Page 65 of Coco and the Misfits

Not to see Ryder.

And why not? Why not see him, precious? Nothing wrong with that, is there? It’s not a crime. He’s my kiss thief, and he owes me.

“I knew our broken pieces would fit together.” That was what he told me, and I can’t forget it. He owes me an explanation.

That’s all. That’s why I wanted to see him. Not because I’ve been fantasizing about kissing him again, touching him. Finding out more about him.

So I turn my back on him, not to look as eager as I feel, and nod at Gigi who is saying something to me.

“Really?” she says and frowns.

“Uh… What?”

“I asked if you’re still in shock from what happened at Alpha Bet.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. It’s only been a few days.” I grab a can of soda and take a sip. “But it’s fine, really. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” This new voice, this low male voice, belongs to someone standing behind me and I spit out the sip I’d taken.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Ryder says, his grin crooked when I whirl around. “Jumpy, aren’t you? Still shaky after that car almost run you over?”

“What car?” Gigi demands. “A crash? You’re confused. She was almost kidnapped in the bar where we went for drinks.”

“Gigi—” I start.

His eyes go wide. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“It’s the truth,” Gigi says. “Ask the bar owner, if you don’t believe me.”

“Is that the bar where I met you?” Ryder turns those wide, golden eyes on me.

“Oh yeah, you were there that night, too,” Gigi says, “and you?—”

“Gigi!” I finally whirl about to face her. I thought she had my back but she’s kind of tipsy right now, which may explain her lapse in judgment. “Let’s change the topic, yeah?”

“Sorry.” She has the grace to look sheepish. “I didn’t think… of course you don’t want to talk about it.”

Ryder is frowning now, his golden eyes full of shadows. “Come,” he says, “offer your wishes to the birthday boy.”

Such a non-sequitur. But I follow him anyway to the back of the shop. Cash is still standing there, nursing a beer, his gaze distant. He looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties. An alpha, too, he’s bulkier than Ryder with shoulders like a linebacker.

Like Atticus, I think. Or maybe Zach. With his chin-length chestnut hair pulled back and the ink climbing his neck, he’s pretty handsome, but I feel nothing. No attraction.

Am I broken? Have I stopped enjoying my ogling of hunks?

But I only have to glance at Ryder to get my blood burning in my veins.

No, I think my problem is worse. I’m not broken. I’m falling for these guys.

These three guys. We haven’t even slept together! I don’t know their families or friends, their hobbies or bad habits. This is terrible. Not at all how I’d always imagined doing things.

It’s not too late, I tell myself. Take a bus, leave town, change your name and start anew in Antarctica. Make friends with bears and beavers. Become a witch in the forest and talk with the birds.

Piece of cake.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper and Cash glances at me, a brow arching. I clear my throat and raise my soda can. “Many happy returns.”

He sips from his beer can and nods. “Who are you?”

---