Page 22 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

I dream I’m moving through a nightclub with strobing lights, looking for someone. It’s that angsty, heart-pounding feeling you get in dreams, the sense that you’ll be too late, that something is chasing you in the shadows. An undefined monster. A danger lurking in wait.

I shove harder at the dancing people around me to open a path, but the more I push, the tighter the crowd becomes. Suffocating. Crushing.

No, no! I need to find… find my family, my men. I can’t get caught. I have to warn them. It’s dangerous. I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here.

We should be together, we should?—

Hands grab me, lifting me. One covers my mouth and I can’t breathe. I try to yell but I have no breath left in my lungs. I thrash and writhe, trying to dislodge their grip on me, kicking out and wheezing?—

Then I fall and hit the ground hard.

Ow.

Blinking my crusty lashes open, I find myself in my apartment. In my living room. On the floor between my sofa and the low coffee table.

What the hell? I fell off the sofa. Did I…? Yeah, I must have fallen asleep there.

Great. Excellent adulting, Coco. You deserve a badge.

My muscles are cramped and I groan as I sit up. My entire right side feels like a giant bruise. My carpet is thick—with hearts printed on it, thank you—so it can’t be my fall from my very low sofa. I probably spent the night sleeping on my side.

Old age is getting to me. I can’t imagine what will happen by the time I’m forty. Maybe I should eat better and do more exercise.

With Zach. Preferably. Horizontally. On a bed.

Damn you, brain, for conjuring such images so early in the morning. A girl needs her coffee before she can start filing said images into categories.

Zach.

Ryder.

Atticus.

Boys on boys.

Boys on girls.

Girls on boys.

All boys together.

The boys and I.

It’s also too early for vibrator action. I may wake up the neighbors. I like my neighbors. Also, I don’t want them to hear me screaming specific names.

Embarrassing.

Yawning hugely, grabbing onto the sofa, I stand up and make my precarious way to my tiny kitchen. I grab my trusty Cheerios and banana milk and let them sit together while I make coffee.

Doesn’t everyone love mushy Cheerios in banana milk? No? Too bad. It’s my recipe and I will patent it one day. Right after I finish my comic and turn it into a bestseller, along with finding an amazing pack…

I slurp my mushy Cheerios while pouring myself a towering mug of coffee. Coffee with milk, cream and sugar, because that dark, bitter brew needs some sunshine.

Which makes me think of Ryder, who seems dark and bitter, and Zach, who is the sunshine, and Atticus because he feels like an embrace holding us together.

Ah, early morning nonsense. Atticus doesn’t even know the other two. They don’t know each other, not really.

And I don’t know them, either.

Morose once more, I shuffle in my pink bunny slippers to the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Damn, I look like crap, pale and tired with Bags under my eyes. I touch my wrinkled face, a random pattern pressed into my skin from being plastered to my little throw pillow all night.

Lovely.

Plus, the fear and anxiety from the dream linger, making me feel sick to my stomach. I want a hug. A bear hug, crushing and comforting, and not from my parents, either.

An alpha hug.

Just then, my phone pings and wouldn’t you know? It’s the golden alpha himself.

Zach.

‘Are we set for tonight?’

I frown down at the text. ‘Are we?’ I reply and my fingers hover over the phone keys. You ran away, I want to write. Without an explanation. But I hesitate. ‘Sure.’

‘Great. What time?’

I ponder this. If Atticus wants me to have his dinner ready when he arrives, like last night… ‘Is ten okay?’

‘So late?’

I press my lips together. ‘I got to work.’

‘For Atticus?’

I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘Yes.’

He doesn’t reply after that. Well, screw him. I’m not going to check my phone all day to see if he has said anything else.

Okay, I will. Don’t judge. I want to know what is going on with him but I’m also thinking about Atticus and his reticence with me, and Ryder, and generally thinking what the fuck I’m doing with my life.

Is my mom right? Am I shooting myself in the foot? My fascination with these three men isn’t going to lead anywhere.

Unless you accept you are a beta and choose one. One man.

Yeah…

There are days when I want to give in and convince myself it would be for the best. Or just get a cat and be done with men.

Right on cue, a voice message arrives from Mom, talking excitedly about the neighbor’s beta son, how handsome and successful he is and still looking for a mate.

Sometimes, I swear, I wonder if my mom can read my thoughts and feelings. It’s one thing when she’s looking at me—apparently I wear my heart on my sleeve—and quite another when she does it from a distance with uncanny accuracy.

I turn the phone facedown without replying. What could I say that I haven’t already said? I’m an upbeat person most of the time. Nothing gets me down. I’m a fan of never giving up and living life to the fullest, but the constant reminders that I’m fighting against the current are so tiring.

“You slept badly,” I tell my reflection. “That’s what this heavy feeling is. You need more coffee. And a hug from a friend.”

Well, all right then. I’ll go get my hug and turn this into a bright day.

* * *

June isn’t answering her door. Or her phone. Aren’t besties supposed to be the greatest sources of hugs? What am I gonna do now? Where do I get my hugs?

Okay, I’m kidding. Sort of. Frowning, I turn my back to her door. What is going on with her? Who could tell me?

My own dark thoughts forgotten, I scroll through my phone contacts and stop at Gigi. I call her and she answers breathlessly.

“Coco! Hey.” Heavy panting. “What’s up?”

“Damn,” I whisper. “Did I interrupt a sex marathon?”

“What? No!”

“Are you sure?” I’m concerned now. “Are you getting knotted to kingdom come and can’t talk for the size of the?—”

“I said no!” Gigi snaps.

“The lady doth protest too much,” I mutter, grinning. “Can you talk, then?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I decide. “So… June. Have you heard from her lately?”

“June? No, why?”

“Oh.” I start down the stairs toward my apartment. “Nothing. She hasn’t been around, doesn’t answer her phone… I got a little worried.”

“I don’t know… Wait. Could it have to do with that pack?”

“What pack?” I open my apartment door and step inside. I walk over to the window seat and curl up in it, looking down. “She never mentioned one.”

“The Sexton pack?”

“Never heard of them. And June wouldn’t flirt with a pack without telling me.” I dismiss the idea because it’s ridiculous. “We tell each other everything.”

“Of course,” Gigi rushes to say. “You’re right.”

But doubt slithers into my mind. She was upset because I chose Atticus over her that night. Is she still mad at me? Is she really flirting with this pack and everyone knows except me?

“I’ll let you know if I see her or hear from her,” Gigi goes on. “Look, I’ve got to run, Ronin is…” Her voice drops. “He’s inking me.”

“Oh?” My curiosity perks. “What are you getting?”

“It’s a secret. You’ll see.”

“Okay.”

“Actually, there’s a small party at the tattoo shop today. Cash, one of the artists, has his birthday and there’s a small gathering. Wanna come?”

“Me? But I only know Ronin. And Ryder. Anyway, I don’t know.”

She doesn’t comment on my little slip. “Since when do you skip the chance to party?”

Right. It’s so not me, and she says it’s a small gathering. It’s not a bar or a nightclub.

Get back in the saddle, right? Wasn’t that what I wanted?

“Okay… Sure.” I lean forward, shading my eyes as I look down. Is that guy across the street staring up at my window?

“Meet you there?”

“Yeah.” The guy starts walking away. It was all in my mind. “Sure. See you in a bit.”