Damn. She came prepared. Or did she plan it? How long have those condoms been in there? I don't tell her I bought a box a few months ago, too, just in case this moment ever came.
"I'll get them in a minute," I murmur, and trail my tongue down her flat belly, swirling it in the indent of her belly button. The scent of her arousal tickles my nose and my body reacts like it was a kick of amphetamine.
Present
Trey
I DREAM about Sheridan all night, but they're not the wet dreams of my youth. They're fucking angsty and painful. She's flipping me on my back and kicking my ribs over and over again, sobbing. She's getting captured and hauled off by the nest of vampires, and there's nothing I can do to keep her safe. Her dad catches me in bed with her and tortures my mom to punish me.
I wake with my psyche bruised and battered. The need to take care of Sheridan-to fix things once and for all consumes me. But what good will it do? Yeah, I purposely drove us apart because I wanted the best for her. It might help her to know that. To know I never stopped loving her.
Hell, I've never even been with another girl since her. My wolf wouldn't accept it. He wanted Sheridan from the first day he saw her and he wouldn't let me sully the memory of her with anyone else. The pack calls me 'the monk.'
But why stir up the past? Nothing's changed. Sheridan's still the pack princess. Her father's still never going to accept me as her mate. Making sure she went to Stanford didn't win me any points with her or him. It just solidified our differences.
I climb out of bed and step into the shower. Sheridan's fucking everywhere in my head-she surrounds me, my thoughts swirling in an endless loop of worry around her.
And then it hits me why.
It's October 25th. The anniversary of her brother's death. My mate is suffering.
I slam off the water and grab a towel. I don't give a shit what went down between us. I don't care if a future's impossible. If Sheridan needs me, it would take every pack on Earth to keep me away.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and one of my leather jackets and go outside. Thank fuck I asked Sheridan where she was staying. I get on my bike and drive to Meyer Street, going up and down until I see her car parked in front of one of the casitas.
I verify it's her place by the sweet vanilla-orange scent and walk up to the door.
It's only then it occurs to me that she might not appreciate my support. But fuck it-I have to offer.
I knock. She comes to the door, heart-breakingly lovely. Her caramel-hued hair falls around her shoulders and she's wearing a soft, mauve t-shirt that molds to her ample breasts, and a pair of skinny jeans that look like pure sin on her. But she's not her usually, snappy, together self. There's a subdued quality to her that makes my heart twist.
I was right to come.
"Trey?" Her honey and peaches voice is soft and puzzled.
I flip the motorcycle keys around my finger. "Want to go for a ride?"
Her eyes fly open in surprise, confusion and wonder warring in her expression. She tilts her head to the side. "Why?"
I shrug. "I know this day is hard for you."
Her beautiful face instantly crumples. Tears pop in her eyes and she falls into my arms. "I can't believe you remembered."
I stroke her silky hair. "Yeah, of course I remembered, baby." I breathe in her scent. "Of course I did."
Her back shakes on a silent sob. "I still miss him," she chokes, her tears wetting my neck.
I slip my hand under her hair and massage her neck. "I know," I murmur.
After a moment, she gets it back together, sniffs and pulls away, ducking her head. "I'll go get my shoes on."
I'm almost lightheaded with relief-she's coming with me. She's letting me offer this comfort to her today.
I'm not foolish enough to believe this means anything in the grand scheme of things, just grateful I get to be with her today.
She comes back, wearing my jacket and her sexy club boots. She's put lip gloss on, which makes my damn dick forget that she was just crying two seconds ago.
I hold my hand out and she curls her fingers into mine, letting me lead her out of the casita to my bike parked on the street behind her car. "Where to? Mountains?"
"Have you eaten?"
I shake my head. "Nope. Wanna get food first?"
She takes the helmet I offer her and tosses her hair back before putting it on. "Definitely."
I take her to a nouveau Mexican restaurant on Broadway where we both get heaping plates of huevos rancheros smothered in salsa verde and extra avocado. She shovels the food in her mouth like the healthy shifter she is.
"I didn't think I could eat today, but suddenly I'm starving," she says between bites.
I smile. Adorable wolf. "Good. Eat up."
She wipes her lips on her napkin. "So, how much do you bring in a week with Fight Club?"
Oh boy. Here comes MBA Sheridan, with that brilliant mind and laser focus pinpointed right on me.
I shrug. "Enough."
She takes a large gulp of ice water. "No really. Let's talk numbers. I'll bet there's places to improve profitability."
I raise a brow. "Thought you were gonna try to shut me down."
Something flickers over her face-regret, maybe. She drops her eyes to her food and scoops another forkful. "That may not be necessary."
"Mm," I grunt in response.
"You're not going to tell me?"
"What?"
"Your numbers? Let's see, I would say Luka and I rang up about $900 in drinks Wednesday night and the margin's probably around thirty percent. So $600 profit. You had five people on staff, including me. What does that eat up?"