Page 99 of The Good Boys Club

“Your mate?”

My stomach flipped. “Someday I’m gonna have to find a mate. I’ll need to produce a successor.”

“Oh,” he said. That was all he said.

“Leadership contests are something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies. They’re awful. I’ve only seen a couple in my life, but they can get brutal. Wolves go feral. Even in packs like ours where everyone seems big-happy-family content. It’s unavoidable. Kinda like a shift at the full moon. You just—” I made an explosion gesture, bringing my fists together, then pulling them apart and making a crashing sound. “It can be a fight to the death. And I’m not prepared for anyone in my pack to go to the big farm in the sky because I neglected my responsibilities for too long.”

“Mash,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper. He cupped my shoulder with his palm and stroked his thumb back and forth against my skin. Goosebumps erupted at the gentleness of his touch. I pretended not to notice.

An idea flitted through my mind. I tried to bat it away. But I knew if I did, I’d end up chasing it down like a tennis ball.

Be my fake mate forever. Stay here with me. Move in with me. I’ll install proper Wi-Fi so you can work remotely. Fuck what Dee-Dee said, we’ll find you a new, better job. There will be so many BJs. I love you. More than anyone I’ve ever known. I’ll always love you. I can’t bear to lose you.

But how could I ask him to give up everything—fucking everything—for me? To spend the rest of his life trapped on this reserve, in this tiny town, in this part of werewolf country? Away from his job, his other friends, his family, everything he loved, his life?

Cian was a city boy through and through. He lived for the culture, the theatre, the fancy eateries, the cheaper food wagons. He liked buying bread at three a.m. He liked the eight-minutejourney on the U-Rail across town to his office. He liked that in the next block over from his apartment there was an entire street dubbed “The Coffee District.”

And we both loved the anonymity of living amongst millions of others, the diversity. Here, diversity meant some wolves had brown fur whilst others had silver. And every single person knew your name. There was no hook-up culture in Lykos. In this town, you fucked around, and everyone found out.

And he’d already rejected me once. Already told me, in no uncertain terms, I was holding him back.

I refused to be responsible for his imprisonment here.

“I don’t wanna talk about that right now, though. Don’t even want to think about it,” I said.

Cian nodded. “I’m here when you’re ready to. No rush.”

“Thank you.” My voice wobbled.

“Just gonna take a shower and wash the pit stink off my face.”

“I was about to suggest that. Your face fumes are making me nauseated.”

“You fucker,” he said, laughing. Then he pretended to yawn, stretching out his back and arms, leaning over me, and deliberately smothering my nose with his armpit.

I chose the most unfortunate time to suck in a breath. His pit hairs flooded my mouth, the slightly metallic, onion-pie stink-taste hit my tongue and nostrils. Gross, but also kinda hot.

“Joke’s on you, I’m into that shit,” I said after he pulled himself off me.

I waited for Ci to finish his shower, and then I jumped in after him. I sort of felt like I should give him a kiss as we swapped places, but something stopped me. It wasn’t a real relationship, and I didn’t know if our friendship extended to that kind of habitualness. Were we now fuck buddies? Maybe we only kissed if it was a prelude to one or both of us coming.

After my shower, in which I wanked to the mental image of Cian on his knees for me with my cock buried in his throat, I got dressed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. He was already there, sitting at the table with Mam and Nana. They were all laughing. Something was spread out over the tablecloth. Lots of paper squares . . . photographs.

Cool, cool, cool. They were looking at old photos of me.

Probably all the ones from that period of my life, aged six, when I wore as few clothes as I could get away with.

Cian looked up and grinned the biggest, cheesiest grin. “I saw your wiener.”

“Not the first time, though, is it?” I replied. “Morning, Nana, Mam.” I walked over to the cafetière and gave it a swirl. Nice, there was enough coffee left for me.

“Morning, sunshine,” Mam said. She smiled at a photo and handed it to Ci.

“Wow!” he said, then he thrust it at me. “You look cute with a moustache.”

“Huh?” I’ve never had a moustache. I took the photo and peered down, and for a brain-falteringly long moment, I only saw myself. Taken in this very kitchen, same wallpaper, same cupboard fronts, different blinds. Shaggy-blonde hair, lazy half smile, green eyes, bushy lip decor.

It was my dad. We really did look alike.

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