Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Today, the thought of those tears keeps me from getting a hard-on while I shower.
Remembering the salty scent agitates me. The need to fix whatever is bothering her eats at me.
I take my time toweling off and packing up my bag to leave. Then I sit and pull out my phone, staring at the screen, trying to formulate a plan.
“You need to talk, Asher?” Coach Jamison startles me from my reverie. He’s leaning against the lockers, looking at me.
“Oh, uh, no Coach.”
“She-wolf problems?”
“Ah, not really. Well, yeah. Kind of.”
Coach grins. “Which is it?”
“I don’t know. They’re confusing, right?”
He chuckles. “They are certainly more complicated than we are. Sounds like you need a date night. To connect with your girl away from school and pack, so you can get to know each other as people. Have you done that yet?”
I try to push the image of me banging Lotta on all fours in the middle of that king-sized bed of hers last night.
“Uh no. That’s a good idea, Coach.”
I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder and look back at the screen of my phone. Maybe Coach is right. A conventional date isn’t possible, but changing things up couldn’t be a bad thing. An idea starts to form in my mind as I walk out of the building, and I send a text to Lotta.
Meet me at the old blinking light at six. I’ll bring dinner.
Lotta
The “old blinking light” is now actually a regular stoplight, but it used to be a blinking red light at the crossroads between town and the mountain passes. A four-way stop sign between highways.
There’s an abandoned building that once housed a diner that someone should tear down. But there are a lot of things in Wolf Ridge that haven’t changed in the hundred and twenty years since wolf shifters settled here, a lot of things that need an update.
I pull up and park behind the abandoned building, so my car is hidden from the roads.
It’s a strange place to meet, and I don’t know what Asher has in mind, but I am actually grateful he’s demanding we break the rules I set up for us. I may need his touch every night, but I don’t know if I could take another cold “servicing” after dark at my place.
I keep replaying that kiss on the top of my head in the classroom today. Of all the things Asher’s done to me, it seems like an unlikely one to latch onto, but it hit a tender spot.
A needy spot.
It wasn’t sexy. Or rough. Or dominant.
It wasn’t angry or cold.
There was a caring and compassion to it that registered in my body like the scrape of a match against flint. It ignited something different than passion.
Yikes.
Intimacy?
My heart rate picks up, and my palms get sweaty. I throw the door to my car open and climb out to ease the restlessness of my wolf. Was she the one who wants intimacy or does she just need the sex? I tend to think of my wolf side as purely physical. As the not-thinking side. The biological urge side.
So maybe it’s me, the lonely artist, who craves connection.
That thought twists and snags like knotted yarn. Confusion blankets me like a deep fog. I thought it had it all worked out--deny my wolf to pursue art.
When being near my fated mate made that impossible, I hoped to deny an emotional connection, so I wouldn’t get stuck here in Wolf Ridge, pregnant at twenty-two, giving up on my dreams.
But I don’t know what to do with the longing that Asher inspired that isn’t sexual.
I don’t know what to do with all my carefully laid-out plans that he’s smashing to smithereens.
I detect the sound of a motorcycle approaching and hush the burst of pleasure that explodes in my body. The dopamine rush of knowing I’m about to see him.
Knowing I’m certainly going to get well-laid tonight. Asher always takes care of my needs.
I attempt to still my heart when he pulls up wearing a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, his muscles bulging beneath a fitted t-shirt. He’s not wearing a helmet, which is only a state law if you’re under eighteen in Arizona. It’s not necessary for a shifter although a bad enough accident involving a skull fracture could certainly kill us.
I shove my worry for Asher out of my mind. He’s strong and healthy. Alpha through and through. Nothing’s going to happen to him. Why does thinking about him being in an accident make me lose my breath? Why am I already sure my heart would smash into smithereens if he wasn’t okay?
He pulls up but doesn’t shut the bike off. Instead, he jerks his head, beckoning me over.
I look around, to see if any cars are coming down the highways.
“I won’t let anybody see you with me.” Fate–when did I fall in love with his deep growly voice? “Promise.”