Page 13 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

"How do you reliably get full moons off? " she asks. At my old jobs, Sam would help me plot moon phases so I knew when to ask for time off.

"Ivy is a bear; the original Coyote Billwasa coyote. The bar has always closed down on the Full Moon. I think people around here are just used to it now." I shrug. Aggie's reply text comes just as I'm about to put my phone away. "And yes, you are graciously invited to Aggies on the Full Moon for a girl's night."

"Oh, sick," Sam says, nodding to herself. Despite her reassurances over the past few days that she's okay, I know she's not telling me the whole truth. Sure, Sam said she was thinking of a change of scenery yesterday when we had been watching a movie together, but sleepy little forest towns aren't quite Sam's style.

And, since she still won't tell me exactly what went down, I know it must have been intense, to say the least.

"If you do slap shots with me, you get higher tips," I remind her, grinning. I can't wait for her to come to work with me again. Nudging her with my elbow, I say, "Just don't kiss anyone over the bar." Sam snorts and then starts giggling, making me start chortling. Then we're full-on laughing, making all the boys downstairs turn and look at us.

Between giggles, Sam says, "They're like meerkats, all turning to us like,huh? Look at their dumb faces!"

That sends me into another fit of laughter with her, watching all the boys look up at us with confused expressions. My ribs pinch, and I struggle to breathe the entire time. Sam knocks back into me, sending us both over the edge of the bench seat before I know it.

We collapse into a heap of laughter with a loud thud. I feel the echoing steps of Jay, Saint, and Dante wandering up to see what we're laughing about.

Jay is the one to ask, "What happened?"

We giggle to ourselves for another few minutes before Sam and I manage to stop, hands held over our ribs against the pinch, my cheeks painfully tight, shaking our heads at the boys. I might burst apart if I start laughing again.

When Sam and I regain control of our breathing, Saint asks, "Guest picks dinner tonight. What am I cooking?"

I give him a small smile, thanking him. He's made it his mission to learn Sam's food preferences these last few days while we're all together. Saint smiles back, green eyes flashing.

Sam answers with a wince, "Am I horrible if I ask you to order pizza? I don't want just a piece of meat." She makes a face, shoulders shuddering softly.

"Not at all. What toppings do you want?" Saint gives Sam his entire focus, a single curl falling before his eyes when he leans forward, no longer leaning against the window seat. Jay sits just behind him, knee brushing against Saint's shoulder.

There is something in Jay's blue-green eyes today, somethingpredatory.It sends a little thrill down my spine every time I notice him looking at me like that, hat twisted backward on his head. I don't know if it's for me, but he hasn't cut his hair recently. The ashy brown strands curl and stick out from under the brim.

It makes a girl want to find somewhere to take advantage of him.

"Pepperoni, sausage, bacon, banana peppers." Sam lists her preferences like a shopping list. "Extra marinara to dip, please."

"On it," Dante remarks, quickly darting back down the stairs, presumably to call the order in. Saint watches him go with an amused look on his face.

"Will you help me put books away while we're waiting?" I ask Sam, trying not to ogle the boys before me. All I can think about right now is how Jay's skin would taste if I ran my tongue up the column of his throat. How he'd wrap those large hands around my ribs. And Saint, with that lone curl in front of his green eyes, looks at me likeI'mdinner.

Almost in sync, I see a flash of the wolf in Jay and Saint's eyes. There and gone again in a blink— I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't ogling them like they were a freshly downed kill. My skin feels alive—electric.

Sam levels me with a look before she answers, "Sure. Do all of them go here?" I dutifully ignore her pointed stare, sliding across the hardwood on my knees to where my books are all boxed and stacked.

"Yeah. Do I need to save room for your books?" I ask the boys, ripping open one of the brown boxes withbooksand an arrow scrawled across it in Sharpie.

Jay answers, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, just a shelf, though." Jay's collection contained only a handful of spines, including the one that at one point was mine. I learned while packing that most of his reading is done with ebooks for convenience.

"What would you put on the shelves if I hadn't moved in with you?" I ask, piling books on the floor and sorting them. There is a pile for fantasy, one for fantasy romance, and one for dark romance. The stack of YA novels is small, as is the pile ofcontemporary titles. Sam rips open a box, sorting books using my genre piles.

"Dante was going to have to go shopping," Jay remarks, smirking as Sam and I sort boxes.

"Ah, yes, the Magpie." I chortle, ripping open another box. "Be useful and break these down for me," I order, tossing the now empty box at Saint's head.

"Hey!" He objects, "If it wasn't for me, you'd starve."

I snort, "Would not.I survived on gas station delicacies just fine before you, Chef.Thank you very much."

Saint catches my eye easily and says, "Surviving isn't living, Tiny." My heart feels like it's lodged in my throat, and the one simple comment strikes me down to my core.

Surviving isn't living.