Page 13 of Pack Apollo

The voice that answers isn't Palmer, but it is familiar. "We don't. We pay a cleaning service every month to come in for it. That, I do believe, is accessed with a ladder and cleaned with a rag."

Lowering my gaze, I'm surprised to find the alpha from yoga class standing a few feet away. His head lists to the side a bit as though he's trying to place where he knows me from. He's dressed comfy in a pair of tight jeans, a hunter-green henley, and a pair of slip-on loafers. The whole outfit probably cost more than I made the past two weeks at the bar. Still looking just as delicious as he does in workout clothes and smelling just as good, too, as I get a good whiff of spicy aftershave.

"Cordell, this is Billie," Palmer introduces us.

I begin to tell him that it's nice to officially meet him, but he beats me to it. "I do believe we've already met."

"Informally, with no names, if that counts as a meeting," I say.

His lips pull up in a closed-mouth smile that makes me feel like I've accomplished something.

Palmer wears a surprised expression, and I'm not sure whether it's because I'm familiar with yet another member of his pack or that I made the stern one break. I'll have to remember to ask him later.

"We take the same yoga class," I offer Palmer.

"Okay, cool," he says. "I was kind of wondering."

"Care to meet the rest of the pack?" Cordell asks, flourishing a hand to show me the way.

"Sure," I tell him, trying my damnedest to not let my nervousness show.

We travel through a formal sitting room with expensive-looking furniture that appears to have never been sat on and a clean fireplace. I follow Palmer into a dining room with a long table and two cabinets full of fancy China dishes against the wall. From there we drop down a couple steps into a lower lit den where I spot a familiar face and two strangers. They all stand as we come in.

Palmer takes the lead again, "Billie, this is Jake and Roz."

Jake is around Palmer's height, and I'd hazard a guess to say same age, too. They both have similar dark hair. Jake's is short and styled back with gel or something of the sort. I'm surprised to see Roz's is longer and a bit more unruly. From what I've been told of him, I'd expected him to be more of a control freak. Deep down, I kind of like that I was wrong. Roz is slightly taller than Brent, but much leaner and a more oblong facial structure.

I process all of this about them as I'm saying, "Nice tomeet you."

"The pleasure is ours," Roz replies. Yet another surprise, his voice is dark. Deep enough to have those pesky butterflies coming back for a visit.

"Ms. Bardot," Brent states in welcome as he moves over to where we're standing.

I return his smile. "Professor."

"Oh hell," Jake mumbles before turning away and walking over to a small bar built into the wall in the corner.

Fumbling for a second, I feel like I've done something wrong, but Brent reassures me. "Don't worry about him."

If Palmer hadn't shared their secrets with me on the way here, I might be able to believe him. As it stands, I'm not too uneducated to know that I've said something wrong. I might ought to save the ‘professor’ comments for when Brent and I are alone. Or with Palmer. He didn't seem to mind the joke.

"Come sit down," Brent offers, ushering me over to the dark-brown leather sectional taking up the middle part of the room. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'm good," I tell him. "Or maybe some ice water." Might need it if I start getting tongue tied and need a small reprieve from chatting to gather my thoughts. Jake comes back over from the bar holding a small glass with a big, round ice ball in the middle of it surrounded by water in one hand and his drink in the other.

"Thank you," I tell him, breathing in the sweetest coconut scent as he nods once and passes to go take a seat next to Cordell.

I sit back and try to get comfy like the others and cross one leg over the other.

"So, what is supposed to be screening tonight on campus?" Brent asks.

Shrugging, I admit, "I've been too busy this week to evencheck. Didn't really matter, because I already had plans and didn't think I'd make it back in time."

"I think it was one of the car racing series," Palmer answers. "The one that had the weird guy from that alien movie."

"Ah," Brent nods. "Speaking of which, we told Jake about your love for Troma that we discovered last weekend."

"Yeah?" I ask, glancing over at the man in question who isn't openly wearing his hostile expression anymore. "Which one is your favorite?"

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