Page 53 of Rejected Exile

As I turn around and walk towards the garage, a skip in my step, Lance calls out to me in a strangled voice.

"And stop swaying those hips of yours! I swear, these pants will tear if you keep that up."

I do as he says—after a moment of thinking about the image he conjures up.

Seventeen

Delilah

Ice cold water streams over me from the shower head. Teeth chattering, I lather up and do my best to quickly rinse off, the cold water dripping down my back and thighs. It's almost a relief to dry off—though of course, as soon as I do, my earlier problem rears its ugly head.

I'm not taking a cold shower because the pipes don't work or the water heater is busted. On the contrary—ever since that contractor showed up and fixed the insulation in the walls, showering in this old house has been nearly luxurious.

No, I'm taking a cold showervoluntarily.Because, try as I might, the past few nights all I've been able to think about, dream about, or daydream about is the two gorgeous men I didn'tquiteget to sleep with.

Almost as soon as our little moment outside was over, Lance gravely announced that he couldn't let something like that happen again, because it was too important to him that things be done officially. And until the curse is fully cleared, he doesn't want to riskdoing things officially—which means no cookie for this famished cookie monster.

Finn, meanwhile, has been just as flirtatious and charming as ever, but I haven't gotten a single moment of alone time since Cat forced the issue. Either he's with Lance, he's with Roarke, he's with Cat, or—most often—he's with the contractor and his men pitching in on the exterior insulation and siding. Apparently that area is one of Finn's unusual skills, so they've taken his offer for help.

And, as much as I'd like to proposition the drop-dead-handsome werewolf in front of three onlookers with tool belts, somehow I don't think it's the sexiest way to do things.

Besides, by the time the day is over and the sun sets, physical exhaustion sets in. We've been hard at work fixing up the house, and the benefits are already showing up—working with super-fast and extra-strong werewolf men will do that—but it takes its toll. I never thought I'd be the type to put my head down at eight o'clock and fall into a deep sleep. Apparently, that's exactly the kind of eighty-year-old twenty-one-year-old I've turned into.

So it's cold showers for me. Toweling off quickly, I comb out my hair and aim the blow-dryer at it. My magenta hue is already fading; I'll need to refresh it soon, before my hair turns back to the boring dishwater blonde-brown it is naturally. As soon as I'm dry and dressed, I pick up my phone and put in an order for the dye I normally use.

The checkout screen prompts me for a delivery address. Feeling a little strange about it, I type in the house in Juniper, set it as my new default address, and put the order in.

Glancing into the mirror, I ask myself if this is it. If I'm really going to stick around in pack territory and deal with all the complications that ensue from that. Leaning over the sink, I reach up to probe the scar on my neck and the chip I know now sits just beneath the skin, and wonder if I'm making the right choice.

I should just take the chip out now, get it over with, and see what happens. Maybe I have a wolf, and I'm meant to stick around here forever. Maybe I don't, and I should plan on returning to San Diego as soon as the Summit is through.

Because while I defiantly told Kieran that I could stick around here and make it work, now I can't help but wonder if the ass was right. Maybe I don't belong here.

I could have a perfectly happy life in San Diego.

Or stick around here only to have to fight for every ounce of happiness there is.

Sighing, I shake the thought off. There's no reason to decide anything right now. I can wait to take the chip out—it's been seven years, so a few weeks won't be much more. And there's too much work to do on the house for it to be put up for sale tomorrow.

Besides, I like making Kieran sweat. Even if I don't wind up staying here, it's nice to defy him. Maybe I'll go to another pack's territory, go back to San Diego, or find my own way in the world. But no matter what I won't be leaving Juniper becausehesaid so.

I grab my leave-in conditioner and squeeze some out onto my palm. Flipping my hair over, I comb my fingers through it until every strand is nice and slick, then wrap it in my small hair towel and wind it around. I flip my head back and tuck the tail of the towel under the rest of it. There's an entire day's work ahead of me and the guys will be here in thirty minutes, so I'd better get dressed and prepare for another day of physical labor.

Last night I moved all my things from the guest bedroom to my childhood bedroom. Now that the room looks less like a museum it's easier to sleep in, and I want to reclaim the space. If there's time this morning, I want to get rid of all the old clothing in my teenage dresser and fill it with the stuff I brought from San Diego.

As I reach for the bathroom door, I hear footsteps in the hallway. Cat must be up and getting ready for the day. Maybe she's even brought me a mug of coffee so I won't have to head to the kitchen to get my caffeine fix.

Stepping out into the bedroom, I glance towards my door, expecting a knock.

The door swings open.

It isn't Cat who steps through.

Instead it's Roarke, bright and early, his sun-bleached blond hair tousled. His eyes are fixed on his phone screen as he steps into the room, earbuds in his ear.

"Roarke—I'm in here! I moved rooms."

He doesn't hear me. Glancing over his shoulder, he calls out, "I'm going to finish up the wallpaper in here!"

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