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It feels like a victory when Avery pushes back a few dark locks, tucking them behind his ear. They fall almost immediately, but a few catch on his cheeks, leaving more of his face visible. He cocks his head. “What flavor?”

What?Sascha almost asks, before realizing Avery is referring to the drinks, not the condoms. “Exotic wildberry.”

Avery extends his hand so Sascha can hand one over, then immediately cracks it open to take a sip. “Surprisingly good,” he says with a nod.

Even though it’s nothing, or at least not much of anything, a big grin pulls at Sascha’s mouth. He did nothing but pick an appealing flavor of alcohol, but it seems to help Avery relax in his presence. Sascha grabs his own wine cooler, pausing to pick up the box of condoms and toss it on the dresser. In his periphery, Avery tracks that movement.

Their eyes meet. Without breaking the stare, Sascha uncaps his wine cooler and takes two big swallows before realizing his constitution will only allow him to drink one, so he slows.

“Do you wanna sit down?” Sascha tips his head toward the bed, then makes a point to seat himself in the corner chair. It’s so small, he has to turn away from the short table to avoid hitting his knees. Sascha is five feet and eleven-point-five inches tall, coming so shy of six feet he resents his taller cousins, who aren’t even alphas. There are so many waysSasha fails in being the alpha his father wanted to inherit the pack?—

But no. He can’t go down that spiraling mental storm drain with a stranger and potential hookup in front of him.

He swallows the angst back as Avery gingerly seats himself on the side of the bed. Then he goes back to staring, wondering what Avery sees in him when he stares right back.

Avery breaks the silence. “You want to fuck.”

Sascha chokes on his drink. Avery arches his eyebrow again, while Sascha sputters. “I don’tnotwant to fuck,” he manages. “But you don’t have to. I’d never pressure anyone like that.”

Avery considers him; he must find what he’s looking for because he nods decisively. “Okay.”

“Do you want to talk first?”

Avery shakes his head, which catches Sascha off-guard and fills him with odd disappointment. Maybe hedoeswant to know all about this man before, during, or after they fuck. Or if they don’t fuck at all. Sascha wants to know more about him than a PROWLR bio can convey.

But if Avery doesn’t want to talk, then they won’t. Sascha sets his drink on the table and uncurls from the chair, careful as he crosses the handful of paces separating him from Avery. He sits on his heels, not touching yet. Just looking. Observing.

Contrary to superstition, Avery doesn’t smell bitter at all. He smells like a barn, actually, but Sascha is more preoccupied with the fear in his eyes. Sascha doesn’t know how to process a werecreature looking at him, the most worthless alpha in the Madison cougar pack, with such trepidation. It leaves him out of sorts.

Figuring something gentle and slow could ease them both into the moment, Sascha leans in for a kiss. The cougar in him wants to nip that freckle on Avery’s bottom lip, but before he gets close, those seaglass eyes widen and, to Sascha’s horror, he flinches.

Sascha is on his feet and pressed against the window in the span of a blink, but Avery launches off the bed and moves toward him instead of away. “I’m sorry,” he says, holding his palms out until they’re nearly brushing Sascha’s chest. “I’m just, I haven’t—” He sucks in a deep breath. “It’s been a while.”

“Since you’ve hooked up with someone?”

A smile twists Avery’s lips, but it isn’t a happy one. “Since I’ve touched anyone.”

“What?!”

“I told you I only just moved here,” Avery says quietly.

“Where were you before?” Sascha wonders. Finding safe space as a trans werecreature must be brutal, no matter where one looks.

Avery’s lips part, but then he closes them and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I just want to…” Avery licks his lips. This close, Sascha can see how dry those lips are, sticky skin pulling as he tries unsuccessfully to speak. To avoid the overwhelming desire to kiss him again, Sascha grabs Avery’s drink and offers it to him. His murmur of thanks sounds utterly helpless. He takes a long swig before setting the bottle on the nightstand.

“Can I hug you?” Sascha asks, smiling faintly when Avery’s shocked gaze snaps up.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m being serious. Why would I lie about a hug?”

Avery grumbles, “It’s not like Iknowyou.”

“It’s you who didn’t want to talk first,” Sascha reminds him, then spreads his arms wide. “But we can start here.”

CHAPTER

TWO