“Shane,” Ros complained and reached from behind Jag to gently slap his mate’s chest, but it was half-hearted and meant as a joke rather than true reprimand.
“What? I’m curious of the technique Jag’s family had used for generations of wild cat people.”
Jag groaned. “My father was the one to start our colony. I’m only the second generation.”
Ros patted Jag’s shoulder blade. “You don’t need to explain anything. But Shane’s right. There will be no fighting, other than on the screen.”
No amount of conversation or reassurance would make Jag less nervous about the evening ahead. He’d be out of his comfort zone and didn’t know the rules his man took for granted, hence he’d asked his friends for help, but clothes only solved so much. Dane might be accepting of his eccentricities, but that didn’t mean Jag shouldn’t strive to impress him. While the possibility of embarrassing himself among city people filled him with dread, he needed to face this challenge. He’d been putting off this date for two weeks already, under the pretense of healing, but if he let that go on any longer, Dane might consider him permanently broken.
The matter of Rob, Dane’s ex, assailant, and human devil all in one was still up in the air because he’d left the area and would only be back in a week or so. The motorcycle club had found proof of his crimes and intended to deal with him, but until then, they awaited Rob’s return, to not spook him.
His absence meant Dane was free to roam, and he’d even spent time with his family last night. He had invited Jag to accompany him, but the prospect of being in the presence of his “in-laws”—as Shane mockingly called them—proved too stressful for the time being. But time out in the world with only Dane for company? Jag believed he could do that much and prove to Dane what a great mate he could be on any occasion.
“Okay, I’m done,” Ros said and pulled Jag toward a mirror that covered the entire door of the closet. He then pushed Jag toward the reflective surface and hovered a smaller mirror close to the back of his head, presenting a fancy little braid he’d woven out of his hair.
Jag smiled at the reflection, and his heart beat a little faster. “And you think he will like this?”
Shane laughed from the bed. “From junkyard king to runway royalty.”
Jag gave Ros an uncertain glance. “I don’t get it.”
The handsome face brightened. “He says that people will think you look good. And so will Dane,” Ros said, squeezing Jag’s shoulders before gently pushing him forward. “Go on, surprise him.”
Jag took a deep breath and once more assessed himself in the mirror. He’d swapped his loose-fitting jeans with rips and beads for a dark pair that hugged the legs, and Shane had even loaned him a pair of shiny leather boots.
He nodded at Ros with new determination, and walked out, closely followed by his two advisors. He’d do anything for Dane, and changing his clothes was nothing in comparison to how Dane had already bent to his needs.
The living room was light and airy, with one of the walls covered by a magnificent forest landscape Rosen had painted with the help of a friend from university. And while the decor wasn’t finished and the furniture they were temporarily using was, in Rosen’s words, too heavy for the design he had in mind, the resulting space was homely and always had a calming effect on Jag.
Frank and Dane glanced in his direction like two deer watchful of oncoming predators, but when his mate’s face remained lax instead of transforming into a familiar smile, fear sank its claws into Jag. What if the clothes Shane had chosen for him made him look inadequate in Dane’s eyes? The fabric hugging his skin was pristine and smelled good, but the outfit might have cultural signifiers he didn’t understand. After all, Jag had to explain so many things to Dane about his own lifestyle when they first met, even simple things like why he preferred goggles over sunglasses. It went both ways, and the world beyond the junkyard had very complex codes of conduct Jag didn’t always understand.
“No?” he asked and had to clear his throat because his mouth had gone dry.
Dane shot up so fast some soda spilled out of the can he was holding and drizzled down his hand. Frank took it from him, leaving Dane free to do whatever he wanted with his hands.
Dane didn’t look much different than he had when going out to meet his parents, but the narrow denim pants and bright green T-shirt that went well with both his eyes were fantastic, especially that the design of the latter also featured a massive fist, which Jag immediately recognized as the Hulk’s.