Page 11 of Ethan (Pecan Pines #7)

Griffin’s voice carried across the mats. “That’s it. You’re done for the day.”

I expected Dean to leave with the others, towel slung around his neck, maybe throw me another look over his shoulder. But instead, he cut straight across the gym floor, stopping in front of me.

“What time do you get off?”

“A few more hours,” I said slowly. “Why?”

Dean shrugged. “Thought you might want to grab something to eat later. I’m sick of the food at the dining hall.”

My mouth answered before my brain caught up. “Okay.”

I blinked, startled at myself. Why had I agreed so quickly? I could have said I was too busy, that I needed to check patient logs, that I had work waiting at the clinic.

All true. But none of it made it past my lips.

Because the truth was that I actually wanted to go.

By the time I wrapped up at the clinic and grabbed a quick shower, the sun was dipping low. I pulled on a clean shirt and jeans and made my way to the front steps of the pack house.

Dean was already there. And he’d cleaned up, too.

The usual edge of sweat and training dust had been scrubbed away, replaced by the sharp, fresh scent of soap. It wasn’t just that; it carried the faintest trace of the same scent I’d caught earlier in the gym.

Cedarwood and smoke.

Dean had even smoothed down his hair, though a few stubborn strands still fell across his forehead. He looked unexpectedly good. Too good.

His grin was confident, almost cocky. It was the kind of smile that probably got him out of trouble back in Thornebane.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “So, where do you want to go?”

The grin faltered just a little. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting aside. For some reason, I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“Honestly?” he said, shoulders lifting in a sheepish shrug. “I haven’t really gone around town much. Mostly stuck in the pack lands, training, going back and forth. Don’t really know the good spots.”

My lips twitched. “That so? Then how come you knew about Vanilla Bean and my usual drink order?”

“You mentioned it once.”

I blinked. “I did?”

“Yeah.” His tone was casual, but his eyes held mine a little too steadily.

“Well then,” I said, clearing my throat. “What are you in the mood for? Anything you miss from back home?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah. I wanna try something from here. Something new. Surprise me. Or you could bring me to your favorite spot.”

That made me pause. My favorite spot? I smirked instead.

“What if my favorite spot’s the packhouse dining hall?” I asked.

Dean made a face. “I suppose the menu does change. Although…” He squinted like he was giving it real thought. “With all the meatballs they’ve been serving the past few days, I guess tonight could be meatball sub night. Or spaghetti. Or maybe meatball stew?—”

I laughed, cutting him off. “Okay, enough. I was joking. Come on, I’ll show you my actual favorite spot.”

We left the packhouse behind, following the dirt road that curved toward town. The night was quiet, the distant hum of traffic and the faint glow of streetlamps ahead cutting through the cool air.

By the time we reached Main Street, the buzz of town had picked up, with voices spilling out of open shop doors and the smell of food drifting from restaurants.

I led him down a block and stopped in front of a bar tucked between a diner and a record store. Warm light spilled from the windows, and music thumped softly beneath the chatter inside.

“This place,” I told him. “Come on.”

“Huh. Thought you’d take me to Griffin’s bar.”

“Nah,” I said, pushing the door open. “I like this place better. They bring in more bands. The owner’s got connections with other bars in the towns nearby, even some in the city.

Bands that do well here can book bigger shows out of town.

” I smiled faintly as I stepped inside. “Used to dream about playing here.”

Dean followed close behind, curiosity flickering across his face. He slid onto the stool beside me, knees brushing mine.

“So why not? Why don’t you play here?” Dean asked.

I hesitated, caught off guard. The answer wasn’t simple.

“For a long time, things were different. Back when Ryder was alpha, our pack and the townspeople… it was complicated. Our band got invited once, but we didn’t want to make anyone nervous. It just didn’t feel right.”

The memory weighed on me, a reminder of how fragile things had been. “Things are better now,” I added quickly. “But I’ve also got other priorities these days.” I trailed off, my fingers tracing idle patterns on the table, unsure how much to say.

“I’ve been stressed lately,” I admitted finally, the words catching in my throat. “With Devon gone, I keep thinking…what if something happens that I can’t handle on my own? It’s always been the two of us. Now it’s just me, and every hour feels like I’m waiting for the next crisis.”

“You look like you’re handling it well,” he said quietly.

I laughed, a little too sharp. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I see you doing your rounds, checking on everyone,” Dean said, voice steady. “You’ve been everywhere this past week. And you’ve held up. Better than you think.”

I wanted to tell him part of those extra rounds had been an excuse to check on him, make sure he wasn’t ending up in my clinic every other night. But I couldn’t.

“I’ve only kept it together so far,” I muttered, embarrassed.

Dean tipped his head. “Give yourself some credit. Haven’t seen any major injuries piling up. Your clinic’s quiet. That says something.”

My chest squeezed at the compliment. I meant to brush it off, but the words slipped out anyway.

“That’s just for now. What would you even know? You don’t exactly have a healer in Thornebane, do you?”

The words landed sharp, and I froze. “I—shit. Sorry. That just slipped out.”

Dean shook his head. “No, you’re right. We don’t. I don’t know what it’s usually like for you. But I talk to the enforcers here every day. I see how they come back bruised as hell one night, then healed and ready again the next day. That’s you, Ethan. That’s all you.”

Before I could reply, Dean’s hand covered mine, stilling the nervous rhythm.

Dean leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving me every chance to pull back. For one sharp second, instinct screamed at me to retreat, to keep the careful wall between us.

I stiffened, then let go, closing the distance.

Our mouths met in an unhurried kiss. Dean pressed against me with just enough weight to make my chest tighten with need.

His lips were warm and firm, coaxing me open, and I followed without thought. Every brush of his tongue was deliberate, tasting me, testing me.

The kiss deepened, each movement slow but demanding, and the heat between us coiled tight in my stomach. My pulse throbbed, every nerve alive, craving the next fraction of closeness he offered.

Then the music changed. The quiet strum was replaced by a loud, upbeat track. We both jolted, pulling apart just enough to catch our breath.

Dean laughed, rough and a little dazed. I wiped my damp lower lip with the back of my hand, fighting the flush in my cheeks.

“Want to get out of here?” I asked.

“My place?”

I shook my head, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Mine’s closer.” Then, almost under my breath, I added, “Who knows how thin your walls are.”

For a moment, Dean’s eyes glinted molten gold, desire sharp and unmistakable. My pulse stuttered. I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me, but judging by that look, maybe he had.