Page 23 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

I start out confidently, locking my apartment, taking the stairs down, crossing the street. Then I remember the guy I thought had been watching my window and a slight panic sets in, so that I start running. Soon enough, I have a stitch in my side and I’m wheezing as if I’m drowning.

I reach the tattoo shop and stop outside in a pool of sweat, trying to regain my breath.

How do other people do it, going jogging every day for miles and coming back looking fresh as a lettuce and saying things like “That was wonderful, I’m full of energy now?”

If you ever see me running, it means someone is chasing me. Or in this case, nobody is, but I’m blinded by stupid panic. Shadows chase me; the memory of fear and helpless terror.

From inside the shop, I can hear voices, laughter and music.

See, brain? Everything is normal. Everyone is living a normal life, not running in the streets like a crazy person.

Throwing my hair back, pulling back my shoulders, I assume a nonchalant attitude as I walk in. Sweaty? Out of breath? Panicked? Me?

Nope.

Ronin sees me first and calls out my name. I grin and wave, approaching the group gathered around a foldable table laden with sweets, sandwiches and beers.

“Is this a party or a picnic?” I tease, grabbing a small sandwich because I’m famished. “This isn’t what the brochure described.”

“It’s both. Hey, Coco!” Gigi lifts her can of beer at me. “Cheers.”

I nod at Cole, the owner of the shop. He’s sitting with Grey, the beta in Gigi’s pack who worked here for a while. At the back, I see Cash, the other tattoo artist, and Ryder talking together.

I’m here to relax, meet friends and chat.

Not to see Ryder.

And why not? Why not see him, precious? Nothing wrong with that, is there? It’s not a crime. He’s my kiss thief, and he owes me.

“I knew our broken pieces would fit together.” That was what he told me, and I can’t forget it. He owes me an explanation.

That’s all. That’s why I wanted to see him. Not because I’ve been fantasizing about kissing him again, touching him. Finding out more about him.

So I turn my back on him, not to look as eager as I feel, and nod at Gigi who is saying something to me.

“Really?” she says and frowns.

“Uh… What?”

“I asked if you’re still in shock from what happened at Alpha Bet.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. It’s only been a few days.” I grab a can of soda and take a sip. “But it’s fine, really. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” This new voice, this low male voice, belongs to someone standing behind me and I spit out the sip I’d taken.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Ryder says, his grin crooked when I whirl around. “Jumpy, aren’t you? Still shaky after that car almost run you over?”

“What car?” Gigi demands. “A crash? You’re confused. She was almost kidnapped in the bar where we went for drinks.”

“Gigi—” I start.

His eyes go wide. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“It’s the truth,” Gigi says. “Ask the bar owner, if you don’t believe me.”

“Is that the bar where I met you?” Ryder turns those wide, golden eyes on me.

“Oh yeah, you were there that night, too,” Gigi says, “and you?—”

“Gigi!” I finally whirl about to face her. I thought she had my back but she’s kind of tipsy right now, which may explain her lapse in judgment. “Let’s change the topic, yeah?”

“Sorry.” She has the grace to look sheepish. “I didn’t think… of course you don’t want to talk about it.”

Ryder is frowning now, his golden eyes full of shadows. “Come,” he says, “offer your wishes to the birthday boy.”

Such a non-sequitur. But I follow him anyway to the back of the shop. Cash is still standing there, nursing a beer, his gaze distant. He looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties. An alpha, too, he’s bulkier than Ryder with shoulders like a linebacker.

Like Atticus, I think. Or maybe Zach. With his chin-length chestnut hair pulled back and the ink climbing his neck, he’s pretty handsome, but I feel nothing. No attraction.

Am I broken? Have I stopped enjoying my ogling of hunks?

But I only have to glance at Ryder to get my blood burning in my veins.

No, I think my problem is worse. I’m not broken. I’m falling for these guys.

These three guys. We haven’t even slept together! I don’t know their families or friends, their hobbies or bad habits. This is terrible. Not at all how I’d always imagined doing things.

It’s not too late, I tell myself. Take a bus, leave town, change your name and start anew in Antarctica. Make friends with bears and beavers. Become a witch in the forest and talk with the birds.

Piece of cake.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper and Cash glances at me, a brow arching. I clear my throat and raise my soda can. “Many happy returns.”

He sips from his beer can and nods. “Who are you?”

“I’m Coco. I’m?—”

“A friend,” Ryder says and takes my hand, leading me away from him. “Don’t mind him. He’s a moody bastard.”

“Is he okay?”

“Pack problems. That much I’ve gleaned, at least.”

“That’s sad.”

Ryder clinks his beer can with mine. “Yes. So we need to drink and drown the sorrows.”

“What if my sorrows have learned to swim?”

He swallows some beer, watching me. “I believe that. Tell you what. Let’s elope.”

I laugh. “What?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“I live at the end of the street. Wanna come up for a drink?”

For some reason, despite the earlier panic as I walked here, the answer comes easily. “Yes. Let’s go.”

I feel… safe around Ryder. Not because he’s a gentleman but because he seems to see me. See what I need.

Or is it wishful thinking?

* * *

We run down the street, holding hands. I laugh breathlessly as he pulls me against a fire escape and cages me with his arms.

“Coco,” he breathes, lashes shadowing his eyes. “Pretty Coco.”

I reach up and trail my fingers over the stubble of his jaw and cheeks, over his soft lips and that damned silver ring. “Like what you see?”

“Hell, yeah. Can’t you tell?”

“You stole a kiss,” I whisper. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I only steal things I like.”

“Things, or people?”

His eyes smolder. “Want me to steal you away?”

I huff a laugh. “Of course not.” Do I? It would sure solve my existential crisis.

“You want me to kiss you,” he says. “You’re desperate for it.”

“Like a Jane Austen heroine,” I breathe.

“Like that. Want me to run across a meadow to meet you?”

“With your shirt unbuttoned,” I demand.

“With the wind in your hair,” he whispers.

“Oh, kiss me, kind sir.”

His smile fits perfectly over mine. Warm. Firm. Sure. Demanding. One strong hand trails over my arm only to grip my waist and haul me against his tall, powerful body.

Kissing. Stroking. Intense and dark and delicious. My body responds eagerly, a need burning deep in my belly. I feel him pressed so hard against me and I want him.

I want him to claim me, to enter me, to take me. Take me away for a while.

He draws back with a grunt. “Fuck, you’re killing me, Smalls.”

“So quaint,” I tease, trying not to pant like a bitch in heat.

“I can’t think with you around.”

“Should I be sorry?”

“Don’t be. Come with me?”

I nod and we’re running again. It’s exhilarating, laughter tearing through me. With him beside me, I’m not scared.

When we reach the entrance of his building, though, I pause. He stops and gazes down at me. “Okay?” he asks. “Want to go back to Ink and Shadows?”

Am I making a mistake? As much as I’d love to climb this man like a tree, is today a good time?

And when will it be a good time? I’ve been walking on eggshells since that night at the bar. Eggshells not to spook myself. What I need to do is tear off the Band-Aid, lance the wound.

You’d think I was raped or something. Get over it, Coco! God.

But it had come close to something nasty, and I feel cold every time I remember how helpless I’d felt. Both Atticus and Zach have been treating me as if I’m made of porcelain, as if I could break.

Now I need to take back control.

Sex. That’s what I need. And he’s offering.

Grab the present with both hands and dive into the void. Isn’t that what they say? No? Okay, I made it up, but no time like the present is a thing.

I smile up at Ryder. “I want to see your place.”