Page 49 of Pack Larsen

“That’s just grossly cute, you know,” Juno quips, linking her arm with mine the moment I don’t have my omega clinging to me like an octopus.

“How do you think I felt when I saw you with your guys?” I tease, leaning into my best friend as she snorts and nods.

“Fair. Still, I’m happy for you and shit,” she mumbles, tucking her purple hair behind her ear as she shrugs as though it’s no big deal.

It is. Juniper doesn’t do cutesy things as a rule. I mean, she’ll tell me she loves me now, but it was like pulling teeth trying to get that from her. But this? Damn, she’s going soft.

“I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. I still have claws, so you better shut your mouth,” she gripes playfully, and I mimic zipping my mouth shut and throwing the key away.

I hear several snorts, and I’m surprised to find one of those coming from Munro. He clears his throat quickly, avoiding my eyes as though he didn’t just acknowledge me, but it does something funny to my chest anyway. Not enough to pay him more attention than that glance, but enough to fill my chest with something… I don’t know, fuzzy maybe?

“So, when’s our first group date?” Lowie boldly asks, and Juniper sends him a horrified expression that has him laughing.

I know the offer isn’t real, because big group activities would be enough to send Juno into a fit of hives, but that’s not to say I don’t play on it, because winding my best friend up provides me with a plethora of amusement.

“I was thinking this weekend. We should all go line dancing, country boots and everything,” I quip, knowing Juno would sooner rather die than dance, be it line or squiggle or zig-zag.

“Line dancing. I like it. I’ll get the cowboy hat out of the closet,” Leylan joins in, and my laughter throws my head back while I lean into an unimpressed Juno.

She glares at all of us, her lips twitching. “I hate all of you.”

“I didn’t do shit,” Munro grumbles, and Juno snorts.

“You’re spared my ire then. Lucky you,” she smarts, and he flashes her a small smile before his eyes fall back on me and it fades as quickly as it came. Fucking A. “Anyway, I’m going to class. I’ll see you later, Pixie.”

“Laters, kitten. Love you,” I offer back, winking at her.

Rolling her eyes, she mumbles it back before dragging her twins away, calling over her shoulder, “Come on, Ro. Let’s bust this popsicle joint.”

Huffing a laugh, I go to walk in the direction of my next class, only to be stopped by a heavily tatted hand and the scent of pine and citrus. My heart stalls in my chest as soon as Munro’s fingers gently wrap around my bare bicep, and I suddenly regret wearing a spaghetti-strapped white top that reveals too much of my skin.

Startled, my eyes snap up to his, and my mouth parts in shock as I find him standing much closer than I would have credited him for being. Usually, the guy can’t stand to be anywhere near me. What the hell is even happening right now?

Raising my eyebrows in question, I mutter, “You're touching me on purpose.”

I’m pretty sure Munro’s lips twitch, but then he’s as stone-faced as ever as he retorts, “Very observant.”

Rolling my eyes and less than amused, I pluck his hand off me, ignoring how much bigger they are than mine. I also ignore all the sexy things he could do with hands that big, because I’m simply not going there. I’m going to have to put my pussy on hiatus or something, because I’ve turned into a sexual deviant, my slutty thoughts having no place to belong where Munro Villin is concerned.

Munro sighs and groans when I manage to remove his touch from my skin, and I have to ignore the way it feels like that single touch has imprinted on my skin like a tattoo. Gods, what the actual fuck is wrong with me?Get your shit together, Silver. We hate him, remember?

Apparently, getting good dick regularly turns one's head into a pit of marshmallow, because that’s the only explanation I have for why I’m being weird about the guy touching me. Weirder is that he’s touching me at all, so I focus on that instead.

“What do you want, Munro? I have a class to get to, and so do you. Pretty sure Juno has gone on without you,” I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest as I peer impassively at the guy who’s pissed me off more times than I’ve had showers and bubble baths.

Munro sighs before wiping a hand over his face. His tired-looking face, now that I’m looking at him properly. I’ve spent my days trying to avoid looking at him entirely, though it’s a difficult task when you live together, eat together, and generally cross paths at school. I can’t say I’ve noticed the deep circles under his eyes, though, or the tightness of his features that display his tiredness.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just want to talk. I know you told me you didn’t want a truce, but I just want a moment to explain, princess,” he sighs, and for the first time since I had the poor luck in meeting the guy, he looks genuinely defeated. The nickname he bestowed upon me in the early days doesn’t sound mocking or degrading, and there isn’t a sneer or scowl on his face that I’ve grown used to. He looks like he’s walking a fine line that is the last tether holding his sanity together, and I curse my bleeding fucking heart again when I actually feel sympathy for him. He doesn't deserve it, hasn’t done anything to earn it, and yet it’s there.

Shrugging a shoulder and my voice softer than I mean it to be, I ask, “Why should I listen, Munro? Why now?”

He shakes his head and peers down at the ground, looking uncomfortable as fuck, but he does answer, and what he says shakes the foundation I’m standing on more than I would have given credit to. “I want to explain a few things, maybe give you insight to why I’ve been such an insufferable prick. I don’t want to give you excuses and explain away how shitty I’ve been, but I just wanted to give you some insight. Ever since I made you cry in the living room, I’ve felt like the biggest bag of dicks—”

“You are a bag of dicks,” I blurt, interrupting him and drawing the familiar glare I’ve grown used to from him. I press my hand over my mouth, kind of feeling bad for the outburst, and mutter, “Sorry, go on.”

I’m sure his lips twitch again, but then he rubs his tatted hand over his mouth and says, “I’ve felt like shit ever since, because it made me realize you weren’t who I thought you were. I’ve had you pegged wrong this whole time, and I see now that I wasn’t fair to you before. I didn’t give you a shot, and I want to explain why.”

Damn it if my curiosity isn’t piqued enough that I consider hearing him out. I mean, he’s left me alone for the most part. Other than the constant watching and strange looks I can’t figure out, he hasn’t been his usual asshole self. Ever since that day in the living room after my shift at work, he’s been distant. Observing. Keeping an eye on me. It’s been weird, but I haven’t bothered giving it my brain power to work it out.

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