Trey

I pull my beat up motorcycle around to the side exit of Wolf Ridge High and lean on one foot, waiting. Sheridan comes out alone and heads straight for me, not like she’s happy to see me, more like she’s eager to put distance between her and school.

Her expression is closed and she doesn’t smile or kiss me before she swings a muscular thigh over the back of my bike and climbs on.

Something’s eating her.

I’m a quiet guy myself, so I don’t waste words on asking about it now. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

I hand her a helmet and wait until it’s on before I take off. I decide to skip our usual haunts—Vitale’s pizza or Wolf Ridge Cafe—and drive straight for the mountains.

I know when I’m out of sorts, letting my wolf out heals me. Once we take the turnoff for the mountains, I gun it, letting the sensation of wind across our faces simulate a four legged run. I think that’s why young wolves love motorcycles so much. We’re physical creatures. We sense everything in our bodies, and keeping them cooped up in buildings or cars makes us tense.

I spin all the way to the top of the first foothill and park. Sheridan climbs off and tosses her backpack on the table, then climbs up and sits on it, her feet resting on the bench. She stares out over the rocky desert terrain.

I sit beside her and gently bump shoulders.

“Hey.”

“My brother died today.”

Oh.

I understand what she means. Today marks the anniversary of his death, not the actual day he died. Her brother, Zach, had been a rising star in the pack. Four years older than us, he’d been the football quarterback and valedictorian, had a full ride to Pepperdine. He died in a motorcycle accident the summer after his senior year. Even a shifter can’t survive getting his skull crushed.

“You miss him?”

Her face crumples and she draws in a hiccupy breath. “A lot. We were close, actually.”

I weave my fingers through hers and just sit with her, listening to the birds call, the distant swish of traffic below.

“Do you ever worry about my motorcycle?” I’ve thought of this before, but hadn’t wanted to bring it up. She never acted afraid, so I figured it wasn’t an issue. But since we’re talking about Zach, it’s worth discussing.

“No. I actually love that you ride a bike. It reminds me of him in a good way. He used to give me rides all the time when he was still learning. He even taught me to drive it myself, against our parents’ wishes.”

I squeeze her hand.

“I don’t worry about you, because you’re careful. You don’t drink and drive. You wear a helmet. You take it seriously.”

“He didn’t?”

She shakes her head. “He thought he was invincible. No helmet, crazy driving after drinking—you get the picture.” She stands up and swivels, surprising me by straddling my waist.

I palm her ass and yank her closer before I even think about whether it’s inappropriate considering what she’s going through. She seems to be on board, though. She twines her arms around my neck and kisses me.

My hormones kick in immediately and my cock stiffens in the notch between her legs. I slide a hand up her t-shirt to palm her breast.

She rocks against me. We’ve been playing this way for a while—second base mostly. Dry humping, some groping. I got close to third once—I am dying to give her pleasure with my mouth—but she got skittish and pushed me away. I totally respect that.

“I’m ready, Trey,” she whispers in my ear.

My head snaps up, dick lurches painfully against my jeans.

“I bought condoms.”

If this was a cartoon, I’d be comically spluttering like a stunned idiot. Never in a million years did I dream she’d spring this on me. Especially on a day like this.

I vowed never to try anything when she’d been drinking, but my girl is dead sober. And sad. And she wants me to make it better.

I sure as hell can do that.

“Are you sure?” It comes out as a hoarse croak.

She leans forward and bites my neck. “Yeah. I want to live. I can’t just turn off all fun to get to the future Zach didn’t have.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” I’m breathing hard, my body already springing into animal mode. I spin her around and hold my hand behind her head as I push her to her back on the table. I’m over her in a second.

It’s my first time, but my body knows what to do. Or maybe it’s my wolf. I kiss down her neck. Nip her breast.

She moans and arches up from the table.

I shove her t-shirt up to her armpits and free her breasts from her hot pink bra. They’re fucking perfect. Just enough to fill my hands, youthful and firm. Her stiff nipples grow even harder when I suck on them.

“The condoms are in my bag,” Sheridan whispers. “Outer pocket.”

