Page 30 of The Good Boys Club

Cian started choking on his spit. I slapped a hand on his back.

“That’s piss, isn’t it?” he said after gaining his composure. A last-ditch effort to deny what he knew was the absolute truth.

“Eau de Mash.” I pushed the three-inch-tall plastic bottle towards the end of the counter. The pale straw-coloured liquid sloshed against the inside.

Cian flared his nostrils, but the pot was stoppered. He couldn’t smell it yet. “No.”

“I thought about putting it in an atomiser for you, but I couldn’t find one anywhere in the city. Fine, I only went to The Cave on Bordalis Road, but if they don’t sell them there, you ain’t finding them anywhere.”

“No.”

“Ci, you have to, otherwise we’re gonna get to the reserve and they’ll know instantly. If they don’t smell us all over each other, they’ll try to set me up. They might even try to set you up! If you don’t stink of me, and I don’t stink of you, jig’s up.” I picked up the sample pot and moved towards him. “You don’t need a lot. Just take a cotton swab and dip it in and rub it on your pulse points.”

“My pulse points?” he backed away from me and the offending bottle.

“Here and here,” I said, pointing to the places on my neck where my arteries were closest to the surface. “Wrists, inside elbow . . . where humans apply perfume. You know, I reckon perfume stems from this werewolf tradition.”

“Werewolves are disgusting,” he said. “Humans rub flowers and fruits on their necks, not fucking piss. So, you all just go around pissing all over each other?”

I thought about it for a second. “Yeah, I guess so. Hey, that’s probably why I’ve never been into watersports. It’s always seen as something mates do, and I definitely don’t want to get mated.”

Cian rolled his eyes.

“It’s not a long-term solution, though. Most people do the piss thing for a few months until the mating bite. It’s not gross in werewolf circles,” I added. “I’m sure it’s the same in shifter—”

“No, it’s not.”

“Okay.” I held a palm up in surrender between us. Now was not the time for pointing out Cian had never grown up in a pack—werewolf, shifter, or otherwise—so how would he know?

He looked at the sample pot in my hand. Huffed. “The drive is about seven hours. Why do I need to do it now? Can’t I put it on when we’re near Howling Pines?”

“It needs to set into our skin. You need to smell like you’ve smelled of me for a while. Make sense? Like we’ve been doing this for months already.”

He puffed out another sigh. “So, we have to keep doing this whilst we’re away. I have to stink like your piss for two fucking months?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck my life. How often—urgh, I can’t even believe I’m asking this—how often do we need to reapply?”

“I’m not actually sure. I’ve never done it before, but once a week-ish should work. Or when the smell fades.”

“But what about showers?” he asked. “Won’t I wash it off if I shower?”

“No, that’s the beauty of it. The smell won’t come off even if you scrub. It’s so that every other werewolf knows you’re already spoken for. If a werewolf scents a mating bond or mating promise, they won’t even try anything with you. It’s like some secret code that we all instinctively protect. So if you want, douse yourself in my piss now, let it seep in, and then you can shower as soon as we get to Howling Pines.”

His face was . . . aghast. That was the only word I could think of to describe it. “Please never use the words douse and piss in the same sentence again. So, I have to sit in a car with you for seven hours stinking of urine?”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, one hundred percent, once it’s on your skin it won’t smell like piss. All the mate promises I’ve smelled before have been more like . . . I dunno, kinda nice. Not like cologne or perfume, but not disgusting. You’ll see. Each couple has their own scent.”

Cian rubbed a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up into his hair. After a few minutes of steadily releasing all the air from his lungs, he swiped the sample pot from my hand. “Fine, let’s get this over and done with.”

“Oh, whilst you’re in the loo, fill this up for me.” I plucked an empty plastic bottle from my pocket and winked at him. He grabbed that one too and marched into his bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

I stood outside and listened.

There was a lot of banging around, and unnecessarily loud retrieval of items from his bathroom cabinet, and cabinet door slamming.

“Careful you don’t smash your mirror,” I added, like the helpful good boy I was.

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