Page 33 of The Good Boys Club

“Excellent. Sounds excellent,” Cian said, his body stiff, his arms rigid on the steering wheel.

“When exactly did we decide to start dating?” I asked.

“At the Howl Winter Fest do.”

I sucked in a breath. My heart began beating in triple time. “Do you remember what you said to me on the rooftop?” Holy fuck, I was going to pass out.

Cian waited an eternity before answering. “Not really. I think . . . I cried. Did I cry?”

“A little.” Relief flooded my system. I’d always assumed Cian was too stoned to remember what I’d said and what he’d said in return, but I’d been too afraid to ask. I wished I could forget it. The desperate way I had—

No, Mash, don’t go there.

It had been one moment. A blip. Things were fine now. Why would I risk that again?

“So, do we live together in my apartment, or yours, or do we live separately?” I said to stop myself ruminating on that night.

“Do werewolves usually move in together, or do they wait a little while like humans often do?”

“Yeah, they can wait. Okay, so we still have our separate apartments. They’re going to ask us about our mating ceremony, and if—no, when we’re going to have one.”

Cian tapped his fingers against the wheel. “Let’s say that we’re thinking of a ceremony during the Wolf Moon in January. That way it’s too far ahead to start planning for and also gives us time to think up a reason to get out of it.”

“Sure, sure, that works,” I said. “Hey, there’s actually a decent amount of leg room in this car. Better than your last one, anyway.” I’d rolled the seat as far back and down as it would go, and for the first time as a passenger in someone else’s car, it felt roomy.

“This model had the best leg room of any in the showroom,” he said. I pretended like I didn’t know what that meant. That he’d bought a car specifically with my comfort in mind. I was such an ass. I’d bought my car because it looked sleek as fuck.

We passed the rest of the journey by discussing the merits of a saloon over a coupe: fit more crap in and generally better for the planet. And the pitfalls: nowhere near as sexy, and didn’t make cool revving sounds that made people shit themselves at pedestrian crossings. And by talking about movies: movies we’d seen recently and movies that were due to be released next year.

Approximately ten hours later, because even though traffic all the way was light and customs didn’t take very long at all, we kept discovering these tiny street-food carts parked along the highways and had to stop at each one to fuel up. We’d had noodles, and shawarma, and churros, and mac ’n’ cheese, and every time we got in and out of the car, I held my breath so I didn’t suck in another lungful of us.

Cian was breathing through his mouth too, so I knew it wasn’t just me.

He pulled up just outside Howling Pines.

“You ready?” I asked, my heartbeat skittering about like a trapped bird.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A moment later, his ears shifted higher onto his head, became fluffy, and his canines grew longer. “Ah, fuck, my tail.”

I rummaged in his glove compartment for the pocketknife I knew he kept there. “Lean forward.” He did. “I’ll buy you new trousers.”

“These were two hundred silvers,” he said.

“Two hundred fucking silvers for some fucking cords?! Gods, Ci.” Fucking hipsters. I slipped one hand down just inside the waistband and stabbed at the heavy cotton fabric with the knife until it pierced it. Then I sawed the blade along the seam, cutting an opening wide enough to fit his new tail through, and wiggled it through the hole with my fingers. “That’ll have to do.”

Ordinarily, werewolves bought their clothes from specialist werewolf shops. We were generally much larger than humansand many other species, and all our trousers, underpants, skirts, and dresses usually had fastenings at the back to let our tails poke through comfortably. There were a couple of these stores in Remy, and if I’d thought about it properly, I would have taken Cian shopping before coming here.

Maybe I could order him some clothes and have them shipped overnight. He was gonna find the human boxer briefs he wore particularly uncomfortable, what with the elastic waistband pulled down under his tail, rubbing on his asshole all day.

“You have such a lovely fluffy tail,” I told him.

“Fuck off,” he said. “My glasses don’t fit on my head any more. I don’t have human ears to hold them up.” He removed them and examined the frame.

“Were they expensive?” I asked, already knowing his answer.

“Considerably more than the trousers.”

I let out a breath. “Fine, I’ll buy you new glasses too.” And then I bent the wires of the arms upwards so they fit roughly over his werewolf ears. It took a few wiggles and try-ons to get the fit right before they were no longer sitting wonky on his nose.

---