Page 123 of Look, Don't Touch

“Self-defense to me.”

It most certainly was, and most certainly wasn’t at the same time.

“Thank you for telling me.”

I nod absentmindedly. The past crowds over my shoulder. It breathes heavy and makes me want to scrub my skin in boiling water.

“Where are you?”

I blink at her.

She asks again. “Where are you?”

“On the roof of my spruced-up family home.”

“And who are you with?” Her green gaze sparkles with the reflection of strung-up lights.

“My siren and my Plink.”

“What are you doing?”

I stand, holding her around me, and head for the stairs. She tosses the blanket down and wraps her arms around my neck.

“Bringing you both to bed, to snuggle close and sleep.” Plink snakes his way off the chair and follows.

“I guess that’ll do.” She kisses me so hard, I have to stop on the single flight to my bedroom to keep from falling over.

“Keep that up, and I’ll make you give me three no impact, no penetration orgasms.”

“Oh, the hardship.” She laughs, and I know everything will be okay. Better than okay. Fucking wonderful.

“You’re in full stalker mode.”

Celeste practically shouts this from the other side of the table. Luckily, the speeches are done, the food eaten, the auction items bid on, the drinks drunk, and the music is in full swing. People dance around in their finest, surrounded by decadence, their cares forgotten for the night.

She hangs on her husband’s arm and leans her very pregnant belly over the table to grab a water glass. Her cheeks are rosy from dancing and carrying around a human inside her.

Wild.

“From what I can tell.” Karris shoves a lock of nearly white-blond hair from his forehead and offers Celeste a smirk. “She likes it.” He’s reclined in his seat with one elbow propped on the table, a glass hanging loosely in his hand, a half finger of whiskey left in his tumbler.

“The devil speaks the truth,” Dobson agrees in his mild Scottish accent. He sits a couple of seats to my right on Karris’s left. He looks like a grizzly bear who fooled the lady at the door into letting him inside the party by wearing a nice suit. “She’s been giving him bedroom eyes since she left the table.” Bedroom sounds an awful lot like bedrum.

I’m proud of my friends. I know it’s crazy for them to see me touching someone and allowing them to touch me. Thankfully, they’ve kept their damn loud mouths closed about it.

Celeste finishes her water and sets down the glass. “Who can blame her?” She grins, her red gown suddenly matching the color of her cheeks.

Her husband, Wyatt, yanks his wife into a low dip. She shrieks on the way down, clutching his lapels. He growls something in her ear, then plants his mouth over hers.

“If I vomit, you can blame it on the alcohol.” Karris’s already narrow cheeks suck deeper, puckering his wide-set mouth as he looks at the display. He hates nothing more than displays of vanilla monogamy.

“But it’d be a lie.” Dobson pushes from his chair.

“True.” Karris concedes.

Dobson’s gaze is homed in on a set of double doors to the balcony. Usually, my friend fits into city living like a bear in Yosemite, a really fucking big one. He’s made friends with the locals. He’s learned all the best spots to eat, hunt, and fuck. He’s kept everything in balance. Until recently.

I’ve begun to wonder if the bear is outgrowing his surroundings. There’s a restlessness to him that hasn’t been there before. Then again, things are changing all around us.

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