Damn. She came prepared. Or did she plan it? How long have those condoms been in there? I don’t tell her I bought a box a few months ago, too, just in case this moment ever came.

“I’ll get them in a minute,” I murmur, and trail my tongue down her flat belly, swirling it in the indent of her belly button. The scent of her arousal tickles my nose and my body reacts like it was a kick of amphetamine.

Trey

I dream about Sheridan all night, but they’re not the wet dreams of my youth. They’re fucking angsty and painful. She’s flipping me on my back and kicking my ribs over and over again, sobbing. She’s getting captured and hauled off by the nest of vampires, and there’s nothing I can do to keep her safe. Her dad catches me in bed with her and tortures my mom to punish me.

I wake with my psyche bruised and battered. The need to take care of Sheridan—to fix things once and for all consumes me. But what good will it do? Yeah, I purposely drove us apart because I wanted the best for her. It might help her to know that. To know I never stopped loving her.

Hell, I’ve never even been with another girl since her. My wolf wouldn’t accept it. He wanted Sheridan from the first day he saw her and he wouldn’t let me sully the memory of her with anyone else. The pack calls me ‘the monk.’

But why stir up the past? Nothing’s changed. Sheridan’s still the pack princess. Her father’s still never going to accept me as her mate. Making sure she went to Stanford didn’t win me any points with her or him. It just solidified our differences.

I climb out of bed and step into the shower. Sheridan’s fucking everywhere in my head—she surrounds me, my thoughts swirling in an endless loop of worry around her.

And then it hits me why.

It’s October 25th. The anniversary of her brother’s death. My mate is suffering.

I slam off the water and grab a towel. I don’t give a shit what went down between us. I don’t care if a future’s impossible. If Sheridan needs me, it would take every pack on Earth to keep me away.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and one of my leather jackets and go outside. Thank fuck I asked Sheridan where she was staying. I get on my bike and drive to Meyer Street, going up and down until I see her car parked in front of one of the casitas.

I verify it’s her place by the sweet vanilla-orange scent and walk up to the door.

It’s only then it occurs to me that she might not appreciate my support. But fuck it—I have to offer.

I knock. She comes to the door, heart-breakingly lovely. Her caramel-hued hair falls around her shoulders and she’s wearing a soft, mauve t-shirt that molds to her ample breasts, and a pair of skinny jeans that look like pure sin on her. But she’s not her usually, snappy, together self. There’s a subdued quality to her that makes my heart twist.

I was right to come.

“Trey?” Her honey and peaches voice is soft and puzzled.

I flip the motorcycle keys around my finger. “Want to go for a ride?”

Her eyes fly open in surprise, confusion and wonder warring in her expression. She tilts her head to the side. “Why?”

I shrug. “I know this day is hard for you.”

Her beautiful face instantly crumples. Tears pop in her eyes and she falls into my arms. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

I stroke her silky hair. “Yeah, of course I remembered, baby.” I breathe in her scent. “Of course I did.”

Her back shakes on a silent sob. “I still miss him,” she chokes, her tears wetting my neck.

I slip my hand under her hair and massage her neck. “I know,” I murmur.

After a moment, she gets it back together, sniffs and pulls away, ducking her head. “I’ll go get my shoes on.”

I’m almost lightheaded with relief—she’s coming with me. She’s letting me offer this comfort to her today.

I’m not foolish enough to believe this means anything in the grand scheme of things, just grateful I get to be with her today.

She comes back, wearing my jacket and her sexy club boots. She’s put lip gloss on, which makes my damn dick forget that she was just crying two seconds ago.

I hold my hand out and she curls her fingers into mine, letting me lead her out of the casita to my bike parked on the street behind her car. “Where to? Mountains?”

“Have you eaten?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Wanna get food first?”

She takes the helmet I offer her and tosses her hair back before putting it on. “Definitely.”

I take her to a nouveau Mexican restaurant on Broadway where we both get heaping plates of huevos rancheros smothered in salsa verde and extra avocado. She shovels the food in her mouth like the healthy shifter she is.

“I didn’t think I could eat today, but suddenly I’m starving,” she says between bites.

