food get cold. You promised we'd go over my anatomy notes tonight."
I turned to the guy, batting my eyelashes. "We're studying. He's actually really boring. All he talks about is ligaments."
The guy stopped. He looked at me—small, unassuming, smiling. He looked at our joined hands. He looked at Stan, who was now staring at me with a look of utter shock.
The tension broke.
The guy snorted. "Anatomy notes. Right. Nerd."
He turned around and walked back to the counter, laughing with his friends.
Stan let out a breath he had been holding for ten seconds.
He looked at me. His eyes were wide.
"You just..." he shook his head. "You just de-escalated a drunk lumberjack with a smile and a lie about ligaments."
"I'm a trainer," I whispered, winking at him. "De-escalation is part of the job. And technically, it wasn't a lie. We are studying anatomy later. Yours."
Stan choked on his water.
He coughed, wiping his mouth, looking at me with something new in his eyes. It wasn't just lust. It wasn't just possessiveness.
It was respect.
"You are incredible," he said.
"I know," I preened. "Finish your burger, Stasiu. We have places to be."
We didn't go back to the dorms.
We drove up to "The Lookout"—a spot on the winding mountain road overlooking the valley. It was a cliché make-out spot, but on a Tuesday night in freezing weather, it was deserted.
Stan killed the engine. The silence of the mountain wrapped around the car. Below us, the lights of Grizzly Ridge twinkled like fallen stars.
"Thank you," Stan said into the quiet.
"For what?" I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt to turn toward him.
"For back there. In the diner. Usually... usually I handle that differently."
"Differently meaning violence?"
"Meaning intimidation," he admitted. "But you... you stepped in front of me. You protected me."
"You protect me from the cold," I said softly. "I protect you from the idiots."
He looked at me. The moonlight filtering through the windshield turned his eyes to liquid silver.
"Come here," he commanded.
I didn't hesitate. I scrambled over the center console. It was awkward—knees hitting gear shifts, elbows bumping the steering wheel—but I didn't care.
I landed in his lap, straddling his thighs.
The car seat was pushed back, giving us just enough room.
His arms wrapped around me instantly, pulling me against his chest. He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
"God," he groaned. "You smell like grease and fries and vanilla. It's the best thing I've ever smelled."
I laughed, threading my fingers through his hair. "You're a romantic, Kowalski."
"I'm a starving man," he murmured against my skin.
He kissed my throat. A slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss that made my toes curl.
"Stan," I whispered.
"Yeah?" He moved lower, nipping at my collarbone.
"We're in a car."
"Windows are tinted," he mumbled. "And we're alone."
His hands moved from my waist to my hips, gripping me tight. He shifted his hips upward, bucking gently against me.
I gasped. Even through layers of denim, I could feel him. He was massive. Hard.
"Rachel," he said, pulling back to look at me. His face was serious now. Intense. "I need you to know something."
"What?"
"This isn't fake," he said. "The date. The holding hands. The diner. None of it is for show. I don't do fake."
My heart soared. "I know. Me neither."
He leaned in and kissed me.
This kiss was different from the one in the library. That one had been desperate, frantic. This one was slow. Deep. Exploring.
His tongue tangled with mine, a lazy, sensual dance. His hands slid up my back, under my sweater. His palms were hot against my bare skin.
I moaned into his mouth, grinding down on his lap.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through both of us.
"Careful," he warned, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead pressed to mine. "If you move like that... the Wolf takes over."
"Let him," I whispered recklessly.
"No," he said firmly. "Not here. Not in a Honda Civic."
He pulled his hands out from under my shirt, smoothing it down. He kissed my nose. Then my cheek. Then my lips again, softly.
"We have to go back," he said. "Curfew."
"I hate curfew," I grumbled, resting my head on his shoulder.
"Me too," he agreed. He stroked my hair. "But soon... soon we won't have to worry about curfew."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm working on a plan," he said cryptically.
"A plan?"
"Trust me," he said.
I looked at him. At the strong jaw, the scarred brow, the gentle hands.
"I do," I realized. "I trust you, Stan."
He smiled. It was a sad, beautiful smile.
"That's your first mistake, Little Bit."
He helped me climb back into the passenger seat. He started the car.
As we drove down the mountain, back to reality, back to the secrets and the lies, I realized he was right. Trusting him was a mistake. Falling for him was a disaster.
But looking at his hand resting on the gear shift, waiting for mine to cover it... it was a disaster I was willing to walk into with my eyes wide open.
We were a team now.
Us against the Pack. Us against the World.
And God help anyone who tried to stop us.