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Free.

“Man, I’ve always loved the two different colors of his eyes, but now, he also has all these delicious tattoos, and got more muscly?” Sylvie whispered, and I chanced a glance over at the very man they’d continued to quietly gossip about.

Ford’s gaze slipped above Turk’s head and met mine. She wasn’t wrong. Anytime something challenging blundered into my life, I’d briefly close my eyes and imagine his intense stare. The blazing of an ember behind the hazel in one eye and the deep, beautiful brown in the other. Plus, that smile of his. But this time, as the memory of his grin sifted through my mind, it wasn’t just some fantasy of him, but actually him across the room, offering me a quick one right now.

The maturity upon his face captivated me more now than ever before. Deep lines at the edges of his lips drew me like a magnet to metal. I wanted him. I wanted to soak up the warmth from his arms again. I wanted him to hold our family as we watched some stupid show and fell asleep together again. I wanted that simple nothingness. I wanted all of that mundane shit with him.

His brows twitched upward, and my eyes widened.

Shit. I was staring.

He’d caught me staring.

Look at anything else, Colette, I thought to myself and quickly snapped my gaze down to my toes. Oh, fuck. Why the hell had I worn this outfit? I could’ve put some effort into something other than a pair of leggings anda wrinkled tank top. He’d dressed himself up into something that wasn’t a pair of shorts or those cargo pants he liked to wear. Though, I had to admit, the way those joggers fit on him when he wore them was… attractive to say the least.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I quickly tore it out, grateful for the distraction from thoughts I shouldn’t have been having at that moment.

As I read the contact, I tightened my hold on the cell. Of course. A text message from Ford.

Turk invited me to come tonight when I saw him at the school yesterday. Just thought I’d let you know that I’m not stalking you.

I reread the message as my stomach rippled like an alligator swimming across the surface of the bayou. Was that really such a bad idea, though? I mean, hadn’t he sort of been stalking me already, just disguised as the Rougarou to protect me? What would be the harm in a little flirting anyway? I mean, we’d flirted all through high school, and I know he flirted with me a few times since returning home. There may be some secrets we still needed to air, but right now, as my body tingled, I simply wanted to let loose and carelessly flirt with that man.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I tapped on the screen and typed my reply.

Damn, why not? That would be fun;)

Excitement ripped like fire through my veins as I refused to remove my gaze from my phone screen. If I looked at him right now, I might lose thegumption that fueled my boldness. Besides, the bubbles appeared on my screen, which meant he was about to reply.

It was as if we were seventeen again, running from our parents and the world with nothing but hope and reckless adventure full of love in front of us.

I’m sorry, what? You'd find it fun to have me stalk you?

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. Was he simply testing to see if I was flirting or was he oblivious to that fact? There was only one way to find out how far I could push this.

Well, I know the woods between our houses better than you, so it’s not like you could find me if I didn’t want you to anyway;)

I tapped the send button, and the “delivered” turned to “read” almost immediately.

Sticking a nail between my teeth, I chewed and stared at the screen like a hawk hovering its prey. And then the message slid through with a silent buzz.

I don’t think you understand what stalking means. It’s not just following you through some woods… regardless of whether you think you know them better than I do;)

A smile pulled my lips wide as I furiously typed a reply.

Exactly. Stalking is a lot more difficult than that. And since you couldn’t catch me even if I told you where I was running to, you’d be a terrible stalker.

Wait.As those pending bubbles popped up, indicating he was typing a reply, reality slithered through me. Why was I fucking flirting about being stalked? Even better question: Why was it exciting instead of terrifying, especially knowing he had already kind of done so while leaving me flowers and pretending to be the Rougarou?

I swallowed stiffly as my phone buzzed with a notification.

You don’t think I could catch you if I was chasing you through the woods?

To hell with rational thought.

Nope, since I know them better than you, I bet you couldn’t.

I knew what I was doing, what I was enticing as my thumb tapped the arrow and sent the message. Competing against him had always led to something much more satisfying after, and while I believed we’d both grown as people in fifteen years, this was one pastime I was grateful he was still indulging in and one that I’d missed.