Page 59 of Rejected Exile

I roll my eyes.Should I be concerned that you don't know how procreation works?Cat is watching me smile at my phone, a single eyebrow arched in my direction, but I ignore her. Flirting is fun, I'd almost forgotten.

Someone gave me the birds and the bees talk, I'll have you know. Though it wasn't until I'd already snuck to my pack's Mating Circle and seen things in person. Hard to keep a lid on the mechanics of sex when your culture revolves around public fucking.

He has a point there. The amount of human men I met who seemed incapable of honestly talking about sex—who were more likely to playact things they'd seen in porn than inquire as to what I like in bed—was, well, all the human men I met. What seems primal and savage to the outside world is just us werewolves being a little honest about what works in the bedroom. Often that includes a man saying sinful things in a woman's earbeforehe holds the back of her neck and screws her, preferably in her favorite position with his fingers on her clit.

This train of thought just leads to me imaginingFinnas the male in the Mating Circle who has one hand on the back of my neck and the other on my clit. Not a place I want my mind to go at seven in the morning, with no outlet in sight. Especially since I still have Lance and Roarke in my messages inbox, with a big fat question mark next to them.

Good point,I text Finn, followed immediately by,I have to go to my appointment though. Putting my phone on do not disturb. See you later!

Haha. Swift subject change, Delilah.I bite my lower lip.See you later, dollface.

Dollface. That's one word for me. Another would be flat-on-her-face-face, because I feel like I'm going to trip over my own two feet trying to make it out the door. That's how flustered Finn makes me feel, even through the screen of my phone.

Cat notices my distraction as we head out towards her rental car. "You look positively giddy. It couldn't be more obvious that you're texting with one of the guys. The only question is: which one?"

I glance at her as we slide into the car. "Finn."

"Nice choice. I like his sense of humor."

"And before that, Roarke." My phone flashes, and I glance at the screen, feeling dizzy. "Now Lance too."

His text simply reads:Let me know if you want anything for lunch. Think I'll swing by to pick up some food before we start work. Maybe get you that chocolate pie you mentioned from Berty's?

He's so impossibly sweet. I text him back to let him know I'd appreciate a slice of chocolate pie—no doubt this microchip removal will leave me sore and shaky—then meet Cat's eyes.

She couldn't be more amused. "Gonna play your options a little bit, huh Lilah?"

"It's not like that," I grouse, even though ittotallyis. "I just feel like I barely know them. How can I pick one when I have no idea which one I might want?"

"Mmm-hmmm. Don't give me that line. I was alive in the eighties, I know all about playing the field. Back in my day we called it swinging, not 'being poly,' but it's all the same."

I do the math in my head. "Weren't you a teenager in the 1980s?"

"So youcancount."

I snort. "And you weren'tswingingin the eighties, you were probably dating older men. The same thing you told me good girls don't do when that professor tried to hit on me while I was getting my associate's degree."

"Someone's too smart for her own good." Cat shakes her head as she points the car down the road towards the local clinic. "I told you to be careful then, and I'll say it again now. You're playing with fire—tall, muscular, dominant fire, and you're likely to get burned."

"I'm sure it won't go that far," I argue. "The three of them are friends. They must have talked about it."

She snorts. "You think men talk to each other about their boundaries and feelings? If they did, we wouldn't have war. You're going to have to be the one to broach the topic of sharing and caring with those three—otherwise, you'll be painting over the bloodstains they leave behind on that freshly sanded down hardwood."

I'm not sure that Cat is right, but as I settle into the passenger seat and unlock my phone, I reflect that shedoeshave a point. I need to talk to the guys about what's going on between us... at some point.

Until then, I might as well have a little fun flirting via text message.

After all, what's the worst that can happen? I'm still a shiftless exile, and might remain one even after the chip gets removed from my neck. There's no reason to fight over a prize like me—they're just as likely to fight over whohasto keep me as who gets to.

No one can blame me for wanting to kick that can down the road a little while longer. Cat always said to savor the moments in life we know won't come around again. Being pursued by three drop dead gorgeous men is one of them, and I intend to keep it going for as long as possible.

Nineteen

Delilah

The nurse at the clinic doesn't seem to understand what's going on. "How do you know she has an anti-shifting microchip in her neck? Who put it there? I don't understand."

I sigh, meeting Cat's eyes. Though I'm legally an adult and don't exactly need her here, I had the feeling she'd be necessary for the appointment. "We don't know who put it there, but it needs to be taken out. Didn't Federal Act 221 stipulate that medical professionals have to remove these things if anyone asks?"

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