Page 67 of Kings of Sherwood

She tries it like she’s not sure. I smile. “Just Tuck.”

She bats her eyelashes. “Well, hi,Just Tuck. Y’all just out for a late lunch or something?”

“Or something,” Maren says.

“Here, sit with us.”

It’s sort of a pointless invitation, because the girls are already grabbing chairs and joining us. The dark-haired one—Taylor—commands the waiter to bring a pitcher of margaritas, and the other two crowd in, hanging purses off the backs of chairs and putting their elbows on the table.

I blink for a second and try not to laugh. If my teenage self could see me sitting with a table full of gorgeous women... I’m not sure he’d believe this was my future.

Then again, he never believed I’d meet other people who could turn into literal animals. So. Life’s funny that way.

“We,” Mackenzie declares, “are celebrating-slash-mourning.”

Maren quirks an eyebrow and takes another sip of her drink. “Oh?”

“I got a scholarship,” Taylor announces. “Criminology. Three thousand bucks, baby.” She helps herself to a chip and lifts it in a toast.

“And I—” the third one, Grace, interrupts, “got dumped. But it’s for the best.”

“Hard agree,” Mackenzie rushes in.

“Dudes suck,” Taylor says.

Grace blinks like she wants to agree, but she’s a little bruised over it. “Yeah,” she says. “Some of them, anyway.”

She glances at me.

I look at Maren, of course. She presses her lips together.

“Well, I’ll toast to that,” she says, just as the pitcher arrives and the other three girls pour their drinks.

“Congrats-slash-better-luck-next-time! Yay!” Mackenzie chirps, and the four of them—plus me, when Maren waves me in—clink our glasses together.

It’s funny. I realize I’ve never seen her with friends. Other girls, certainly, but even anyone outside of our house. She’s been such a loner—which I can relate to, having grown up as a consummate nerd with more Frank Herbert novels than friends.

But I found my guys eventually. Even in college, I had a few buddies that, had things not turned out the way they did, would probably still be my friends.

Maren didn’t really get that chance. Except with us, I suppose.

Until now.

“So,” Taylor says, setting down her already almost-empty margarita glass. “I know y’all have a secret.”

She points at Maren, then at me, and narrows her eyes.

“What?” I choke on my drink and lock eyes with Maren.

Did she—

No. She wouldn’t have told them. Not that we’re shifters. I mean, that’s a ludicrous thing to blurt out to a stranger, right? No one would believe it—or they’d give you a wide berth if you did. Certainly wouldn’t want to be pals when they randomly see you again, lest you slap a tin foil hat on their head and start prattling about aliens.

Maren meets my gaze and gives her head a tight, quick back and forth that reads:No, I didn’t.

Could they have found out some other way? It seems unlikely, but we haven’t exactly been super careful lately, and—

“And when I say y’all,” Taylor goes on, “I meanally’all.Ifyou know what I mean.”

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