Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(99)

Tina lifted up her shirt in front of Ren and stroked her ample breasts, quickly lowering the hem again and sitting in the beanbag next to him. It was obvious by his hard-on that Ren wasn’t going to last long in this session.#p#分页标题#e#
All Jericho could think about was Isabelle. The way her wolf had taken care of that human to protect April filled him with pride. He admired her strength and resilience, despite the fact he would have preferred if she took it easy for a few more days.
The diamond ring he’d bought her was sitting inside his dresser drawer on top of her Pink Floyd shirt. Jericho wrote heartfelt lyrics for a living, but he didn’t have the right words to give her with that ring. Nor did he know where and when to ask her to be his mate. It had to be right. Didn’t all women want hearts and flowers? Shit, his palms were sweating just thinking about it.
When he returned to his seat, Gina had a cunning grin on her face as he took a sip of his drink.
“I think I’ve changed my mind about your friend,” she said. “Why settle for the consolation prize when the trophy is in front of me?”
“Because the trophy isn’t up for grabs,” he reminded her.
She crossed her legs and licked the edge of her glass, speaking quietly. “We’ll see about that.”
***
I could hardly sit still in Wheeler’s Camaro as we headed back to the Weston house. He had stuffed Hawk’s money and narcotics in the trunk of the car, although I didn’t see the point. If a human cop had pulled us over, Wheeler’s scary ass would have initiated an automatic search regardless.
I rolled the window up as the trees thickened, and we took a left turn that led up their private road.
“So, what are your feelings for Jericho?” Wheeler asked unexpectedly.
The headlamps shone eerily across the dirt road, illuminating a set of eyes in the brush that belonged to a wild animal.
“He’s my best friend.”
“That all?”
“I can’t tell you.”
He glared over his shoulder with his light eyes. “And why’s that?”
I flipped some of my tousled hair back and unbuckled my seat belt. “Because I haven’t told him how I feel. Not in all the right words.”
“He told you, but you didn’t tell him. That’s the deal?”
Who is this asshole? He wants to sit here and judge me when he probably hasn’t been laid since the early nineteen hundreds?
“I can’t talk about this with you, Wheeler. It’s personal and… just know that I care more about Jericho than anyone else in this world. But if I’m going to say the words, I’m not going to say them to you.”
“Just don’t hurt him,” he said under his breath.
Wheeler pressed down on the brake, and I jumped out of the car, excited to tell Jericho the good news about finding Hawk’s stash. Once all this craziness was behind me, I planned to find a cute apartment near work. Living with the Weston pack was temporary, and while I would be forever grateful, I couldn’t continue taking advantage of their hospitality.
I lightly rapped on the door and heard live music playing, but it was jarring and uncoordinated.
Ben opened the door with an irritated look on his face, which quickly brightened when he set eyes on me. How strange for two men to be so similar and different all at once. Ben’s smile threw me off because Wheeler never cracked one.
“Well, if luck don’t be a lady,” he said admiringly, his eyes roaming down to the damp dress that clung to my thighs.
“Is Jericho here? I need to speak with him.”
“Come on in,” he said, holding the door with his arm so it left me with a tiny opening to squeeze through.
Before I could walk under his arm, Wheeler forcefully shoved him back and spat curses in low words I couldn’t hear.
“Go fuck yourself,” Ben said. “Since no one else will,” he murmured, stalking toward the kitchen.
Wheeler slammed the door and slouched in a nearby chair. I jogged up the stairs and followed the sound of a guitar string being plucked over and over, then a girl laughing like a hyena.
The thick smell of cigarettes filled the hallway, and it sounded like one of his usual jam sessions. It reminded me of the early years when we’d hang out in hotel rooms with his band. To an outsider, it might have looked like a bunch of guys goofing off, but those were the nights they had written the most inspiring music.
I filled the doorway and scanned the room. Joker was lying upside down in the beanbag chair, tapping his drumsticks on his knees. Ren leaned on the bar with two women attached to him like vultures. Trevor was sitting on the floor making notes on several sheets of paper, strumming a few chords and writing more down. This looked like the tail end of a session and not the beginning, so I turned around and headed toward Jericho’s room. A red glow spilled from beneath his door.