Page 52 of Sigma
“Maybe not.”
“But maybe yes.”
“Maybe not good answers.”
“But maybe good answers.”
I sigh. The glass is half empty for me, half full for her.
“Shower or breakfast?” she changes the subject.
“Shower back at the trailer, then breakfast there. The same breakfast you made me yesterday. Exactly the same.”
“Or what?” she teases.
“Or… I’ll think my mate is a little cruel.”
“Oh, I can be a lot cruel. You’ll learn this about me.”
I smile, but it’s a little tight. And she probably can’t tell what with this stupid thing on my face, but I wish I could say I can’t wait to learn everything about her.
I can’t say that out loud. I can’t let my guard fully down. I also evidently can’t stand being away from her by what happened last night.
Fear shunts through me. Fear that her strength and my inability to stay away from her will be her downfall.
“I think I’m already learning,” I say.
“Good. Maybe you’ll behave yourself then. Let’s go.” She opens a dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of tiny lace underpants. Red ones. She pulls a pair of jeans on over them.
I’ll be thinking about those red underpants until I can set eyes on them again.
As she buttons the jeans, I ask, “Now?”
It’s early. I only slept an hour or two. I could use another snooze. As ridiculous as her apartment is, her bed is comfortable. And it smells incredible.
“Yep. The gas station will open at six and folks will show up. I suspect you’re not going to want to be around anyone with that mask on your face. Especially considering unattached council and pack alphas could be among them.”
Good points, both of them.
“We’ll take my car back,” she adds.
19
CICELY
“At least your car isn’t as ridiculous as your apartment,” Jared remarks when we get outside and he sees my ride parked on the other side of the building under a little carport.
It’s a red Camaro and it’s older than I am.
“I take very good care of him, so know that when you drive.”
I toss him the keys. He catches them and though the mask obscures his mouth, I can tell by the crinkles around his eyes that he’s grinning.
“Him?”
“Him,” I confirm.
“Cars are not ‘hims’.” His voice is full of fake outrage.
