Page 8 of Pack Giroux

His fingers flex before he drops his hand to his side. "What are the chances?"

"I was just thinking the same exact thing," I admit.

Kinkaid peers over at Grady suspiciously. "How did you guys happen to meet?"

"It's a funny story actually," Grady tells him. "But how about we eat while we tell it, yeah?"

Kinkaid nods, a few of his curls bouncing as he does. "I'm throwing it together as we speak. Want to make us some drinks?"

He doesn't wait for a reply before he walks back toward the kitchen. Grady stands and moves over behind the bar. "What would you like to drink?"

"Water?" I ask.

Setting three glasses on the counter, he stops and looks at me. "You sure?"

"Yes," I tell him more confidently this time.

By the time he's setting the glasses on our table, Kinkaid is coming out of the kitchen with steaming dishes. He places one in front of each of us before taking his seat. We've all got a decent size steak with a scoop full of vegetables and some tiny potatoes. I wait until they start eating before I do the same.

The only sound is our silverware against our plates, and normally, I'm okay with the quiet. However, my senses are completely overwhelmed as they were last night with his scent. One I was finally able to pinpoint today as I quite shamefully sniffed the spices at the store. Allspice. It was a dead ringer.

"So, they let you just come in whenever you want to cook lunch for your friends?" I ask him, trying to make conversation.

He huffs out a short laugh. "Well, it helps that the owner is one of my best friends, and that I'm covering for his head chef while she's out on maternity leave."

"Don't let him lie to you, Marnie," Grady says. "He'll ring all of this up when the doors open and pay our tab."

Kinkaid motions with his hand toward him, grinning. "That, too. I'm curious, though, how does everyone know each other?"

"Umm," I start, my cheeks flaming as I look down at my plate.

"Marnie just had some questions about laundry detergent and I happened to be the only person in the aisle," Grady supplies. He doesn't confess that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

"Oh, okay," Kinkaid says. "I never can figure out any of that stuff, either. It's why I always rely on this big goof to go buy all of it."

I glance up and smile, knowing he's just saying that to make me feel better. Grady takes a sip of his drink and sets it back down as he informs me, "To be honest, some of our pack mates are high profile, and we've had more than one stalker instance that we've had to get a handle on."

"I can assure you that I have absolutely no idea who any of you are," I tell him, strength back in my voice. "Today is only my second day being in town. I came in yesterday because I'm supposed to start classes here next week."

"Oh yeah?" Kinkaid asks. "Where did you come here from?"

I can feel the blood drain from my face. That's one question I won't be answering, no matter who's doing the asking. Swallowing hard, I consider making a run for it. I just can't remember if Grady locked the door or not. Plus, he's still got all of my stuff in the back of his car. I glance at the door at the same time Kinkaid reaches for my hand on the table.

Flinching back hard enough to knock my fork off my plate, sending it flying, I apologize quickly. "I'm sorry. Umm, I need to go."

Kinkaid moves his hands to his lap slowly as Grady speaks, drawing my attention to him. "You don't have to leave, and you most certainly don't have to share anything you don't want to."

He adjusted position as Kinkaid did and now is leaning forward with his arms on the table. "Ask us anything. Anything you want to know."

I try to calm the thud of my heart in my chest. "How long have you been friends?"

"Friends?" he asks, turning to Kinkaid. "What, seven years now? Pack mates? Right at three."

Taking the fork from the other side of the table out of its napkin and handing it to me, he adds, "There are five of us total.Me and Kinkaid. Then we've got Raine, Jameson, and Emerson."

Kinkaid flicks his gaze over to his pack mate then back at me. I don't know which one they're worried about me knowing who they are, but they don't have any idea just how safe they are. I couldn't possibly care any less about how high-profile any of them are. After today, I don't plan on talking to any of them again. If nothing else, this whole thing has proved that I'm not ready for this kind of people interaction. My palms are sweaty thinking about having to sit here and continue this conversation feeling like I'm about ready to throw up at any second.

I bring the back of my hand to my lips and drop it again. "I'm sorry, but can I use the restroom?"

---