could so easily be them, cuddling on the couch and kissing. Hunt just said, voice gravelly, “What can I get you, Quinlan?” He inclined his head toward the bar in the rear of the room, barely visible with the crowds mobbing the two bartenders.
“Whiskey, ginger beer, and lime.”
“You got it.” With a mockery of a salute, Hunt stalked off through the crowd.
“How’s the whole no-sex thing going for you, Bryce?” Fury asked wryly, leaning forward to peer at her face.
Bryce slumped against the cushions. “Asshole.”
June’s laugh fizzled through her, and her friend patted her thigh. “Remind me why you two aren’t hooking up?”
Bryce peered over the back of the couch to make sure Hunt still stood at the bar before she said, “Because I am a fucking idiot, and you two jerks know that.”
Juniper and Fury snickered, the latter taking a sip of her vodka soda. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind,” the merc said, resting the glass on her black leather-clad knee. How Fury could wear leather in this heat was beyond Bryce. Shorts, T-shirt, and sandals were all she could endure with the sizzling temperatures, even at night.
“And break our bargain before Winter Solstice?” Bryce hissed. “He’d never let me live it down.”
“Athalar already knows you want to break it,” Fury drawled.
“Oh, he totally knows,” Juniper agreed.
Bryce crossed her arms. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Where would the fun be in that?” Fury asked.
Bryce kicked Fury’s leather boot, wincing as her gold-sandaled foot collided with unforgiving metal. “Steel toes? Really?”
“This is a veritable frat party,” Fury said, smirking. “There might be some asses to kick if someone makes a move on my girlfriend.”
Juniper glowed at the term. Girlfriend .
Bryce didn’t know what the Hel she was to Hunt. Girlfriend seemed ridiculous when talking about Hunt fucking Athalar. As if Hunt would ever do anything as normal and casual as dating.
Juniper poked Bryce in the arm. “I mean it. Remind me why you guys still need to wait for solstice to do the deed.”
Bryce slouched, sinking down a few inches, her feet sending the empty beer cans under the coffee table clattering. “I just …”
That familiar buzz of power and maleness that was Hunt filled the air behind her, and Bryce shut her mouth a moment before a plastic cup of amber liquid garnished with a wedge of lime appeared before her. “Princess,” Hunt crooned, and Bryce’s toes curled—yet again. They seemed to have a habit of doing that around him.
“Do we get to use that term now?” June perked up with delight. “I’ve been dying —”
“Absolutely not.” Bryce swigged from her drink. She gagged. “How much whiskey did you have the bartender put in here, Athalar?” She coughed, as if it’d do anything to ease the burn.
Hunt shrugged. “I thought you liked whiskey.”
Fury snorted, but Bryce got to her feet. Lifted the cup toward Hunt in a silent toast, then lifted it to June. “To the next principal dancer of the CCB.”
Then she knocked back the whole thing and let it burn right down to her soul.
Hunt let himself—just for one fucking second—look at Bryce. Admire the steady, unfaltering tap of her sandaled foot on the worn wood floor to the beat of the music; the long, muscled legs thatgleamed in the neon firstlights, her white shorts offsetting her summer tan. No scars remained from the shit that had occurred this spring, aside from that mark on her chest, though the thick scar from years ago still curved along her thigh.
His fierce, strong, beautiful Bryce. He’d done his best not to gape at the shape of her ass in those shorts as they’d walked over here, the sway of her long hair against her lower back, the ample hips that swished with each step.
He was a stupid fucking animal. But he’d always been a stupid fucking animal around her.
He’d barely been able to focus on the ballet earlier—on June’s
“Whiskey, ginger beer, and lime.”
“You got it.” With a mockery of a salute, Hunt stalked off through the crowd.
“How’s the whole no-sex thing going for you, Bryce?” Fury asked wryly, leaning forward to peer at her face.
Bryce slumped against the cushions. “Asshole.”
June’s laugh fizzled through her, and her friend patted her thigh. “Remind me why you two aren’t hooking up?”
Bryce peered over the back of the couch to make sure Hunt still stood at the bar before she said, “Because I am a fucking idiot, and you two jerks know that.”
Juniper and Fury snickered, the latter taking a sip of her vodka soda. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind,” the merc said, resting the glass on her black leather-clad knee. How Fury could wear leather in this heat was beyond Bryce. Shorts, T-shirt, and sandals were all she could endure with the sizzling temperatures, even at night.
“And break our bargain before Winter Solstice?” Bryce hissed. “He’d never let me live it down.”
“Athalar already knows you want to break it,” Fury drawled.
“Oh, he totally knows,” Juniper agreed.
Bryce crossed her arms. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Where would the fun be in that?” Fury asked.
Bryce kicked Fury’s leather boot, wincing as her gold-sandaled foot collided with unforgiving metal. “Steel toes? Really?”
“This is a veritable frat party,” Fury said, smirking. “There might be some asses to kick if someone makes a move on my girlfriend.”
Juniper glowed at the term. Girlfriend .
Bryce didn’t know what the Hel she was to Hunt. Girlfriend seemed ridiculous when talking about Hunt fucking Athalar. As if Hunt would ever do anything as normal and casual as dating.
Juniper poked Bryce in the arm. “I mean it. Remind me why you guys still need to wait for solstice to do the deed.”
Bryce slouched, sinking down a few inches, her feet sending the empty beer cans under the coffee table clattering. “I just …”
That familiar buzz of power and maleness that was Hunt filled the air behind her, and Bryce shut her mouth a moment before a plastic cup of amber liquid garnished with a wedge of lime appeared before her. “Princess,” Hunt crooned, and Bryce’s toes curled—yet again. They seemed to have a habit of doing that around him.
“Do we get to use that term now?” June perked up with delight. “I’ve been dying —”
“Absolutely not.” Bryce swigged from her drink. She gagged. “How much whiskey did you have the bartender put in here, Athalar?” She coughed, as if it’d do anything to ease the burn.
Hunt shrugged. “I thought you liked whiskey.”
Fury snorted, but Bryce got to her feet. Lifted the cup toward Hunt in a silent toast, then lifted it to June. “To the next principal dancer of the CCB.”
Then she knocked back the whole thing and let it burn right down to her soul.
Hunt let himself—just for one fucking second—look at Bryce. Admire the steady, unfaltering tap of her sandaled foot on the worn wood floor to the beat of the music; the long, muscled legs thatgleamed in the neon firstlights, her white shorts offsetting her summer tan. No scars remained from the shit that had occurred this spring, aside from that mark on her chest, though the thick scar from years ago still curved along her thigh.
His fierce, strong, beautiful Bryce. He’d done his best not to gape at the shape of her ass in those shorts as they’d walked over here, the sway of her long hair against her lower back, the ample hips that swished with each step.
He was a stupid fucking animal. But he’d always been a stupid fucking animal around her.
He’d barely been able to focus on the ballet earlier—on June’s
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