Page 48 of She Wolf

I puff out my cheeks wondering if I should really say anything, but I’ll only think about it more if I don’t.

“Well, since I’ve known you, I can’t help but to have…noticed the, ummm, women you’ve...” I blink, my eyes wide searching for the right word, “you’ve courted over the past few years, and I just wanted to talk to you about that.”

Now his eyes go wide, and he shifts, suddenly uncomfortable in his seat. “You want to talk about…that?”

“Oh no, not specifically or in detail, but Gunner, from the outside looking in, you have a type, my friend.”

I gesture to my boob area, “And erm, also, they’ve been tiny little things all with dark hair and dark eyes, and, well I’m—”

“They were nothing like you,” he blurts and then pulls on the back of his neck.

“What do you mean?” I look away because I might not like the answer, and I’ve dug myself into a hole.

Every now and then I might feel a little inferior to the big breasted Victoria’s Secret models Gunner’s been photographed with and I challenge any women not to when they’ve been pining and secretly daydreaming after someone all these years.

“I always went for the polar opposite of your coloring and height. Especially eye color,” he says with a slight growl.

“Right, yes, I can see that.” I blow out a puff of air, I don’t even know why I’ve brought this up. Before I can laugh and play this whole conversation off, he tips my chin so my gaze is locked on his.

“Coralie. The only set of blue eyes I wanted to stare into were yours. The light brown hair I wanted to thread my fingers through was yours. I only wanted you and no other light-haired, blue-eyed girl could ever compare.”

I didn’t know that was going to be his answer, but I’m so glad it was.

“Oh, Gunner,” I say, as he pulls me towards him.

“I just wanted you,” he whispers against my lips.

Chapter Eleven

Coralie

Iwish I could say that over the last couple of weeks The Wolves won the conference, and were heading into the finals, but that’s not the case. The boys made it through to round three and the series ran all the way up to game seven, but in the end Philadelphia clinched it, moving on into the Stanley Cup finals and winning in game five.

Since then, the guys have spent their time in a blur of day drinking and sulking, which I'm happy to say Jack and I were absent for most of.

Schools in the area let out for summer break on Friday and it could not have come soon enough. By the time three-thirty on the last day rolled around, I was done. Mom and Dad have already collected Jack for a staycation.

The promise of a woodwork project, skating, swimming in the lake, and a tour of the Air Force base we grew up on was enough to pry him away from Gunner and his uncles. Plus, he’ll get Jason all to himself now that he’s graduated.

It’s been seven days since The Wolves conference final defeat and I’m sorry to say the brooding only worsened after Jack left. More pizza and alcohol have been consumed over the past three days than I ever thought possible. Callan is nowhere to be seen, whereas Gunner, Knox and Adam are ever-present.

Chloe booked her and Rex on the first flight out of here, knowing he was going to be an emotional wreck. Hopefully, he comes back from St. Barts more manageable.

Knox and Adam scurry away during the evenings and reappear the next day hungover, the scent of too-sweet perfume lingering on their clothes and this morning I found Gunner passed out in the den.

Again.

Anna’s around to soften the blow for Casey and Gunner compensates for their defeat with lots of stolen kisses and hugs. Like now. We’re cuddled up on the hammock, the morning sun beginning to warm the rock sand patio that surrounds Casey’s pool. Gunner nuzzles into my neck while I run my fingers through his thick brown hair easing away his hangover headache.

“Hey, sis do you want—Oh wow, are you canoodling out here?” Casey’s sleepy morning voice sounds to my left. When I look up at him, his hair is a complete mess and he’s squinting, rubbing his temple.

“What? No. Just—” I begin, but Gunner butts in. “Yes. We are. Deal with it.”

Casey mumbles something I can’t quite make out.

Gunner makes a pained sound, rubbing his hands over his face. “Goddamn play offs. No! The goddamn fucking Flyers!” He turns his giant body nearly toppling me out of the hammock, but he’s got good reflexes for a hungover mess and stabilizes us. I stand anyway because I’ve had about enough of them all crying into their beers. “Oh shit, our second date.” Gunner groans and rubs his hands over his face.

“It’s okay Gunner, we’ll go next week when you’re over…this,” I wave my hand in front of his forlorn face. Still ridiculously handsome, but miserable, nonetheless.

---