Let the record reflect: When riding a motorcycle, you should bring a change of panties. Because they are basically vibrators. Really big vibrators.
I hold tight to Garrett, pressing into his back as the wind whips my hair below the helmet.
“Hey!” I shout as we motor away from downtown. “My yoga studio is in Armory Park!”
“Change of plans, princess,” he tosses back, and pulls in at a little Mexican taco stand on the west side of the now dry Santa Cruz riverbed. “I’ll take you to brunch.”
I’d protest, but I’m not sorry. I would’ve been late for yoga, anyway, and even though I know it’s a bad idea, I crave more time with my overbearing neighbor. Even if it is on a death machine. Which feels amazing between my thighs.
Garrett orders ten carne asada tacos, pays, and hands me the paper sack with our food. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“For a picnic.” He starts the motorcycle and takes the turn for A Mountain, leaning into a curve. The A is for the giant letter painted there-for University of Arizona-and I lean with him, trying to ignore the fact that I’m plastered against the hottest guy I’ve ever met. It’s almost like I never had the morning orgasm at all.
We head up A Mountain, the statuesque saguaro cacti standing sentinel as we zoom past. The sun is high, but the air rushes past me, making the temperature perfect.
By the time Garrett pulls onto an overlook, I’m actually having fun. The view of the city and natural landscape beyond is incredible. Wrens chirp from their nests in the giant cacti. This is what it’s like to be Garrett. Free.
The familiar knot of anxiety I always wear is gone, as if I’ve taken on his ease and strength. His overwhelming belief that the city belongs to him, and there’s nothing he can’t handle. I know I’m projecting, yet my gut tells me I’m right. What I feel is true. Garrett owns his life, downtown, this mountain.
But that’s stupid. He may be a werewolf, but it doesn’t make him invulnerable. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet?” I ask as I pull mine off.
“Worried about me, princess?”
“No,” I mutter. “A wreck probably wouldn’t make a dent in your hard head.”
He just grins. “How did you like the ride?”
“It was nice.” I flush.
“Glad I could pop your cherry. Your bike cherry.”
I narrow my eyes and try not to think about what it would’ve been like if he’d been the guy who’d popped my actual cherry. So much better than Tommy Jackson.
He just laughs. “Come on, princess.” He leads me to a picnic table. Here. Dig in.” He opens the container of tacos.
“Nice of you to ask me what I wanted,” I mutter. “I could be on a diet. Or vegetarian.”
He freezes, looking horrified. “Are you vegetarian?”
“No.” My stomach growls.
“Thank the fates.” He picks up a taco and devours it in one bite.
I’m suddenly worried there won’t be enough for both of us. “But I am watching my weight.”
He scoffs. “Why?”
“Same reason I go to yoga every week. It’s what normal people do, you know, to keep in shape.”
“I like your shape.” His blue eyes sweep down from my face to my breasts and linger there. My nipples peak at the attention. “Tell you what, you eat-” he plunks a taco in front of me. “And I’ll watch your weight.”
“What?”
“I will watch it very, very closely.” He ducks his head beneath the table to ogle my lower half.
I snap my knees shut, but a slow throb starts between my legs. I imagine him under the table, prying my knees apart. Putting those sensual lips of his against my core. “I’m sure you will.” Damn my voice for sounding breathy and excited. “Pass.” I bite into the taco and moan. It is so good.
The man-werewolf-across the table looks like he wants to take a bite out of me.
Jesus, do werewolves bite? Why haven’t I asked yet?
I nod to his fingers, the blue ink rendering of the moon in its various phases. “For someone who has a big secret, don’t you think that tattoo is a little telling?”
He gives me a lopsided grin, one side of his mouth pulling up. “Most humans aren’t like you, Amber.”
It may not have been a compliment, but the way he looks at me makes my insides warm. “S-so, how does it work? Do you bite people to turn them during the full moon?”
Garrett gives a short bark of laughter. “We’re not fucking leeches.”
I stare blankly.
“Vampires.”
My stomach knots. There are vampires, too? Eeesh.
“No, you’re either born a shifter or you’re not. You can’t be turned. In fact, there are pathetically few of us left. Breeding with humans has caused our species to dwindle.”
I suddenly long to know everything about them-meet the whole gang and understand what makes them tick. It hits me hard, like this is some knowledge I’ve been missing my whole life, that I should have known.
“I have a question for you, Counselor.” Garrett has polished off six street tacos. “How do you drive if you get visions all the time?”
“I can suppress them. I don’t usually get them unless I’m around big crowds of people. Or when I get touched.”
He bares his teeth, like he can’t stand the idea of anyone touching me. “How are you not a recluse, then?”
“I kind of am. I don’t go out a lot, except to work and yoga. Foxfire is my only close friend.” My life sounds pathetic. Normal Amber is pretty lame.
“Why did you choose to become a lawyer?”