23. Meggie

23

Meggie

" W here are you running off to?" Oz says from behind me as I quietly try to open the front door.

It's late, almost ten, but with the way Dante has every moment of the day planned out for practice, weight training, and team building, there hasn't been time for me to get away. And it's becoming imperative that I get more blockers and suppressants.

"I… um… have a date." Shit, that's definitely not the excuse I should have used. I should have said I'm meeting Emily or something.

He's suddenly close, reaching past me to push the front door closed. His scent surrounds me. The scent of rain showers. Secret rendezvous. Stolen kisses. Humid and hot. Intoxicating.

"You can't go on dates when you're supposed to be in a trial period with our pack."

I roll my eyes, committing to my lie. "We all know that I'm not joining your pack. So this," I wave my hand between us, "doesn't affect my love life."

"What makes you say that?"

"Harrison made it very clear on day one. You don't want betas."

"Ha! How did he explain his girlfriend?"

"Apparently, the Wicked Witch of the Pool has a listening problem."

"Who?"

"Oh," I tug the ends of my hair, feeling slightly sheepish. "That's what Emily and I call Ava."

It's childish and I'm not proud of it, so while Oz laughs, I hurry to change the subject and get out of here. "Look, I'm just meeting someone for a quick drink." I put my hand on the doorknob, trying to give him the hint. "I'm gonna be late."

"Okay, I'll drive you."

"What? No! I can drive myself."

He opens the door. "I'm going out, anyway."

I look him up and down. He's wearing swim trunks and a ratty t-shirt. "No, you're not."

"I am now."

My hands come to my hips. "Where are you going, then?"

"Wherever you're going." His smile is way too cocky.

"Why? What does it matter to you?"

"It's late. I don't like the idea of you being out on your own. If you were really a member of this pack, I'd go with you. So I'm going."

"You're not." I can't have him coming with me to buy illegal drugs.

"Either I drive you or I follow you there. You choose."

"You wouldn't."

He steps even closer, pressing into my space. "Oh, I most definitely would."

"Fine," I huff. "You can drive, but you're not coming in with me."

"You're gonna make me wait out in the cold?" Despite his massive frame and intimidating tattoos, Oz looks almost boyish as he gives me a teasing pout.

"It's eighty-five degrees out!"

"Right, I'll overheat." He nudges my shoulder with his and winks. "I run hot."

"Ugh!" I groan in frustration. "Fine. Do whatever you want, but you're not coming on my date with me. Don't you dare try to sit with us, or talk to us, or embarrass me in any way, got it?"

"Fine by me, baby girl."

He opens the door, strolls ahead of me to his motorcycle, picks a helmet up off the handlebar, and holds it out. I don't take it from him. I've never ridden a motorcycle before. "Can't we take a car?"

He walks back over to where I'm still standing on the porch steps and tucks my hair behind my ears. "I'm a very safe driver, Meggie. I won't let anything happen to you."

Before I can catch my breath from the way his nearness has stolen it out of my lungs, he tugs the helmet over my head and buckles the chin strap for me. Fine, I guess I'm doing this.

"Where to?" he asks.

"Queen City, south of Broad."

Oz climbs on first and reaches back to pat the area behind him. "I've been hunting for a backpack."

Seeing no such rucksack around, I quirk a brow.

"Biker lingo, baby girl. You get to be my backpack." He pats the seat behind him lovingly. "Wrapped around me and holding on tight."

Rolling my eyes, my irritated annoyance takes away the freaked out edge of my worries. I take a deep breath, remind myself why it's so important that I go out tonight, and get on the bike. The engine roars to life beneath me and fear makes me grab hold of Oz's t-shirt as he releases the kickstand and speeds forward.

Before we're out of the neighborhood, I understand the appeal. It's exhilarating. And oddly relaxing. The noise from the engine and the wind whipping past creates a sense of calm even though it's anything but quiet. We can't talk, so we're forced to just be present together in the same space.

When we stop at a light, he uses one hand to disengage my fists from his shirt and pull my arms around his middle, drawing me flush against his back. "I won't bite."

Great, now, all I can think about is his bite on my neck, his bond connecting us.

This close, it's impossible to ignore the subtle undertones of his scent. He's always smelled like summer rain to me, but now, with my nose pressed against him, I pick up on something else, something floral.

Night-blooming jasmine.

I know because my mom had a bush in her garden. I've always loved the way the little white flowers look like stars. Oz smells like passionate kisses in the rain, hidden in a garden under the night sky. Sensual and romantic.

Fucking scent match.

I should have fought harder to drive myself.