Page 32 of What I Should Have Felt (Anchors and Eagles #4)

COLETTE

T he conversation around me was mere jumbled, indecipherable words. Faint music bumped in the background as a cue ball clacked against another one on a pool table. This once-a-month adult get-together was anything but the distraction and relief I’d been looking forward to.

He’d been gone the moment Azelie and I woke up this morning, and a passing glance was all that was shared between us as he returned from a morning run, then I headed into town to drop Azelie off at Macy’s and meet my parents at the restaurant.

All day, all we’d had were shared glances. He’d been at his parents’ restaurant, while I was at mine, and then boom, evening came, and I left for James’s before Ford ever came home.

The only thing, or I guess person, that consumed my thoughts was—

“Ford Thibodeaux?” Sylvia gasped beside me, jarring me back to the present moment.

Huh ?

Following her widened gaze, came the very man I couldn’t stop thinking about trudging down the stairs across the room.

He’d cleaned up rather nicely. His hair was neatly combed, and he’d ditched his hat.

The navy-blue T-shirt sat perfectly against his body as if tailored at every seam to form to his frame.

It highlighted his broad shoulders and brought out the vibrant colors of his tattoos, as if begging me to wander over there and dance my fingers across his skin.

Jeans that were just the right size hung low on his hips, and I immediately clenched my legs together. Damn… Well, this was an issue.

Turk grinned and turned away from the pool table, carrying the stick over to greet Ford as I leaned back against the wall between a couple of girls. Several others raced over to say hi to him while whispers danced around the crowd.

“I heard he was back in town.” Margie whistled quietly beside me. “Damn. He got hot.”

“Right? I saw him at his parents’ restaurant the other day, and I did a total awkward double take. Some men age like milk, but not him,” Lyla added and took a quick sip of her beer.

“Okay, but he was kinda weird during high school, you know? Never dated anyone,” Sylvie whispered.

I pulled my brows together and tore my gaze away from Ford. “You’re saying the only reason he was ‘weird’ in high school was because he never had a girlfriend?” I asked.

Sylvie shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, other than hanging out with Turk, he also kinda floated from friend group to friend group, so yeah. I guess I am saying that.”

“So, did that make me a weird kid in high school too? I never dated anyone,” I asked with a raised brow.

The three girls shook their heads but continued to stare at Ford.

“No, you at least had us as a steady group of friends. Wait,” Margie stated and brought her gaze to me. “Is this a LeBlanc defending a Thibodeaux, I hear?”

Pinching my lips together, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and shrugged.

“But what about your rivalry or whatever shit your two families have?” She narrowed her eyes and took a step toward me. Sylvie and Lyla both tipped their heads and nodded in agreement.

“A rivalry that I think is stupid and petty,” I mumbled and glanced back at Ford.

He gave a crooked but tight smile to someone and then shifted through the crowd. His progression was slow as he attempted to weave through a jumble of people, all vying for his attention.

Lyla gasped. “Oh, my goodness, you think he’s good-looking too.”

I tore my gaze away from Ford. “And what are we? Back in high school? Because this sounds a lot like teenage gossip.”

Margie clicked her tongue as Sylvie giggled. “That’s not a denial,” Lyla pressed with raised brows.

She wasn’t wrong, though. Maybe it was time to finally admit that I had feelings for Ford.

Not to myself because I’d already done that, but admit it to others too.

What good had come from the petty ass feud between our families anyway?

Absolutely nothing. In fact, being closer and together, despite the weird ass arguments and passive aggressive shit going on, things were finally… a little more peaceful.

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 and a 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 the gumption 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.

And there it came, barely a few seconds after I’d sent mine.

Don’t bet something unless you understand there are consequences to losing.

Wicked fire burned in my core, and I glanced up from my phone for the first time. He smirked and raised a brow as my gaze met his. Intense. Hypnotic. It was then that I knew he’d known this entire time what I was doing. No, what he was doing. I furiously typed a reply.

It’s a hypothetical situation, that’s all.

I tapped my toe quietly against the floor, impatiently waiting for his damn reply. How long—

So, hypothetically, if I chase you through the woods, and catch you, what would a fair consequence be?