Claimed by the Pack

“Looks like the bigger half of an entertainment center?” I offered.

It was enormous, much like him. As we watched, Brandon walked straight to the edge of the metal dumpster and heaved the thing over the side. It hit the bottom with a resounding CLANG, shattering like driftwood and sending up a big cloud of swirling dust.

“Uh, should you really be carrying that on your shoulder?” I asked hesitantly.

“No,” Hunter jumped in. “No, he really shouldn’t.”

“But—”

“Dude, no buts!” cried Hunter. “You’re on a football scholarship, remember? Imagine you tore your shoulder just now. Over some stupid entertainment center, three decades old!”

Now that he wasn’t carrying anything, I could see Brandon more clearly. And the first thing I couldn’t help but notice about him was that he was shirtless.

Oh my God…

The kid — no, the man standing next to the dumpster was the perfect picture of an Adonis. His chest was so big and well-defined he looked like an action hero. His arms so ripped with muscle, they seemed almost fake. Brandon stood there for a moment, his body barely heaving with the exertion of what he’d just done. He reminded me of the statue of some Greek God. Like he was sculpted out of marble.

“You’re right,” he said. “That was stupid.”

“Damn right it was stupid,” Hunter chastised him. “And another thing—”

“You’re bleeding,” I jumped in.

I approached him without even thinking. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a napkin from lunch and dabbed it against the upper part of one perfectly formed pectoral.

“It’s just a scratch,” he said, looking down. “No big deal.”

His hand closed over my own, swiping the blood away with the napkin. As his skin made contact with mine, I shivered involuntarily.

“From now on ask for help,” Colin said from behind us. “No more of this hero bullshit. If you get hurt and have to leave campus, Hunter and I are screwed. We’ll have to split the expenses two ways instead of three.”

Hunter scratched at his goatee. “Speaking of which,” he squinted my way, “how much do we owe you for renting this place?”

The question took me off guard. Especially since I was still savoring the masculine feel of Brandon’s big, calloused hand on mine.

“N—Nothing,” I finally stammered. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Bullshit,” said Hunter. “We have to pay you something.”

“Not a chance,” I said firmly. “You guys are helping me renovate, remember? That’s payment enough. The campus is covering the electric, and you guys can split up whatever other utilities you need. Do that, and we’re all square.”

Brandon smiled, his teeth looking impossibly straight and white. Colin, his shirt soaked to his flat stomach by sweat, put his hands on his hips.

“Well shit,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m pretty sure we’re gonna like you.”