Touch of Evil - Cecy Robson Page 0,9
but Bren is very closed-mouthed about his life as a lone and extremely private when it comes to his parents. There’s a lot we don’t know about his past, just enough to see that he’s suffered his lion’s share of pain.
I pass my fingers along the slick wood, realizing how much I’m crushing on Bren. I’ve ignored my feelings for a while, certain his feelings for me had not changed until our latest supernatural debacle. We were hurt. Blood and soil soaked our skin and hair and my clothes clung to me in tatters. I thought I saw him looking at me that way, the way that demonstrated how much I’ve changed and how the challenges we’ve endured these past few years have matured me well beyond my years. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was nothing. Like Taran used to say, “Just cause you’re looking doesn’t mean you want to ride that cowboy bareback till sunrise.”
I wince. Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the greatest Taran quote I could have referenced.
Bren slaps his hand down on a tip and pockets it. “Much appreciated,” he tells the man who left it.
He catches my aroma and whips his head in my direction. “Hey,” he says, surprise marching across his features like an army. “I didn’t see you there.”
His words are staggered, reflecting the shock my presence evidently stirred. “Hi, Bren,” I say. I offer a small wave. Even though mere feet separate us, he feels so far away. “I just sat down. I didn’t mean to distract you.”
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.