Page 101 of The Good Boys Club

“I brushed my teeth,” I said in answer.

And without another word, Cian’s mouth was on mine. His tongue tracing mine. His fingers in my hair. We fell backwards onto the bed and we kissed until his alarm bleeped at ten forty-five.

“I can’t believe you set an alarm to go work for free at my sister’s bed and breakfast. She won’t care if you’re late.”

“You know I could never do that. Being late would make me severely ill.”

I bid him goodbye and went into the bathroom once again. I frothed up the shaving soap and applied it only to the lower half of my face.

My moustache wasn’t quite as impressive as my father’s, but I still had time to grow it.

“People keep looking over at us,” I whispered into Cian’s ear that night in The Full Moon’s restaurant.

In reality, I couldn’t tell whether they were because we had our backs to the rest of the patrons. If he asked, I would say I couldfeelthem looking, but mostly it was an excuse to be so close to him. To keep my nose buried in his hair. To keep my fingertips tracing the contours of his nape. He’d had a haircut in town last week, and the hairs at the top of his neck were short and fuzzy and aggressively soft. I wouldn’t have been able to remove my fingers even if someone had held a gun to my face.

The restaurant was busy. Always was on burger night, but burger night in the middle of Harvest Fest was another story. Cian and I had to sit at the tiny table in the corner that the staff took their breaks at. Thankfully, the table was tucked away enough that it felt intimate, even though we didn’t get a candle or a vase of fresh flowers like everyone else, but exposed enough for me to keep using the excuse to touch him. If anyone glanced in our direction, they’d see a happily in love couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Ci wasn’t falling for it. He was far too smart for that. But he was a good actor as well as being clever because he never once pushed me away or flinched. Instead, he’d hooked his fingers around my lower thigh, and traced slow circles on my bare flesh with his thumb.

After our burgers—I had two full-sized and Cian had three sliders—Felix wandered over to our table, little leatherbound folder in hand. He sometimes worked in the restaurant on super busy nights.

“I’m not paying. Family discount.”

I almost said, “Alpha’s don’t pay,” but I remembered Ci wasn’t supposed to know. A fresh stab of guilt hit my stomach. Well, not guilt exactly, but—

Holy shit, was it guilt?

Felix jabbed the bill at my chest. “Mum asked if you can just pay for the drinks. Also she said,‘Who in the flaming heck has wine with burgers?’”

I laughed out loud because there was nothing more Cian than drinking an eighty-silver bottle of vino with reformed beef mince, baps, and chips.

“My little hipster snob,” I teased, flicking the top of his werewolf ears.

“Listen, I didn’t spend four hours slapping patties to drink fucking beer with my meal.” He slipped his wallet out of his jeans pocket and handed Felix a card.

I wanted to pay for his wine, but then I remembered I no longer had a job. As of this month, I had no income stream. I guessed that wouldn’t matter soon, though. I’d sell my apartment in Remy and put the equity towards my new life here, and I supposed I would sell my car too. There wasn’t any need for an open-top sports car in the middle of the fucking forest. Who was I showing off to here? Probably trade it in for a four-wheel pickup with a huge bed and a trailer so I could do rangery type things.

“Wow, it got boiling in here suddenly,” I said, pulling the neck of my T-shirt in a futile attempt to get air circulating.

It was hot for September, I supposed, and the restaurant was cramped, and I only put on the damn shirt because Clem had a “no nips at dinnertime unless you’re breastfeeding” rule. That was why I felt so suffocated.

“You okay?” Ci said, his brow furrowed.

I shook my head the tiniest amount, and without either of us saying anything, he knew what I was trying to communicate.

Cian pushed his chair back and got to his feet. Felix returned with his payment card and Ci seamlessly slipped him a tip. I couldn’t be sure of the value, but it looked like a twenty.

As soon as we were outside the restaurant, I stripped my shirt off.

“What’s wrong?” He was beside me in an instant, one hand on my shoulder, the other wrapped around my nape. I was only vaguely aware we were still in full view of The Full Moon’s windows and all the diners.

“It’s just . . . everything . . . all at once . . . and I can’t . . .” I tried to steady my breathing. Tried to exhale. Why couldn’t I exhale? Gods, was I having a panic attack?

“Okay, breathe. Copy me.” His hand was on my torso, right over my tattoo.

I copied Cian’s movements—chest rising and falling—as best as I could.

“It feels like a countdown to . . .” I began.

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