Page 23 of Wolf Lost

“You’re a monster,” Sawyer informed Dez as he took a bite of his apple pie. “No two ways about it. Monster.”

“Because I don’t drink a glass of milk and sugar instead of coffee?” Dez asked. His delivery was deadpan, but somehow, it was obvious that he was joking.

Sawyer turned up his nose. “That too. Might as well ask the waitress to serve it ‘black like my soul,’ and start wearing eyeliner and painting your nails black.”

“I could pull off eyeliner,” Dez shot back, and Sawyer had the urge to hop the table and curl up in his lap. He had that urge more and more the longer they knew each other.

Even Sawyer’s father had gone in for those old-fashioned stereotypes where alphas weren’t allowed to know what eyeliner was, let alone talk about wearing it. He’d rarely met a beta guy who was willing to entertain the notion, let alone an alpha.

“You could,” Sawyer agreed. “Not that you need it. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about going to a place with perfectly good pie and ordering...that.”

Dez looked down at the plate in front of him, then back up at Sawyer. “I like grilled cheese. What’s wrong with it?”

Sawyer sputtered. “What’s wrong with it? It’s not pie!”

“I could still get pie.”

“You won’t.” Sure, they had only known each other a few weeks, but Sawyer was entirely confident in that. Well, almost entirely confident. “Unless you do it because I said you won’t.”

“I should,” Dez mused. “Can’t go getting predictable on you.”

With a scowl, Sawyer stabbed his pie. “You won’t even eat it if you get it.”

Somehow, that earned him one of Dez’s soft smiles. “No. You will.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He hung his head and stared at his pie. “Sure,” he finally mumbled. “Make me feel like a jerk.”

Dez leaned across the table and whispered, “Like I said, can’t go getting predictable.”

When they got home, Sawyer held a cardboard box with not a single piece of pie, but a whole one. Not predictable, indeed.

Dez leaned against the wall as Sawyer put the pie in the fridge, which was still a wasteland. He pushed the paper Chinese takeout containers and the foil Italian takeout containers out of the way for it and turned back to Dez, who looked to have settled in.

It meant one of two things: he wanted to talk, or his leg was hurting and he didn’t want to move.

Dez wasn’t much of a talker, so it wasn’t hard to guess which it was.

On the other hand, Sawyer was a talker, and he was more than willing to play to Dez’s ego and pretend. He hopped up on the counter across from Dez with a grin. “So, any other plans since we’re not going to get any work done this afternoon?”

Dez’s lips twisted in a dissatisfied frown. “I should go back and work on the case.”

“Please,” Sawyer said with a snort. “Ash is going to be useless while they work on the kitchen. He’s, like, oven-sexual. We should find a project we can do with two pairs of hands while they work on that.”

Instead of getting that frustrated look that said he was thinking about his limitations, Dez looked thoughtful.

“Ideas?”

“You know those chairs? The ones we sat on today?”

Sawyer tried to picture them in his mind and nodded. “Sure. Cracked maroon vinyl. Ugly, looks terrible with the kind of olive-ish colored wood.”

Dez nodded and brought his hand up to rub absently at his stubble. Sawyer wanted that stubble all over his body. “What about black?” Dez asked, and it took Sawyer a moment to refocus and realize what he meant.

“You mean for the chairs?” Dez gave him a look that said “duh,” but didn’t answer. “Um, black would go better with that wood, for sure. And it would match the counter. But you know what a coffee shop really needs?”

Dez frowned, considering for a moment, then looked back up at Sawyer and shrugged. “No. I’ve never been in one.”

“You’ve... never been in a coffee shop.”

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