Page 85 of Traded

Nothing good ever comes from late-night conversations, and I have enough heartache without choosing to add to it like a masochist.

Boone follows a half-step behind as I head for his pack. His hand is too slow to grab my arm. “Ragdoll, wait.”

Hard nope. I storm up to the table.

Didn’t really think this through, did you, Johnson?

The alphas turn to me, expressions ranging from curiosity to amusement as I rock back on my heels, suddenly certain that I’ve made what can only be described as a Very Bad Decision.

“Well, now,” Mackenzie stands, his words teasing. “Enemy intruder in the ranks. Battle plans away, everyone.”

Only Mackenzie and Yukov are here. From the amount of laughter coming from the booth, I’d assumed there was a whole group. My face flushes. “Uh. Hi.”

“Take a seat.” I find myself sliding into the booth beside Yukov without being entirely sure how I got there.

Mac settles himself opposite, exaggeratedly tapping the seat beside him. “Will you be joining us, Cap? Or is the tree impression a new trick?”

Boone slowly takes the offered spot. I look away from the stare he’s pinning on me. “Sorry to crash. I’m waiting on some food, and then I’ll withdraw from the battlefield.”

“You’re welcome to stay.” Yukov’s quiet voice is tinged with the faintest remnants of an Eastern European accent. His bear paw of a hand is wrapped around a half-empty beer bottle.

“Tsk.” I shake my head. “Not falling for that one. I don’t share my fries with anyone, sorry.”

His small grin feels hard-earned. Tapping my fingers, I lean back and decide to embrace the wild turn my night has taken. “So, Aces. Since I’m here, tell me all of your secrets.”

Mac coughs. Boone slaps him on the back, still watching me. “How about a truce instead? No game talk.”

I feign shock. “You mean… There areothertopics? Next we’ll be talking about the weather.”

Mac clears his throat. “Ach. Weather in Chicago’s not that bad, really.”

“You would say that,” Yukov mutters. “You get four seasons in a day and call it summer.”

This is easier. More lighthearted, and I find myself curious. “You’re from Scotland, right?”

“Was it not obvious?” Mackenzie shakes his red hair and grins at me. “Aye. Originally, anyway. Spent some time in Canada at the camps and got drafted here, but I try to get home when I can. The highlands are beautiful.”

I refuse to admit that my knowledge of the Scottish Highlands is confined to romance books. “I’d love to go one day.”

“Nothing stoppin’ you.” He tilts his bottle my way. “You’d be very welcome. Maybe we can steal you from the Titans and whisk you away.”

I force out a laugh around the lump in my throat. “I can’t see that happening.”

“Shame.” Laughter lines at the corner of his eyes deepen. There’s a shuffling sound, and he winces. “Has anyone heard from Navarro? He only went to change.”

“Sleeping,” Yukov mumbles. “Probably.”

It’s getting late. I glance over to the bar, searching for any sign of my fries. At this point, I’m tempted to sink my teeth into the alpha next to me. Apple pie is aclosesecond to lava cake in my book, and Yukov smells like a freshly baked pastry sprinkledwith warm cinnamon. I inhale deeply, and he tenses beside me. His neck is flushed when I glance at him.

Maybe I could be tempted to share my fry pile. This is… surprisingly easy. Comfortable, even, and I find myself reluctant to head back to my empty room. Leaning back with my wine, I listen to Mac try to wheedle information from Yukov about some bet they have that neither of them will admit to me. Yukov says little, but his arm is a warm, heavy weight at my side.

I should go back. Ask for my food to be brought upstairs.

But the minutes tick by, and I don’t move.

Boone leans back, his arm stretched alongside the back of the booth behind Mac. His eyes shift frequently between me and his pack, the tautness in his frame softening the longer we sit there until Mac taunts him into an arm wrestle.

“My money’s on Mac,” I say sweetly. His eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, does the truth hurt? I’m pretty sure I could take you.”