“I'm going to get better,” he promises.
“I know.”
“I'm going to do it for you.” He presses his forehead against mine.
“I know,” I whisper. I rise to kiss him. Even on tiptoe, I only reach his chin. He dips his head and hauls me up with a hard arm around my waist. I melt against him, kissing him properly before pulling back my head to whisper, “Darling, think of the children.”
He growls but lets me down. My class didn’t notice our PDA, each kid too absorbed with their own personal Jackalope.
I’m about to ask him how exactly he found all these toys when Deke’s head snaps up. His nostrils flare, and he grimaces like he’s scenting something rotten.
“Sadie,” a harsh voice calls. I look up and see my father stalking out of the school. Automatically, I step closer to Deke.
“What’s going on here?” My father surveys my class with distaste twisting his mouth. Inside the playground fence, Jackson chases a little girl with his toy. Both kids scream with delight. I’m going to have to buy headache medicine for all my teacher friends and their assistants.
But it’s worth it.
“Sadie,” my dad shouts again. I know I should go and introduce Deke as my boyfriend. But I’m so tired of trying to get his approval, and I already know it won’t come where Deke is concerned. I suddenly see my dad for what he is: a bald, pot-bellied white man with an over-inflated sense of authority.
I turn back to Deke. “You know what, fudge it,” I say and surge back into his arms. Judging by his harrumph, my father gets the message, and I am left to lose myself in my mate’s kiss.
Sadie
“And that's how Deke won the love of every kid in the school,” Charlie finishes, her bottle of Fat Tire beer raised in the air.
“My goodness, this is a long toast,” Tabitha mutters.
Charlie flicks her middle finger up, tilting her bottle of beer and nearly spilling the liquid.
“A toast to Sadie and Deke,” Adele says smoothly, raising her own wine glass and stopping the fight before it begins.
I sip my wine and smile. It’s Whine Wednesday, and we're at a new restaurant outside of town, not far from Deke and the pack’s HQ. Nestled in the mountains, it’s a rustic chophouse with a huge fireplace and giant, cozy leather chairs. One taste of the parmesan truffle fries, and we unanimously voted to come here at least once a month.
“So what did your dad say when he met Deke?” Charlie asks, stuffing a fry in her mouth.
“He didn't say anything,” I respond. “I didn't introduce them. He’s not currently part of my life.”
“That’s good. Make him grovel.” Tabitha nods approvingly.
“He doesn't need to grovel. He just needs to respect me and my choices. And if he doesn't, well, I'm not going to waste any more time on him.”
“Here, here,” Tabitha and Charlie cheer, raising their beers.
“I’ll drink to that,” says a deep voice behind me. I turn even though my skin is tingling, already alerting me a predator is near. My predator.
Deke stands beside our table, gazing down at me. He must have been in Werewolf Stealth Mode. I didn’t even hear him approach.
“Deke,” I say and fly out of the seat into his arms. He lifts me for a kiss that leaves me breathless. The room’s spinning a little when he sets me down. He hugs me to him, and I hang on like I’ve had too much whiskey.
“What are you doing here?” Adele snipes, and I realize that three huge shadows have coalesced out of the back of the restaurant—the whole pack is here.
“We're here to celebrate Whine Wednesday,” Lance says, dragging a chair over and dropping into it right next to Adele. She looks down on her nose at him which is funny because she's a head shorter.
“We own this place,” says Rafe, copying his brother and seating himself at Adele’s right.
“We need a chef, actually,” Rafe leans back in his wooden chair and looks right at Adele. “Someone who knows how to run a business.”
I go still. Adele’s been telling us of her troubles running the chocolate shop. Her business partner is acting strangely, disappearing for weeks and taking personal loans from their business bank accounts without warning and vague promises to “pay the business back.” Last week, Adele had to pay the shop’s rent out of her own savings.
She’s even taking private catering jobs to make ends meet. This job might be a godsend. My eyes dart between the two of them: Adele posh and pretty in her vintage dress—Rafe casual and dangerous in his fatigue pants and a faded Army green t-shirt that makes love to each of his abs. The pack alpha balances on the back two chair legs, somehow managing to look relaxed even as his muscles are taut.