Idler (Norseton Wolves Book 3) by Holley Trent Page B

out it. Three out of five Pack males were standing outside the deli across the street clutching bags in their big mitts—Anton, Vic, and Colt.
    Shit . Lisa put her back to the window, too, and muttered, “Trouble in paradise?”
    “Haven’t gotten to paradise yet. We’re still on the freakin’ plane, and it’s circling around the island because the landing strip is too short or something.”
    “Poignant.”
    “It’s the truth. He hates me.”
    “What?” Lisa turned slightly and cut a sideways gaze to Alpha’s son. From the interactions she’d had with him in five weeks, she’d known him to be a friendly guy. He was charming and well mannered, but of course he was, given Mrs. Carbone’s close influence. He should have been an easy wolf to get along with. Not like Colt.
    Colt …
    Colt, who was mysteriously quiet as his peers chatted in the doorway. The man always had something to say, but he sat on the bench outside the deli fondling his bag and staring at something—or perhaps nothing—down the street.
    Lisa suspected that if she got close enough to smell him, he’d discern he was sad. She might even discern that she was to blame for it.
    What did I do?
    She had to figure it out soon, and not just because she needed his help. She may have had dominatrix tendencies, but she was also a toucher, and she desperately wanted to touch her mouthy mate. The separation was driving her a little battier with each passing day. Mrs. Carbone had said that was normal. It wouldn’t work that way if it weren’t a good match. Deep down, Lisa knew it was. They were just having a bumpy-as-hell start, but she’d never been afraid to work for things she wanted.
    She set down her coffee cup and pushed back from the table. “I’ll be right back. Babysit my laptop, will you?”
    “Yep,” Ashley said.
    Lisa crossed the street, waving at the guys in the doorway as she cut between two parked cars.
    Colt turned, spotted her, and rolled his eyes before fixing his attention on the open bag on his lap.
    She kept her distance from him and leaned against the parking meter. “Doesn’t Mrs. Carbone usually make you guys lunch?” The question was for Colt, but she kept her gaze on Vic and Anton.
    “Mom’s tied up at the moment,” Vic said. “There’s some sort of big meeting at the executive mansion, and she’s up to her elbows in crudités , whatever those are.”
    Lisa stifled a snicker. “Cut-up vegetables for hors d’oeurves . Carrots and celery. Raw peppers. That kind of thing.”
    “Rabbit food.”
    She shrugged. “Not everyone has wolf appetites.”
    And speaking of appetites …
    She turned to the walking ball of sex on the bench and drummed her fingers atop the meter. She could hardly stand being in the same house with the man and not being able to touch him every time he stomped past. She wanted to grab him by his belt and yank him into submission—to quiet him and pry some words out of him. She needed to see what was wrong—how she’d offended him, because she obviously had, even if she couldn’t discern why. She was usually so much better at that, but none of her previous partners had been as wild as her husband.
    “Thank you for rewiring all the Internet stuff,” she began. “I don’t even know when you did it. You were so quiet, and I’ve hardly left the house in a week.” Quarterly taxes were due, and she’d been number crunching all through the night.
    “Last night while you slept.”
    “Oh.” She hadn’t heard a thing. There should have at least been a little swearing. If not that, then certainly some crashing and flailing. Wolves weren’t known for being delicate.
    Vic perched against the far arm of the bench and set his bag beside Colt. He gave the other man’s shoulder a nudge. “Coming down with something? Not like you to do your good deeds in secret. You want instant approval.”
    Colt didn’t respond, except to cut his pale gaze to his peer, and then he took a bite of his sandwich.