Page 28 of Flint's Arrow
They walked in silence for a while, and Flint realized this was the first time he’d felt completely comfortable with Arrow. The fear had gone, and so had the anger. Flint didn’t feel the need to defend himself; there was just peace and the possibility of something good.
“Thank you,” Arrow said eventually.
“For what?”
“For giving me a chance I don’t deserve.” Arrow’s thumb brushed across Flint’s knuckles. “For this.”
Flint looked up at the stars, feeling the weight of the decision ahead of him. Arrow had changed so much in the space of a day. And yet, even though the actions were huge, Flint didn’t get a sense for a second that Arrow had done any of it as a means topush him into more than he was ready for. He’d done it as a chance to prove himself with actions, not words.
“You’re doing better,” Flint admitted. “I’m enjoying this. Tonight…tonight was good.”
Arrow’s hand tightened slightly around his. “Can I see you again tomorrow?”
Flint didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.” He smiled. “I’d like that. You have my number, now. Text me when you’re awake.”
They walked until the shops gave way to residential streets, when Flint’s phone buzzed with a text from Storm asking if he needed extraction. Flint assured him everything was fine and let Arrow walk him back to Angelo’s, where Storm and Pax were waiting in his truck.
Before Flint got in, Arrow squeezed his hand one more time. “Goodnight, Flint.”
“Goodnight, Arrow, and thank you.”
Flint climbed into the back of Storm’s truck, making sure the dessert cart that was lodged in there wouldn’t hit him on his hip, and Storm steered the truck into traffic. When Flint looked back, he saw Arrow still standing there, watching them go, something soft and hopeful on his face.
“Well?” Storm asked.
“It was good,” Flint said quietly. “Really good.” And for the first time since meeting his mate, he let himself believe it might actually work out. “Now, tell me why I’m sharing this back seat with a dessert cart? Did Pax do his invisible pixie stunt again?”
Chapter Ten
“I could get used to this.”
Arrow leaned back in his chair, watching Flint demolish a plate of ribs with an efficiency that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. They were at a barbecue joint just outside Big Sky, their third dinner together in as many days, and Arrow couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.
Flint glanced up, sauce on his chin. “The food or the company?”
“Both.” Arrow handed him a napkin. “Though watching you eat is its own form of entertainment.”
“Says the man who ordered the spiciest wings on the menu and didn’t even break a sweat.” Flint wiped his face, grinning. “Show-off.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The teasing came easily now, natural as breathing. Arrow had learned Flint’s tells over the past few days - the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely amused versus when he was being polite, how he tilted his head when he was considering something carefully, the soft pink flush that crept up his neck when he was flustered.
Arrow wanted to learn everything. Every expression, every gesture, every tiny detail that made Flint who he was.
The only issue was the mating pull. The moment they’d said goodnight and Flint had driven away with Storm, and then Python on the second night, and the night before it had been Devon and Wren, the ache had returned. And it was getting worse, because now Arrow knew what it felt like to hold Flint’s hand, to hear him laugh, to sit across from him and justbetogether. His wolf paced constantly in his head, whining and demanding and pushing Arrow to claim what was theirs.
Arrow had spent the last three nights lying awake in his hotel room, fighting the urge to drive out to the Alley and begging Flint to let him be closer. He’d taken more cold showers than he cared to count, and his wolf had howled so loudly in his mind that Arrow was surprised the entire hotel hadn’t heard. It had definitely given him a headache.
But he’d promised to go slow and to let Flint set the pace, and he would damn well do it, even if it was killing him.
“You okay?” Flint asked, his voice soft with concern.
Arrow realized he’d been gripping his water glass hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. He forced himself to relax, to breathe. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
About how much I want to kiss you. About how my wolf is ready to tear through my skin to get to you. About how I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want you, and I’m terrified I’m going to screw this up again.
