Page 73 of The Good Boys Club

I opened my mouth and closed it again. “No. I don’t. I’m sorry. What did we do?” I hid my face in my hands as I waited for his answer.

Cian’s head tilted to the side. “You really don’t know?”

“Did I try to fuck you? Oh, gods, I’m so sorry. I promise I’m not usually that rapey—”

“Woah, no, you didn’t try to fuck me. You were just you. We came here, we talked, then we . . .” His cheeks went pink. “Nuzzled.”

“We nuzzled, and I didn’t mount you?” I said, frankly incredulous. Shifting into wolf form always lowered my inhibitions so much. The lines between what was in my head andreal life got blurred. Perception of right and wrong took a back seat. Desires surfaced.

“Just talked.”

A second sense of dread blossomed deep in my gut. We’d talked. “What did we talk about?” I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, but my insides were very fucking chalant.

He said nothing for a full minute, maybe two. His gaze flicked over my face while he chewed on his lower lip. Then his sights landed on my Good Boys Club tattoo. “About my parents mostly, and how jealous you are that I can shift any time I like and suck myself off.”

My laughter burst from me and echoed throughout the trees. “Was that it?”

He was silent for a few moments. Probably enjoyed watching me squirm. “Pretty much.”

Relief . . . overwhelming relief. I hadn’t told him about my feelings for him, my soul-aching need to always be near him, or about my destiny as pack alpha that would inevitably and eventually tear us apart.

“I might have mentioned this, but I’m so hungry,” he said.

“You’re right, Talking Burger. We should get some food.”

“My morning wood’s gone down too. Do you think I could slip into the house and you could fetch my glasses and clothes? I’m really not sure what to do about this . . . extra layer I’ve got down here. I don’t want to give the game away.”

“Sure.” I had an idea. “Hey, to make it look more like a werewolf’s tip, maybe you could colour the end in pink with permanent marker?” I suggested.

Cian raised one eyebrow at me, non-verbally telling me tofuck off.

“Or not, whatever. What do I know about foreskins? What if you super-glued it back?”

“You’re a doctor!” he said. “Sometimes I forget that you’re a doctor, and then I remember and it blows my mind.”

“I’m a doctor of trees, not turtlenecks. I wonder if you can get dick-skin doctors.”

Cian didn’t answer me. Not about the foreskin thing anyway. I’d have to look that up on my phone when I got back to the house. “Do you know what time it is? I promised Clem I’d help in the kitchen for the post-shift brunch.”

He was smiling, and so was I. Cian loved cooking almost as much as I loved eating his food.

“Some time before eight is my guess.” I pushed to my feet and brushed the forest floor off my ass and thighs. My stomach groaned again. It sounded like the creaking of a haunted attic. “I’m gonna need a snack before brunch.”

“Come on, then,” he said, standing up as well.

“Ooh, ears and tail,” I reminded him. “Just in case we see anyone on the way.”

Cian closed his eyes, and the next second his ears shifted up his head and a tail popped out. The motion caused his dick to bounce.

“Urologist!” I declared to the empty kitchen as I made myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich and looked up the correct term for a foreskin doctor.

Not solely foreskins, but urologists handled all urinary and . . . peen related problems.

Good to know, I guessed.

Cian was at Clem’s B&B helping with the breakfast-brunch-lunch post-shift-feast prep. I’d have to tell him about my findings later.

I took a bite out of my sandwich, pushed my phone into my back pocket, and turned around.

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