Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

I blink. Okay. “Well, it’s summer. Everyone’s wearing ripped clothes.”

“That’s jeans, Embers.”

“Expand the concept.” I grin at him, and his pupils darken again, though this time I have no clue what he’s thinking.

Why am I talking to him? How can I be so relaxed with him? I hardly know him. Plus, he’s a jerk. Though, right now, under his blue-green scrutiny, I can’t quite remember what it was he did that was so bad.

“Don’t you have a pair of dark jeans and a nice shirt? I bet you’ll get away with it. Asher and Audrey don’t seem anal about dress codes.”

“Anal.” He chuckles. “Yeah, well. No, I don’t have dark jeans and a nice shirt.”

“Okay.” I hum under my breath. “Jeans that aren’t ripped and a nice shirt?”

He shakes his head.

“So what do you have?”

He looks down at himself. “My jogging pants and shoes. Two pairs of jeans, ripped, and a few more T-shirts. Oh and a sweater and a jacket.”

My mouth falls open. “That’s all?”

“I don’t need more. I wash them and they’re good as new.”

“Except when they’re falling apart.”

“Damn.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m serious. I have trouble shopping.”

“Why? You don’t mind being around crowds. So what’s the issue?”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. “Shit, I need to do something. The wedding’s coming up in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I squeak. “So soon?”

“You going, too?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“That’s fucking awesome.” He turns his attention back to me and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Damn, I bet you’re dying to go, aren’t you, Embers?”

“Not funny. And stop calling me Embers. It’s a shitty name, anyway.”

He suddenly pushes his chair back, rattling the table as he gets up, unfolding his long frame. “Right. Well, I gotta go.”

My mouth falls open and I close it with a snap. What the heck is going on? “Jesse.”

“What?” he growls. He’s already grabbed his hoodie and is pulling it on. His head pops through the opening, and he thrusts his arms into the sleeves. “You were right not wanting to let me in. Fuck, I’m surprised you did. All I do is fuck up—”

I push to my feet. “JJ.”

He freezes in the act of straightening the black hoodie, lifting his gaze to look at me. It’s right there, the same heartbreak that shone out of his eyes when I peeked through the peephole earlier.

I rewind the conversation, trying to remember the last thing I said. “You made fun of me for not wanting to go to the wedding.”

“I fucking didn’t—”

“And I told you not to call me Embers. Actually, I said…” It’s a shitty name. That’s what I said. “Talk to me.”

“Fucked in the ass,” he whispers so low I have to strain to hear, “as Helen would say. Still.”