Page 74 of Book Boyfriends
“But if you could rewrite it, what would you want? Not what you think is best for the pack or anyone else. What doyouwant?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He places his beer down, his violet eyes studying me.
So many wants tangle inside me, each fighting for dominance. Like a greedy child in a candy store, I want it all. My book boyfriends’ happiness. Break my writer’s block. Davis.
They may not be mutually exclusive, my lady.James’s statement about our individual happy endings echoes inside me. In this, he’s right. Without their happiness, I cannot secure my own. No matter how I slice it, I could never be happy if those I’m responsible for aren’t. It’s just not how I’m programmed.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” A laugh rumbles in his chest.
“So hard!” I whine, lowering my forehead to the table.
“For the record, I don’t think you should choose any of us to marry. But, if you’re going to be all self-sacrificing about this, you should pick…Jackson?”
“Jackson?” Nose wrinkled, I jolt up. “I’m not marrying my brother. Eww! What kind of werewolf did I write?”
“No.” He pulls a sour face and then motions toward the entrance.
Spinning in my seat, I shake my head. Jackson and two other random men stroll through the front door. His attention fixed on the phone in his hand, Davis walks in behind them. A statuesque woman with chestnut curls is beside him. They don’t seem to notice us as they claim a large table near the axe ring.
“That sneaky bastard is totally checking in on us.” I roll my eyes.
It’s the classic “I’m not paying attention, but I’m totally paying attention” stance. Jackson’s focus appears to be on theaxe consultant going over the waivers, but the quick flick of his eyes toward our table betrays him. Davis, on the other hand, is enthralled with something on his phone. Each time the attractive woman beside him speaks, he nods and mumbles something I can’t quite make out.
To others, it may appear that he’s not paying attention to her, but I know otherwise. He’s likely stimming. He may even be looking up something she’s asked about. She may have his complete attention, even if it doesn’t appear so.Or, he could be ignoring her.Which I am hoping for.
She places her hand on his bicep, drawing his focus to her. Her red-painted lips lift in a large grin as he looks up.
We’re just friends. He can do whatever he wants.I grip the table’s edge,
Loud snapping fingers cause me to twist back in my seat to face Lars. “Oh, rabbit,” he sniffs the air, accusation lighting his features.
I glower. “You’re not supposed to smell me, remember.”
“I’m not smelling you.” He tips his head toward where Davis sits, his back to us. “You’re all over him.” He inhales deeply. “Mates.”
“I… We’re….notmated.” I gesture wildly.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, a lopsided grin flexing. “Maybe,butthere’s been some mating-like activities between you two.”
“Just kissing. We kissed once…well twice—” my face twists “—well, technically it was more than twice, but it was only two instances of very short make-out sessions. But that’s it. We’rejustfriends.”
“Uh-huh… Because friends look at each other like that.” Eyebrows raised, he makes a “turn around” motion with his index finger.
Spinning in my seat, my gaze slams into Davis’s. He’s twisted and now sits facing our table. Those beautiful eyes are locked on me, and the questions ‘what are you doing here?’ and ‘who is he?’ are almost audible in the wrinkles on his forehead. Though I’m sure the jump of my gaze between Davis and the leggy brunette making bedroom eyes at him telegraphs the same exact questions.
Jealousy is absurd in this situation, and so is this awkward charge between us. Davis and I are friends. Lars and I are friends. Everybody is friends here.
Releasing a long breath, I offer a smile and wave at Davis. With a nod, he waves back.
Twisting, I face Lars. “You said you miss home at times. What do you miss?”
“So, we’re just going to ignore Glasses over there pining from across the room?”
“His name is Davis, not Glasses.”
“The guy from your date with Owen?”
“He really doesn’t keep anything to himself,” I grumble, leaning my arms on the table and rubbing at my temples.
