If all those years hadn’t passed, and the wolves remained strangers to us, I would have sat closer. I’d kiss Bren hello and instantly start talking to him. He’d jabber on about his day or say something loud and inappropriate that would leave me covering my face and no-doubt in stitches. It’s the way things used to be for us.
My sisters still hug him, even though it sets off their wolves. I don’t have anyone and I can’t get anywhere near him.
Bren has kept his distance from me and there are moments when he’s wrenched away to avoid my touch. Those moments were tense, and danger surrounded us like a swarm of murder hornets, so I tried to understand. But there’s no tension today, and most especially, no danger, right?
His features relax, along with his typically booming voice. “Hey, sweet thing,” he says. “Slide on over and keep me company.”
The grin he pegs me with completely changes his expression from the werewolf wary mask he habitually wears to that of the charming and friendly guy I once knew so well.
He reaches for a glass over his head, causing the front of his flannel shirt to open. A black T-shirt is not so neatly tucked beneath his favorite pair of old jeans, and I’ll bet he’s wearing his most beaten-up pair of work boots. He dresses for comfort and doesn’t care what others think. It’s one of many things that make him Bren.
My purse is barely in its new spot when he places his forearms on the bar. “Nice dress,” he says.
“Thank you. It’s actually a blouse and top.” I lower myself to the stool. I probably shouldn’t lean in too close. I don’t want to send Bren running like I have in the past, yet the loneliness that’s troubled me for months keeps me in place.
When he doesn’t withdraw, I edge closer, allowing the intimacy and kindness I seek. The warmth his body stirs elates and feeds my starving soul. I need Bren. God, I really do.
“Are they new?” he asks when I say nothing more.
I don’t mean to lose myself in the moment, yet I do. “My attire?” I ask, hesitantly.
Bren chuckles. “Yeah. What else would I be asking about?”
My nose crinkles and I find myself growing shy. “Maybe my purse, too?” I offer.
“Now you’re pushing it, Em.”
I laugh. “Yes, my clothes are new, Bren.”
It’s nice of him to notice, no, to be noticed. I picked out these items on sale. They’re comfortable and stylish and I immediately loved them. I love them more now because Bren saw me in them.
“Thank you for noticing,” I add quietly.
He cocks an eyebrow. “That you look nice?”
“Yes,” I say. “It means a lot.”
His humor fades at my softening features. “Well, don’t get too excited, princess. Danny’s manners might just be finally rubbing off on me.”
Bren’s former roommate spends more time at the Den than anywhere else. He texted me a few days ago to ask how we were. Even though we had a nice conversation, as Bren begins to edge away, I ask more about Danny to keep Bren in place.
“How is Danny? It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”
Bren rolls his eyes and lifts a ticket the waitress drops in front of him. “He’s horny, Emme. That’s how he is. He and Heidi are doing it like flying monkeys on the Wicked Witch’s broom during a tornado.”
I didn’t need that visual. But there it is and no, it’s not going anywhere. “I’m not sure that makes sense,” I reply.
He tucks the ticket between his two fingers and points at me. “Nope. But that’s some funny shit right there.”
I grin, unable to help myself. “Of course, it is,” I reply.
Another waitress appears and slams her empty tray in front of him. “Damn metrosexuals,” she mutters. “When did men stop dressing like real men?”
She gives Bren the once-over. I don’t think he notices. Bren glances at me, holding tight to his smirk and pours a round of shots. Unlike the sly smiles he flashes other women, the ones he directs at me are genuine and reach his eyes. For that, and more, I’m grateful.
As quickly as he places the shots on the tray, the waitress flounces away with it, appearing annoyed. Bren doesn’t bother with her. He wipes off the counter and pours me a glass of white wine. “Harvest Riesling, right?”
My favorite wine. “You remembered,” I say. “Thank you.”
I take a chance and lift off the stool to kiss his cheek. My clumsiness gets in the way and I knock over the wineglass.
Bren turns quickly to make a grab for it.
And my lips accidently graze his.
Shock mars Bren’s features. Slowly, he places the glass back on the bar.
He’s dumbstruck. I am, too. Everything happened so quickly, hardly any wine splashed across the bar.
Our kiss was barely there. Brief. Sweet. Yet hot enough to scorch my legs.
I force my toes to uncurl and glance around awkwardly when he just stares.
“Ah. Sorry,” I offer. “I meant to aim for your cheek.”
He straightens. “You sayin’ you wanted to take the glass, that glass—” He points. –”And smash it against my face?”
Humiliation throws me into panic and awkward mode. “No, no. The kiss. Kissing you. I meant to kiss your cheek. The one on your face,” I add like an imbecile.
I cover my eyes. This is one of the many reasons I tend to stay quiet. Speaking hasn’t worked out for me much.
Bren’s releases a heavy sigh and swipes at this face. “Thanks for clearing that up.” He winks. “I was sure you wanted to cut my face and kiss my ass.”
Bren throws his head back and laughs when I gape at him. “Em, relax. I’m just messing with you.”
“I am sorry,” I stammer, wishing my reply didn’t sound so high-pitched.
Bren wraps
