“My dad taught music.”

“And you lied to me, because . . .”

“You didn’t ask if I could play. You asked if I played. And before this week, I hadn’t. Not in years.”

“God, I hate you.”

“Sure.”

He side-eyes me when I make him lift me onto the counter to watch him wash the dishes. “I do have some furniture.” He points at the two chairs he brought in from the porch.

“I like it better here,” I say, tapping the stone countertop.

“Can you Humans just not sit normally?”

“Can you Weres just not mind your business?”

He splashes me with soap suds, and I grin as I cover my face.

After, I make tea. He makes me add several spoonfuls of sugar, and we drink it on the back porch, sitting on the steps, long after the sun has set. From the same mug. His lips touch the same water molecules as mine.

“I can’t believe you take your coffee black but sweeten your tea,” I say.

“I don’t drink black coffee.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since I started drinking it, during the High Middle Ages.”

“But . . . I’ve been giving you black coffee.”

“And I have been hating it.”

I frown. “Are you sure you don’t take it black? Like a real man?”

His eyebrow lifts. “I wasn’t aware of the proven correlation between virility and coffee intake.”

“Oh, there isn’t one. But you’re supposed to be warped by toxic masculinity and not know that. And I’m supposed to be the one who enlightens you.”

His stare feels like a kiss. More than any kiss I’ve experienced ever did. “You’re really a nuisance, aren’t you?”

I grin so hard, my cheeks hurt. “What do you even do when I’m not here?”

“It’s a good question. When you’re not around, the entire pack just sits around and thumb-twiddles— ”

“Oh, come on.” I elbow his biceps. “You know what I mean. What’s your corporate mission? What’s an Alpha’s routine? You wake up and the first thing you do is . . . ?”

“Chase that squirrel we discussed.”

“Koen. Don’t force me to break into your diary.”

He shrugs. Takes another sip, as if thinking about it. “It changes. For the most part, a well-functioning pack is a well-oiled machine. Everyone has their skillset, and everyone has their job. There’s lots of delegating, but as the Alpha, the buck stops with you. Which means that when something isn’t going great, when there is a decision to be made, that’s where I need to be.”

I look at him. His strong nose. The set of his eyes. How is it possible that I find him even more handsome than I did the first time I met him? “Do you ever consider . . . you know?”

“I don’t know, no.”

I scoot closer. Conspiratorial. “Do you ever consider going full dictator? I’m talking thirty-foot bronze Koen statue. Koen stamps. Koen as every child’s middle name. Senior prom theme: Koen. Mandatory Koen parades with Koen floats every week.”

“You done?”

I sigh. “Those who have the means never have the vision. Want some?”

I found monster cookies in his cupboard— another Ana souvenir. They’re a bit stale but still good. I eat most of one, then talk him into a bite by holding what’s left to his face and pouting. His mouth brushes my fingertips, and the memory of it imprints against the pad of my thumb. The scrape of his teeth. An impression of heat.

I pull away. Listen as he lists all the places he wants to show me, here in his territory, and clench my fist to hoard the warmth of his touch. It’s getting late, and the ocean breeze has me shivering, but I don’t want to go inside. I’m afraid that it’ll be over, two doors and a hallway between us, so I lift my closed fists. “Choose one.”

“No.”

“Pleeeease.” He picks the right. “I’m excited to inform you that we’ll be solving a crossword puzzle together.”

He groans. “What was the other one?”

“You give me a tour of your shop.”

“Why do I always pick the less fun one?” He sighs, but we move to the couch and start a new puzzle. His ability to solve it hasn’t improved, which delights me.

“This must be so embarrassing for you.” I pat his back.

“What shall I do without this valuable life skill?”

I press my toes into the hard muscle of his thigh. Lay my head on his shoulder. Scribble, on twelve down, Rosicrucianism. I think about having this, but times twenty. Times one hundred. Times tens of thousands. When two people fall in love, how many nights do they spend together, doing absolutely nothing, before they’ve had their fill? How many silences and crosswords and mugs of tea do they share? What can Koen and I do, to get as many as—

“Don’t,” he murmurs into my hair, not even bothering to pretend to read the clues. Yanking me back to our agreement.

A moment out of time.

No before. No after. Just during.

“Don’t . . . show you up with my amazing vocabulary and language expertise?”

“Precisely.” He inhales deeply from the hollow at the curve of my neck, arms looping around me. He does it again as I pull new words out of the page. Litigation. Boulevard. Deck. Yorkshire. He touches me, and yet he doesn’t. As close as possible, without breaking the one rule we abide by.

It’s nice.

I would give anything for a million more nights of this. Or one.

But I’m getting sleepy.

And he is, too.

And then the fever starts.

CHAPTER 26

Every single time he sets a hand to his cock, he will have this moment in his mind.

IGO TO MY ROOM, AND WE BOTH KNOW WHAT FOR.

Just like we both know what it means when I come back flushed and sweaty, wearing one of his T- shirts and nothing else.

“Didn’t work, huh?”

I didn’t get a good look at him yesterday. Tonight, the physical proof that he wants this just as much as I do is aggressively there, a ridge stretching his jeans in a way that must be painful. Looking away doesn’t even occur to me.

“I tried to . . .” It’s embarrassing. I’d have thought a piece of information like this one couldn’t be waterboarded out of me, but here I am. Giving it out for free. “I tried to lick one of your worn shirts. Around the neck.”

I force myself to hold his stare. Wait for him to burst out laughing, mock me, but his eyes are darker than ever.

This is the most unpredictable mix of awkward, devastating, and mind addling. Needing something that I barely know how to ask for. Standing in front of someone who instinctively understands but isn’t allowed to offer it to me. How do we talk about this?

Dear Koen:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I’m about to undergo a period of enhanced sexual receptivity in which I will require the assistance of a compatible partner

Could that perhaps be you?

How romantic.

“Tomorrow morning, Layla will give me a progesterone injection. It should make this . . .” I gesture at myself like I’m a magician’s assistant. He takes it as an invitation and studies me from head to toe, tracks my every fidget, follows the rocking of my heels. “She hopes it’ll make it go away. But she didn’t have it at the office, so . . .”

He doesn’t bother hiding the depth of his scowl, even if he eventually nods.

“Are you okay with that?” I scratch the back of my neck, which feels swollen. Tender. “If you have any objections— ”

“None that are rational.” His smile is slim, self-effacing. His words sound forced. “I’ll support you no matter what. Whether you take the injection or decide to spend your Heat with someone.”

I cock my head. “I thought you said you didn’t lie.”

“Did I? I must have gotten it wrong. Or maybe things have changed. Have to admit, killer, that your presence in my life has been humbling. A fucking revelatory experience. Thought I knew myself, but . . .” He laughs. Rubs his palm against his mouth. “The truth is, if you decide to spend your Heat with someone else, they’ll have to chain me at the bottom of a well and seal its mouth with concrete.”