Out of Love by

Three solid knocks later, the front door creaked open. Dark, unwelcoming eyes shot me a bored gaze.

“If I stressed out Jerry, I’m sorry.” I held up a bag from the dog bakery. “I’m sure you’ve trained him to be a guard dog. My trespassing…” I made air quotes “…probably confused him. You know … your clear anger mixed with his obvious love for me.” The handsome dog appeared at his side, snagging my attention. “Hey, Jerry. I brought you treats.” I pulled out a cow ear … fur still on it.

“Place,” Slade said.

Jericho whined.

“Place,” he said again with the slightest edge to his tone as if he wasn’t used to giving a command more than once.

I frowned when the dog disappeared into the house. “Fine. Give it to him when you see fit. Your dog. Your rules.” As I slipped the ear back into the bag, the door slammed in my face. A grin quirked my mouth. It had been a while since someone caught my interest the way Slade Wylder did. Before meandering home, I left the sack by the door.

The next morning, I set off to class early enough to wait in the back corner for my favorite distraction. Just when I thought about giving up and picking a seat, Slade and Jericho slipped into the auditorium at the far door. He took his usual seat on the end of a row. Luck winked at me, bringing the empty seat beside him into view.

“Morning, Jerry.” I scratched his head, grinned at my scowling neighbor, and nodded to his legs—knees nearly hitting the seat in front of him. “Excuse me, please.”

Slade didn’t move an inch. “Does your insurance cover prosthetics?” he asked with his eyes on the empty lectern at the front of the room, like he was talking to himself.

“Why?” I stepped over both of his legs and plunked my ass into the seat next to him.

“Because I warned you.”

After depositing my bag on the floor and plucking my water bottle from the side pocket, I propped my unlaced white sneakers up on the chair in front of me and peered over at … well, quite possibly the most formidable and sexiest man my eyes had ever seen.

The chaotic hair.

The thick stubble shadowing his face.

The intensity of those eyes.

But the lips … so damn full.

The fact that they were pulled into a firm line of contempt for me was unfortunate but not a deal-breaker—not yet.

I refused to acknowledge his earlier threat to rip my fucking arm off. “Do you sleep well? I heard you’re out until the early hours of the morning. Is it the ghosts? The firehouse is haunted.” I sipped my water and rubbed my lips together. “I’ve read they’re most active between midnight and three in the morning. Do you set an alarm? Where do you go for those three hours?”

Slade could burn me to the ground with a look … without blinking.

Not. One. Blink.

His hand, resting on his leg, flexed, accentuating the veins in his arms. Vein porn. Yeah … I liked veiny arms. Unmarked, veiny arms. My dad’s tattoos made unmarred flesh my kryptonite. I had no intention of crushing on a guy like my dad, even if my family said it would happen, and my dad would suffer the ultimate karma. Whatever that meant.

“Did you give Jerry the cow ear?” I widened my eyes in question as I sipped my water again and studied the side of his face. The front of his hair stood erect while the hair above his ears swept forward, framing perfection.

“Jericho. Unless you want to lose your tongue too.” He turned to slaughter me with those eyes.

Easing the water bottle away from my mouth, I grinned. “My arm and my tongue. Wow … that’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Slade Wylder hovered near me like a storm cloud, sending sparks of electricity through my veins and chills along my skin while siphoning oxygen from my lungs.

The professor cleared her throat at the lectern, stealing my attention. I continued to feel the wolf’s gaze stuck to me, certain my neck detected his hot predator’s breath as well. Midway through the lecture, I slid a notebook from my bag and wrote a note to Slade.

Have you ever torn a person’s arm off?

Ripped their tongue from their mouth?

Do you surf? How old is Jerry?

Would you happen to have a stick of gum on you?

Keeping my attention on the front of the room, I dropped the paper onto his lap. He read it while I squirmed in my seat. So many thoughts played tag in my head.

Have those veiny hands truly harmed anyone?

Does he just deal? Or is he an addict?

Does he play fetch with Jerry?

Would his whole face crack into a million pieces if he smiled?

What would those lips taste like pressed to mine?