I smile. Adorable wolf. “Good. Eat up.”

She wipes her lips on her napkin. “So, how much do you bring in a week with Fight Club?”

Oh boy. Here comes MBA Sheridan, with that brilliant mind and laser focus pinpointed right on me.

I shrug. “Enough.”

She takes a large gulp of ice water. “No really. Let’s talk numbers. I’ll bet there’s places to improve profitability.”

I raise a brow. “Thought you were gonna try to shut me down.”

Something flickers over her face—regret, maybe. She drops her eyes to her food and scoops another forkful. “That may not be necessary.”

“Mm,” I grunt in response.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“What?”

“Your numbers? Let’s see, I would say Luka and I rang up about $900 in drinks Wednesday night and the margin’s probably around thirty percent. So $600 profit. You had five people on staff, including me. What does that eat up?”

I’m incapable of denying her this chew-toy for her brain. “Two hundred. Fifty bucks to each of the security guys, twenty-five base pay for the bartenders. I’ll get your breakfast,” I say wryly, since she never got paid.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care about that. I made a ton in tips, anyway.”

“So four hundred after paying staff. Do you pay the fighters?”

I shake my head. “That’s a separate business enterprise.”

“Financed through illegal betting?”

Of course she’s too damn smart to miss what’s going on. I give a ghost of a shrug as acknowledgement.

“So four hundred a night. What’s the overhead on the building?”

“We own it, so it’s just three hundred a month in utilities.”

Her brows shoot up. I shouldn’t be pleased to see she’s impressed, but they are half-million dollar warehouses. I’m not the poor, scrappy kid whose mom works the lowest job in the pack anymore.

“You own it personally?”

“Jared and I own both warehouses on the lot. His mate uses the other one as a dance studio and performance space.”

“Really? Wow. I’d like to see it.”

“I’m sure Angelina would be happy to show you around.” For a brief moment, I ride the high of picturing Angelina and Sheridan hitting it off and the four of us becoming happy couple friends.

That’s not happening. Sheridan’s going back to Wolf Ridge, where she’ll eventually be running the entire show.

I’ll be here running Fight Club.

“Anyway, with you owning the building, the opportunity for profit is huge. You just need to maximize the number of shifters who come through that door, and give them good reason to stay—whether it’s the fights or other entertainment. And of course, keep the trouble out.” She frowns and my gut tightens.

I throw down some cash on the table. “Ready for a ride?”

She nods. “So ready. Where are we going?”

“Gates Pass.” At her questioning look, I grin. “You’ll love it, come on.”

Sheridan

Riding on the back of Trey’s motorcycle for the second day in a row has my heart somersaulting. I was too melancholy to get horn-gry riding with him to the restaurant, but now the giant vibrator between my legs and the familiar scent of Trey and his leather have me rocking my hips over the bike seat. My breasts press up against his back, arms loop around his washboard abs.

I still can’t believe he remembered.

I mean, I know today marks the anniversary of the day he took my V-card, but I doubt he marked it on a calendar to celebrate every year. Especially considering how easily he was finished with me at the end of senior year.

My brain wants to tear at this puzzle until I have it solved or demolished, but I keep pushing it away. If I think too much about Trey and his actions toward me, I’ll end up twelve years in the past with my heart beaten to a bloody pulp.

No, better to just be in the now. Appreciate Trey showing up for me when I needed him. Allow the suffocating heaviness of the day to lift and move off me.

He drives west, toward the Tucson mountain range and takes me up a beautiful mountain pass. The air smells fresh and clean. Saguaro cacti shimmer and glow in the warm autumn sun. Trey drives through the pass and down the other side, then parks at the trailhead for King Canyon. It’s Friday—a work day for most of Tucson—so the lot is empty except for Trey’s bike.

My wolf starts wagging her tail in anticipation of being out in nature.

Trey takes my hand and we walk up the trail, cutting through the desert. He doesn’t speak, and for once, I keep my mouth shut, too. Suddenly, there’s nothing to be or prove with Trey. Our silence is companionable. Honoring.

We reach a saddle, an incredible overlook over the city of Tucson. Trey starts kicking off his boots as he pulls his shirt over his head.

