Ruger doesn’t protest or say anything else as I close the door on him again.
“Fuck off, butterflies. You show up for new starts only. Not men. Not…shifters.”
This time when I stand on tiptoe to watch him through the peephole, he has a small smile on his face. One I definitely don’t find adorable on the big beast of a man.
I watch him disappear down the hall, only to reappear dragging the chair that was next to the window. He sets it off to the side, not directly in front of my door, but close enough I can see it. That goofy little grin is still wide across his cheeks as if he’s perfectly content to be here.
I sigh and step away from the peephole as he sits down. Slowly I back up, my thoughts spinning once again, because why does him sitting out there make me feel better?
“Sheriff,” I greet Ellery Arcan at the door of my hotel room but don’t invite him inside. My empty pizza boxes sit open on the coffee table, pizza crust bones on display like bloody bits of savagery. He doesn’t need to witness my carnage, so I hold onto the door and block his view as I scan the hallway for Ruger, who’s gone.
Ellery stands in front of me in his full gray uniform looking like a goddamned strippergram. That enticing smell of his hits me with the force of a sledgehammer and does uncomfortably sexy things to me—things I don’t want to have happening. Especially not after that last look at Ruger had me feeling all kinds of twisted and confused.
For a millisecond, I wish he’d sent someone else from his station to check on me—like Fife—but I toss that thought aside the moment I have it. Part of me knows I’d have been disappointed if he didn’t come himself. God, I’m a fucking mess.
While I’m calmer than I was yesterday, the sheriff hasn’t quite scratched his name off my shit list, so my next words are curt and a little bit stiff. “Thanks. For the clothes and stuff.”
“Of course. You need anything else?” he asks, taking half a step forward, his hand moving toward me before he realizes what he’s doing and checks himself, pulling it back and tucking it into his pants pocket.
Or maybe he sees my eyebrow shoot up in skeptical warning and that stops him.
Whatever the case, he doesn’t touch me.
A sliver of disappointment glides down my spine and over my inner thighs. I ignore it and shift my weight onto one foot, waiting for him to speak.
“You coping alright?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulder that’s not leaning against the doorframe. “Been thinking a lot today. I had this annoying boss who always used to say, ‘Life’s a joke and it’s supposed to make us laugh.’” I give a sigh. “Pretty sure yesterday was my punchline. I didn’t see any of that shit coming.”
He gives me a half grin, and those pretty eyes of his grow soft in the frame of their long lashes. “If it helps, it was mine too.”
We stare at each other in the moonlit hallway, tender regret painting both our faces before we inhale at the same time.
“I’m sorry this sucks for y—” I start to say.
But at the same moment, he says, “I wanted to give you an update on your case.” His words snap my jaws shut and make me shove off the doorframe, standing at attention.
My heartbeat speeds up and my palms grow sweaty as every other thought falls right out of my head.
“Yeah?” My question comes out breathily.
An apologetic look crosses his face. “It’s not good news. Your car’s been stolen. And none of your stuff was ever put into the lockers at the Hunt. Everything’s gone.”
13
NOAH
THURSDAY
The peephole is becoming my new must-have room accessory. I spy Perth sitting in Ruger’s chair today. He looks just as good as the last time I saw him—maybe even better. Sunlight streams in from the window down the hall like it rose today with the sole purpose of being his personal spotlight. The golden glow highlights his red hair and beard and makes his amber eyes appear even lighter. He’s wearing jeans, and a T-shirt with a paw print is stretched across his muscular chest.
His attention flashes to the door when I swing it open and glower at him.
“Did we have sex?” I demand, my question wiping the lazy smile right off his face.
He sits up, coughing a few times like my question has him choking on his own shock. He slaps a large fist against his chest a few times to help.
“What?” he rasps, clearing his throat.
“Did we have sex?” I ask again. “The other morning when I woke up in bed with you and…Ruger,” I tell him, pretending like I can’t remember Ruger’s name. I’m overcompensating for the fact that I woke up with it spilling from my lips because I dreamt about him last night.
Perth’s eyes widen with horrified dismay, his head shaking before he answers, “Noah, I’d never, I mean never, take advantage of you. And Ruger would kill himself before—No. No, we did not. You were asleep. We were there because skin-to-skin contact helps bond a newly bitten shifter to their den.”
His adamance eases something sharp that I didn’t even realize was stuck underneath my ribs until it pulls away, like the tip of a dagger had been poised just there, waiting for its opportunity to hurt me. I let out a sigh of relief that makes my shoulders relax, though it’s accompanied by the tiniest sliver of disappointment.
What the fuck?
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continues, almost as if he realizes his insistence might come across as rejection. “I would fucking love to. You’re gorgeous and obviously capable and strong, but I’m a big proponent of enthusiastic consent.”
I start closing the door, but he whispers, “…bordering on begging.”
Wait. What?
I reopen it and stare at him. He looks at me evenly, steadily, as though he didn’t just mumble something under his breath. Something that has unwelcome heat flaring between my thighs and a slight blush tinting my cheeks.
“Why are you guys out here? Are you making sure I don’t escape? What is this?” I demand, suddenly flushed. I wave at where he’s sitting, all casual and calm-like, whispering dirty things and staring at my closed door like it’s the most riveting thing ever.
“No, you’re free to go wherever you want. I won’t stop you. Neither will anyone else,” he answers warmly.
My scowl doesn’t seem to faze him, and I’m not sure if I like that or find it annoying.
Annoying. Definitely annoying.
“So, I can skip town and it’s no big deal?” I challenge.
Perth shrugs. “If you want. I haven’t been on a trip in a while, so I’m game,” he counters nonchalantly.
I smile smugly like I’ve caught him. “So, you’re a designated babysitter, or should I call it naif-sitting.”
He scoffs and leans back in the chair, crossing his ankles and pressing his palms to his thick thighs like he’s getting comfortable. “Just keeping an eye out and making myself available to my mate.”
I go stiff at the term, and it seems to make his smile stretch wider across his stupidly handsome face.
Is he trying to unsettle me? Crap. Is it working?
I straighten my spine and refuse to take the bait, or try not to anyway. The glimmer in Perth’s eyes makes me think he’s not going to make it easy.