But instead of the upcoming scene with the pack, all he kept seeing was Laurent. In his mind’s eye he saw the vampire pacing and muttering something to himself. He could even tell what Laurent was wearing. A white linen shirt, with the top few buttons open to show the flat planes of his chest, was tucked into a pair of charcoal gray slacks that probably cost more than Paul’s motorcycle. As he watched, the vampire ran a hand through his short black hair and said something in French that sounded suspiciously like swearing.
Paul frowned and shook his head, flinging water droplets from his hair. What was wrong with him? He’d never had such a vivid imagination before and even if he did, he couldn’t see himself imagining details like what the other man was wearing, let alone being able to imagine him talking in French. Paul didn’t even know any French— Spanish was the only language you needed to get by in Miami so why bother with anything else?
He finished soaping and rinsing his body, scrubbing extra hard to get Laurent’s scent off him. The last thing he needed was for Angel and the rest of the pack to smell vampire all over him. But getting the other man out of his mind was proving a lot harder than washing away his scent. He kept getting flashes of the vampire no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on something else. Laurent talking. Laurent gesturing—his movements supernaturally fluid and graceful. Laurent pacing and shaking his head…
Damn it, what’s wrong with me? Stepping out of the shower, Paul scrubbed his wet hair viciously with a towel and wrapped another around his waist. Have to get over this.
Have to stop thinking about him. How can I fight like this? No answer was forthcoming and Paul got more and more irritated as he dried himself off and yanked on a baggy pair of jeans and a red T-shirt. He had to get his mind right before this fight—he couldn’t afford to be distracted during a challenge. Chulo was a big coward but if he smelled the slightest bit of weakness he would go for the throat. Paul had to be able to defend himself and his place in the pack.
Still trying to concentrate, he nearly missed his father as he ran down the stairs to the garage and grabbed his bike.
“There you are.” His father shot him a disapproving look from across the garage, which was empty this time of night. “I could’ve used you in the shop today but Lucia said you weren’t feeling good. Something you ate?”
“Uh, yeah, must have been.” Paul ran a hand over his hair. “I was feeling like shit for a while there. Better now, though, thanks.”
It was hard to claim sickness since it took a lot to put the were constitution down.
Weres healed exponentially faster from almost any illness or wound than humans so claiming he had needed the entire day to recover from food poisoning was tantamount to a human claiming he needed a week to get over a headache. Still it was the story Lucia had used so he had to stick with it.
“Uh-huh.” His father gave him a hard look. “Something you ate my ass. You were probably just out partying with Angel and the rest of those mangy mutts you call a pack last night and you wanted to sleep it off.”
“Hey, the Lunas Locas are the toughest pack around,” Paul protested, jumping automatically to his pack’s defense. “You should be proud I’m in with them.”
“I’ll be proud when you actually start pulling your weight around here.” His father shook the wrench he was holding in one hand for emphasis.
Paul felt himself bristle at the familiar argument. “I do everything you ask me to and I pay you rent on that crappy apartment.” He jerked his chin up the stairs. “Just because I’d rather build custom bikes than spend all my time repairing broken ones is no reason to get pissed.”
“I need somebody to take over this place when I retire, Paul—you know that. And I need you around helping instead of running with the ‘crazy moons’ all the time. You and that damn Angel you’re always with—if I didn’t know better I’d think you were a couple of homos.”
Paul felt his cheeks getting hot. “Watch it, Dad. It’s not like that between Angel and me.”
“Well what is it like then? What the hell has that pack ever done for you anyway?
You’re never going to be packleader—you know that.”
Paul frowned. “And I’m never going to want to take over the Chop Shop either.
Dios, Dad. Maybe I want something else out of life besides inheriting this place. You ever think about that?”
“Something else, huh? And what would that be?” “I want…” Suddenly Laurent flashed to the middle of his brain and wouldn’t leave.