Page 15 of Pack Apollo

"A legal aid," I confess.

This catches him off guard. "Is that so? That's a drastic change from one career option to another. Do you mind me asking why you changed your mind?"

I shrug. "It takes a lot longer. Time is money in college, and I didn't exactly come from a rich family to be able to help pay for it."

"Even if the payout in the end yields better results and more money?" he states quizzically.

"I've got another two semesters in core classes, so there's plenty of time to change my mind if I want to," I tell him smiling.

"Okay," Palmer jumps in. "This is starting to feel like an interrogation."

"We're just conversing," Roz tells him, holding his palms up.

Palmer ignores him and stands reaching out for my hand. "Want to take a tour of the house?"

"Sure," I say, trying not to sound too enthusiastic to be escaping the attention and questions for a short while. I'm so flustered that I forget that this is a friend thing and here I amexiting a room filled with his pack hand in hand with him. By the time I realize, it's too late.

He tows me into a bright kitchen that's all white and chrome. I'll never understand the fascination with rich people and white. Maybe it's because they've never spent hours trying to wipe things down and clean spaghetti sauce off of surfaces from where their drunk mother threw a tantrum like a toddler. Guess that'll make the world of difference when making the interior decorating decisions.

Palmer waits until we've walked into a study to apologize. "I'm sorry if you felt bombarded in there with Roz. He can be a bit much sometimes."

"It's fine," I tell him, not wanting him to worry. "It's only fair since I'm a new element. It's human nature to be curious. Just like I am with all of these books."

I stroll across the room to glance over the spines of the books taking up room on the built-in bookshelves behind a massive desk in the middle of the space. Almost all of them are law books. I'd love to take one down and look through it, but I don't want to overstep any boundaries.

"Well, I would say they're all boring books Roz uses for work, but now that I know you were interested in that kind of thing, it may not be so boring to you," he says.

Turning back around, I go to tell him that some of the information in said books is actually fascinating, but I'm too distracted by Roz leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed on his chest. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and I can't help thinking I'll be saving that one for later. When we first entered, the room had a slight scent of fresh, clean laundry, and I'd assumed maybe the space had just been cleaned. However, the moment Roz moves, I know that the scent is coming from him. It's not mouthwatering like Brent's fruity cereal or butterfly inducing like Cordell's spicy aftershave. Roz has a scent thatmakes me want to load a bed with blankets, trap him beneath them with me, and cuddle for hours, if not days.

He's the one who breaks the silence. "I apologize if I seemed too forward with all of my questions."

I give him a soft smile. "It's okay. Like I just told Palmer, I'm new. Plus, that's the only way you get to know someone, right? Asking questions."

"Speaking of Palmer," my friend says talking in third person, "he will be right back."

Waiting until he brushes past him, Roz mutters, "Well, that was subtle."

Laughing, I ask the first thing that comes to mind, "So, are you a lawyer?"

"The law books give me away?" he asks, moving to my side and pointing toward the bookshelves.

"Actually, it was all of the questions," I tease. For the first time since walking through their door, I get a smile from him. It's not a big one and it doesn't last long, but I'll take it.

"I'm very protective over my pack," he states.

"As you should be," I tell him. "I honestly mean no harm to anyone. I told Palmer and Brent both that I didn't want anything other than friends right now. I want to stay focused."

He nods. "That's what they said. I just want to make sure you understand that the two of them are the softest of us. They won't take being hurt easily, and I won't take it lightly."

Glancing at the floor, I swallow hard. I can read between the lines of his vaguely veiled threat. I can't be upset with him either, because I'd do anything for the people I care about, too.

Trying to change the subject, I direct the conversation back to him as I prop my hip against the desk. "Did you always want to be a lawyer?"

His eyes travel down to where my body is connected with the hard wood of the desk and back up again. "No. When I wasin grade school, I wanted to be a doctor. Then, one day, Cordell fell and split his head open. I fainted as soon as I saw the blood pouring out onto the concrete. We both ended up at the hospital, and the amount of ridicule from our peers was almost unbearable until they found something new."

I'd felt like I was challenging him at first when I knew he wanted to tell me to get off the desk, which would've been the polite thing to do. Call me crazy, but I wasn't budging. However, by the end of his story, all I want to do is comfort him. I don't think there's a person on this planet that doesn't have to suffer through the meanness of our peers. No one knows that better than a poor kid with no pack.

Instinctively, I reach out to lay my hand on his arm, and his gaze drops to where my hand rests, mostly on his dark-blue, forearm-length shirt. Only my pinky is actually touching his skin.

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