Page 74 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Oh. That explains a lot, actually.
My face burns with embarrassment, but I can't help the startled laugh that escapes me. Of course this is happening. Of course the two wolves found me in the fucking tampon aisle, of all places.
"I actually do need those," I say, taking the box from Rowan. I add it to my basket.
"Why is your face so red?" Rowan asks, tilting his head.
Oh, god. He's just as bad as Sean, just in a different way. At least Sean knows and accepts he’s a himbo. "I mean, I'm discussing tampon mechanics in public with two alpha wolves I barely even know."
"This ain't even close to the weirdest thing we've discussed in the grocery store," Sean says, leaning on a pad display that promptly topples over. He scrambles to collect the sea of purple and pink plastic packages now scattered on the floor under the weary glare of an overworked employee watching us from further down the aisle.
"He has a point," Rowan says dryly. "Besides, you're our mate. Uh. Potential mate. And we're not fifteen-year-old boys." He pauses, glancing at Sean, who's currently losing the war against the display of pads. "Okay, so some of us are mentally, but you can blame unsupervised go-karting and compounded concussions for that."
I can't help but laugh. "Duly noted."
"Seriously, is there anything else you need?" he asks. "Ibuprofen, chocolate, those heated stickers that go inside your pants?” When he catches me staring, he smiles and adds, "Three sisters."
"That’s… uh, sweet, but I'm fine, really," I insist.
More like I can't afford any of that, and I'm not about to let them buy that shit. This is all humiliating enough, no matter what Rowan says.
It doesn’t help that Kyle, for all his pretense and sophistication, always got squicked out at any reminder I was human. But he also wanted to take advantage of the energy fluctuations with my natural cycle, so I got the worst of both worlds—an overly involved boyfriend who also acted like what was happening was weird and dirty.
"I think I'm ready," I say, eager to escape the conversation. My basket contains exactly two items. A toothbrush and a box of tampons.
Rowan looks doubtfully at my basket, but he has the grace not to challenge me on it.
We head to the checkout, where I dig in my pocket for the crumpled bills. Before I can hand them to the cashier—a jumpy young man with the unmistakable energy signature of a smaller shifter, maybe a squirrel or chipmunk—Rowan steps in front of me and flashes a sleek black credit card.
"No, I can pay for my own—" I begin, but stop when Sean dumps the contents of an overloaded handheld basket onto the conveyor belt on top of my pitiful purchases.
I'm expecting nothing but junk food, and there's plenty of that, but also a ton of stuff I'm pretty sure a frat bro has no business buying. I stare in shock at the pile. Socks—the exact ones I'd been looking at. A pack of hair ties. Comfortable-looking pajamas in my size. Notebooks and pens. Even a soft hoodie in deep emerald green. All the things Rowan suggested.
And one box from all six brands of tampons they had in the store.
Everything I'd looked at but hadn't put in my basket, basically. When did he even have the freaking time to notice with all the chaos he was causing?
"What are you doing?" I whisper.
Sean grins, completely unashamed. "Gotta take care of our Bonded."
"Thank you," I sigh reluctantly. "I'll pay you back."
"The hell you will," Sean snorts.
The cashier looks like he can't bag our purchases fast enough, his eyes darting nervously between us. Shifter recognizing shifter, I realize. He can probably smell the wolf on Rowan and Sean, and few smaller shifters are comfortable around apex predators.
When Rowan swipes his card, Sean distracts me by asking, "You hungry? There's a killer burger joint two blocks from here."
"Best in town," Rowan agrees, picking up the shopping bags. "Their sweet potato fries will change your life."
“You’re setting expectations pretty high,” I tease, following.
The burger place is actually exactly as promised. Small, unpretentious, and mouth-wateringly good. We got a booth near the back, and I find myself devouring a cheeseburger that tastes like actual heaven while Sean tells increasingly outrageous stories about campus life.
The only place Kyle would ever go for burgers was the kind of industrial-chic restaurant where they only played hey-ho music and served twelve-dollar truffle fries out of rolled up newspaper.
"And then," he says, barely containing his laughter, "Micah comes running out of the library, buck naked except for his glasses, screaming about the ghost in the reference section!"