For one stupid second, I think he wants to have sex—like he expects it because that’s what we did on the last anniversary of my brother’s death. But he grins at me. “Last one on four legs is a rotten egg.”

“No fair,” I holler, because he already has a head start. I scramble out of my clothes and shift, then bound over his wolf as I tear up Wassan Peak.

We run for hours, nipping and playing, sniffing. Hunting.

And then it all ends when I get my nose into a cholla cactus. It’s idiotic. The first lesson I learned as a cub growing up in Arizona was to stay away from cholla—also known as jumping cactus because of the way the giant burrs jump from the mother and attach their barbs into passersby.

I yelp at the pain—mostly because it’s my tender nose and the face is so personal. Pain there is so intense. In the blink of an eye, Trey shifts and crouches beside me, concern etched in his face.

I whimper, trying to paw the damn thing off, which only gets more burrs stuck in my paws.

“Easy, baby. Let me.” Trey—the idiot—grabs the thing with his fingers and pries it off my nose. I yelp again, but it’s only partly out of pain, partly out of concern for him, because now he has the burr firmly embedded in his hand, which means he won’t be able to shift and run back to where we left our clothes.

He’s totally unfazed, though. He just strokes my ear with his good hand. “Are you okay?” He leans close to examine my snout and paws. “Any left?” I lick his face and he laughs and rubs my cheek.

I sit and wait as he pries the cactus ball from his hand with a stick, then uses his teeth to pull out the remaining barbs.

“All better.” He holds up his bloodied palm for me to see and I lick it, too.

In a flash, he’s back on all fours, running down the mountain.

I give an indignant, joyful bark and bound after him, down the mountain, passing his sleek white and silver form just before we reach the saddle.

I shift back, laughing, and yank on my clothes. “Beat you.”

He shifts and pulls on his jeans, too. “Of course you did.” The satisfaction in his tone tells me he let me win, just like he let me throw him yesterday at the gym.

Just like he let you think he was interested in playing the field, my wolf whispers.

But no. That’s dangerous, wishful thinking. I spent hundreds of hours in college sitting in my dorm trying to talk myself into believing that. But it didn’t matter. Because even if it were true, I made sure he’d never speak to me again.

But he’s here now, she whispers.

Yes. He’s here now. Does that mean he’s forgiven me?

Have I forgiven him?

Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Just enjoy this moment.

We hike back to the bike in the same comfortable silence. Ride back to my place. Trey doesn’t get off his bike, like he’s just dropping me off. Definitely not expecting sex.

The disappointment spearing my mid-section tells me I was hoping for it.

“You want to come in?” Oh crap. Do I sound desperate? He should be begging me, not the other way around.

His eyes flash silver. “Fuck, Sheridan. Of course I do.”

“But?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t.” He sounds pained.

“Why not?”

His breath has grown quicker, the veins in his neck are popping out. “I have to get to Fight Club. We have an event.”

“Want me to work?”

“No.” His answer is quick and definitive, which hurts way more than I want to admit. “Nope, we’re all set,” he says, like he’s trying to soften it.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow for the leech thing.”

Something tight coils in my gut. “Right. Sure.” I turn and walk up the path to my casita without saying goodbye.

Trey’s up to something. He doesn’t want me at the club tonight. Why? Is it a woman? Or something with the vampires?

Whatever it is, I’m going to find out.

I’ll be darned if he can keep me out.

Trey

Oh holy hell.

Was Sheridan actually inviting me into her place...for sex?

Damn, the girl never stops surprising me.

It took every grain of willpower in me not to pick her up, carry her inside and mark her as forever mine. Because that’s what will happen if we ever get naked again together.

But she’s weak today. She’s grieving. I may not have been strong enough to resist her offer as a teenager, but I’m sure as hell not going to take advantage now.

Especially when I have no chance of keeping her as mine.

Because I’m definitely not okay with a little recreational sex. There’s no such thing for my wolf. He wants me to claim Sheridan. Mark her. Make her mine forever.

Which means I need to keep a very healthy distance between us. Before I fuck everything up between us.

Again.