Page 26 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

Artemis

"You know, I think I could get used to this," I comment, lifting the last piece of strawberry waffles to my lips, smothered in whipped cream.

"What's that tiny?" Saint asks, smirking.

Whipped cream is on my lip, so I lick it quickly before responding, "This." Gesturing toeverywhere.

Jay chuckles, squeezes my thigh in his hand, and says, "That's the idea, Gorgeous."

Saint, on the other hand, reaches out, swipes whipped cream from the corner of my mouth with his thumb and then sucks it clean. With his green eyes flashing, Saint smirks at me andfuck.Heat spools in my core again, a flush rising to my cheeks. My wolf's claws echo in my skull.

Rising from my stool, I say, "Well, thanks for breakfast, Cinnamon. And thanks for the ride, Big Guy." I smile at Saint and kiss Jay on his cheek. And then I turn on my heel, disappearing up the stairs.

Fuck. FuckFuck.

Do I have a crush on Saint?

No…I love Jay. Have loved him my whole life.

So why do I get butterflies every time Saint smirks at me?

But I don't think I'm imagining it when he flirts back at me. Itfeelsgenuine.Fuck.

Fuck.

My wolf stays silent, resuming her ever-relentless pacing, looping round and round in my soul. Waiting for the opportunity to come alive again.

12

Spank Bank

Dressed in my favorite jeans and cropped long-sleeve shirt, I wait for Sam to get all her things out of the freshly delivered Baby Bucky Bronco.

Sam is wearing a pair of leather pants with a slit at the ankle, her snakeskin cowboy boots on her feet, and a white tank on her shoulders that rides the line betweentankand lingerie. The bottom hem shows off a delightful amount of underboob. She has a zip-up hoodie in one hand as she comes around the side of her Bronco, her favorite suede saddle bag already slung across her shoulders.

Before I can say anything, Sam tosses a pair of leather pants with laces from ankle to hip bone up the leg at me, saying they don't fit her the way she wants.

"Well, that's unfortunate for you," I reply, looking over the pants before I say, "Your tiddies be tiddy-ing, though, so you have that going for you," without missing a beat.

Honestly, sometimes I'm no better than a man with how I ogle my friends.

"Yeah? Is it doing it for you, baby?" Sam strikes a very pin-up-esque pose against her Bronco, and I quickly pull my phone out to snap a picture for her.

"Oh yeah. Respectfully, I'm lookingdisrespectfully. That's going in the spank bank for later." I quip, winking at my friend as I send her the picture.

While I fold and put my new pants in the passenger seat of the Stingray, I attempt to visualize different outfits to pair them with. Sam probably bought them for me all along, having done it multiple times. I'm not worried about the fit, as Sam has an uncanny eye for purchasing the proper size for others. In unison, Sam and I lock our vehicles, turning to walk into the bar, arms linked at the elbow.

"So I have some… developments to discuss," I comment, waiting for her laser focus to zero in on my soul.

"Do tell," Sam says, arching her eyebrow.

"Well," I clear my throat, anxiety bubbling up, turning my palms clammy as I open the door to Coyote Bills.

Sam strides through into the still brightly lit bar while chuckling to herself.

"Oh, this is going to be good," she comments, spurring me into action.

"On Angels' birthday, um... Saint kind of kissed me while Jay held me still for him, " I blurt, wincing.