Quickdraw Slow Burn (Battle of the Bulls #3) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,28

question for First Time Train Wreck sitting at the end of the table. “I don’t like the yellows, and I usually give them to Cheyenne, but she made me promise not to say ‘fuck’ in these interviews.”

“Dead!” Cheyenne barked.

“Aw, fuck it all. I’m sorry.” Dead hung his head. “Aw, fuck.”

Raven was on his other side, hand clasped over her mouth, staring ahead, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“At least I didn’t bring a flask to the interviews this time,” Dead called to Cheyenne. “I listened to you.” But he reached under the table and brought up a full bottle of whiskey and four shot glasses. No, it wasn’t a flask. It was worse.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Cheyenne asked.

“I’ll have one,” Quickdraw muttered as Dead began pouring shots of whiskey. Right there. In front of the cameras and all the interviewers.

Bright side, the interviewers seemed entertained. And especially so when Quickdraw offered a shot to the next reporter who asked Cheyenne if she would like to sit with the bulls she represented and answer questions.

As Cheyenne marched behind the table and stood behind them, Annabelle decided to make this a little fun.

“My question is for Quickdraw. If you were a bug, what kind of bug would you be?”

The interviewers were murmuring around her, but Quickdraw actually answered. “Probably a dung beetle because they roll around in shit all day and smell bad so everyone leaves them alone.”

A few of the reporters laughed.

“Wait! I like that question! I want to answer that one next!” Dead exclaimed around a mouth full of…what was that? Was he cracking peanuts and leaving the shells on the table by the whiskey bottle? Good God, Annabelle could never do Cheyenne’s job of managing the three of them.

As Dead went off about the benefits of being a beautiful butterfly, movement by the exit door captured her wolf’s attention.

“Look,” her animal whispered through her mind. “See.”

So the monster in her middle was done with her silent treatment. Thank God. It had been weird feeling alone in her head.

But look at what? There was nothing by the door. Nothing but a lone cameraman paying attention to the bulls at the front of the room, doing his job. Annabelle shifted her gaze back to Quickdraw. He looked so handsome. Black sweater hugging the curves of his shoulders, black cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. He kept his gaze down at the now-empty shot glass that he spun slowly between his fingers. He looked up, locked his dark eyes on hers, and gave a small smile before his features darkened again at an interviewer’s question about where he lived when he wasn’t on the road.

“Look.”

Annabelle slid a sideways glance at the cameraman by the door again. He was tall with a fit build and a sandy brown crop of hair on his head. He wore glasses, but when he looked at an interviewer near Annabelle who was asking a question, she caught a glimpse of the color of his eyes—bright green. Too bright green.

Shifters didn’t need to wear glasses, so why was he?

And his camera was pointed at the back of another cameraman’s head. There was no way he could be recording the bulls at the front. It was too crowded in front of him. And the look on his face… His teeth were clenched and his eyes were trained on the boys as they answered questions, but he was tense, glaring.

He looked down only to jot something onto a notepad, and then nonchalant-as-you-like, he shoved that notepad into his back pocket, turned, and walked out of the room. The door clicked closed behind him.

A soft snarl vibrated through her throat. “See.”

She made her way toward the exit, too, but stopped to look at his camera. It wasn’t recording, and he hadn’t turned it off before he left, so that meant he hadn’t been recording at all. This was a prop.

She didn’t have time to wait on Quickdraw and Train Wreck. They were mid-interview and would draw too much attention anyway. But her? She was a good little hunter. Had been since the day Rork had turned her. He’d taught her everything he’d learned as a rogue. Hunting in packs was the norm for her kind, but hunting as a lone wolf? It was a talent that took fostering.

In case he was still outside the door, she stepped out into the hallway and leaned her back on the wall, fiddled with her cell phone like she was just taking