Page 61 of Strelitzias in Spring

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“Shit,” Jack mutters, glancing down at his phone while conversation buzzes around us.

“Is everything okay?” We’ve been here for over an hour, eating appetizers and listening to Ava and Celeste go at it like a well-rehearsed comedy routine. While the women at the table are all underage and won’t be served, Jack, Lincoln, Dante, and Greyson have been drinking beers. Apparently, Ava is driving Greyson’s Jeep back to the guys’ place, and I think everyone is a little on edge.

Wolf hasn’t consumed a single thing since he sat down at the head of the table, watching over us like a sentry. His beer and burger sat untouched on the bar until a waitress dropped off the flat brew and cold food to our table.

“I need to head back to the house. There’s an issue with the electric, and the control panel is in my closet.” I tilt my head, digesting his words. He must sense my confusion because he elaborates, “I locked my bedroom door before I left. The guys were having people over, and I didn’t want anyone going into my bedroom.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Do you want to come back with me? I know there are a few girls from the sorority there. It could be fun.” He offers a shy smile like he’s anticipating my refusal.

“I think I’d like to just head home if you don’t mind.”

His expression falls, but he recovers quickly, replacing the hopeful expression with an understanding grin. “Of course. But I need to go straight to the house to unlock the door and flip the breaker. I can bring you home after?”

“I’ll bring her home.” Jack and I shift our gazes to Wolf, who seems to be listening to the conversation with keen interest. “You can get to your little party.”

I roll my eyes at Wolf and turn my attention back to Jack. “It’s fine; either Ava and Celeste or Wolf will drive me home. Do you mind if I walk you out?”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind bringing you back to your place after I stop by the house.”

“I promise, it’s no problem.” I follow Jack out of the booth, sliding until my feet hit the sticky wood floor in front of the table. Needing something to do with my hands, I clasp them in front of my waist and walk to the door, feeling Jack close at my heels.

As soon as we reach the entrance, I pause and look over at Jack’s handsome face.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“What?”

He smiles ruefully, shaking his head. “You don’t need to say what’s on your mind; I already know. I think you’re a great girl, Serena, and you’re beautiful as hell. But I know when I’m competing against someone I can’t beat, and I’m not delusional enough to think you’re interested in me. So, friends?”

I stare at him in surprise before a smile breaks out across my face. “Friends.” Reaching out, I throw my arms around Jack’s waist and squeeze lightly, attempting to put all my relief in the gentle embrace. “Thanks for being a good guy, Jack. But just so you know, you’re not competing against anyone.”

His laugh moves the strands of hair at the top of my head. “Tell that to McCleery. That man is built like Mount Everest and looks like he can kill me with a poke to the chest. The entire time we were in that booth, I felt him glaring at me.”

I swallow, unable to respond, and nod at his words. Releasing my hold, I step back and watch as he walks through the door, disappearing into the inky night.

Dragging in a deep breath, I steel myself for the inevitable inquisition that I know I’m going to face the minute I return to the table. Spinning on my heel, I slam into a broad chest boasting a woodsy scent.

“Wolf.” I sound breathless, even to my ears. “What are you doing?”

“I got your jacket and bag. You ready to head out? We settled the bill, and the girls are in the bathroom.”

“Right, how much do I owe?”

Wolf scoffs, disgust lacing his tone. “That guy couldn’t even throw in a few dollars for his shitty beer. Don’t insult me by offering to pay; you know your money’s no good to me.”

“Wolf…”

“No. Get your jacket on, and then we’re heading out. I need to stop somewhere before I bring you back to your apartment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Princess,” he growls.

I tell myself that it’s indigestion from the hot wings we ordered that’s making my stomach flutter. Because there is no way that I’m stupid enough to fall into bed—or a couch or a wall—with Wolf McCleery again.

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