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So they do. They work various financial jobs. They seem at ease with one another, elbowing each other and snickering over jokes I don’t get.
They seem… nice. A nice pack. They may not be into books—as evidenced by their comments and the complete lack of bookshelves and indeed, books, in their living room, but so what? Not everyone has to be.
Only… my pack should. Totally. Definitely. How can I get along with people who aren’t into books?
And you know the way my dick got so hard just by being around the McGraw Pack? And Brinlee? Right. Not happening here. Nothing. Nada. My dick isn’t interested. Not engaging. Weapons aren’t locked and cocked, sorry.
And what about the rest of me?
I listen to them chatting about their jobs. About their hobbies. They like sports. And wood carving. And videogames—at last, something we have in common!—and vacations.
Yeah, they are nice.
But no part of me is engaged, at all. Not interested enough. Not like with Brinlee. Not like with the McGraw trio.
I kinda lose the thread as they talk, remembering the McGraw pack standing inside my café, arms folded over broad chests, watching me talk to Brinlee. I remember Brinlee’s excitement when I gave her the book—the book she left behind, so that I had to put it away again, and the pain in my chest as I did, as if my heart couldn’t pump properly.
The Ulfrig Pack doesn’t even seem to notice that I’m silent, having fun together, laughing and falling against one another, recalling funny incidents and poking fun at each other.
My cue to leave, I think. Oh shit, I have to tell my parents and Eric that no spark was ignited during this meeting.
‘Give it another try,’ they’ll say. ‘Nobody believes in sparks and insta-love anymore. You like them. Arrange another meeting. Go out for drinks. Find out more about them.’
Question is, do they want to learn more about me?
They do offer to meet again when I get up, giving them some excuse about having to wake up early the next day to work. They offer but I don’t know if it’s just politeness, just a platitude. Do they expect me to say yes?
I hum and nod, not giving a straight answer, and they lead me back to the door, walking along the walls covered in wolf portraits.
They seem to be snarling at me.
What do I want with a pack of wolves? I like bookworms. A completely different kind of animal.
Though, I think of Kyrian and how he dislikes books and… and why am I still thinking about him? Him, and his pack? If he doesn’t care for books, why should I assume the rest of the pack does? They’re probably just like the Ulfrig Pack—into sports, wood whittling, and vacation plans. They don’t run their own business like me, they can take time off and go frolic on beaches, or whatever it is they like to do.
Roll in the mud like wolves?
Wait, that’s the Ulfrig Pack.
But maybe the McGraw Pack isn’t all that different.
I stumble into the Alpha Bet bar, not even sure what I’m doing here. It’s early, but thankfully the door is open. I don’t see any bouncer, or anyone else as I walk inside.
I want… to see them.
See how I feel once more, see if I really feel differently with them than with the Ulfrig Pack. I wish I could find Brinlee, too, but I have no idea where she could be, whereas they… they work here, right?
After a moment’s hesitation, I venture deeper into the silent bar. It seems huge without the usual throng of people and the loud music. A man is mopping between the few tables at the far end but he barely pays me any attention, just a nod of his head as he goes on mopping.
I’d worry that they aren’t careful about security, but I see cameras in the corners of the room. Then a barman sidles behind the bar, also nodding at me.
“We aren’t open yet,” he says. “Looking for somebody?”
“Archer,” I blurt out. “He’s?—”
“That office.” He points. “He’s the boss around here.”
“The boss. Right. Thank you.” I hurry in the direction he’s pointing at. The door is black and on it, in golden letters it says… ‘The Boss.’
