Page 196 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

When we reach the car in the parking garage, he steps ahead, opens the passenger door, and holds it with one hand braced on the frame.

"My lady," he says with a bow.

He is such a cornball.

I love it.

I duck under his arm and slide into the seat, roses in my lap, grinning up at him like an idiot.

I can't wait to see what he's planned.

Chapter 41

Ivy

Thane drives… carefully.

Okay. Thane drives like a grandma, at least with me in the car. Both hands on the wheel, mirrors checked, speed exactly at the limit, not a hair over or under.

It's perfect.

Sitting in a warm, comfortable car with an alpha who signals three full seconds before every lane change feels like a luxury spa treatment after the constant adrenaline that's been simmering inside me for so long.

"You can change the music," he offers. "If you want."

"I like this." It's some soft classic rock station, turned low. I do lean forward to turn it up a little, though. "What I want is to know where we're going. I know it's a restaurant, but what else?"

"How much of a hint do you want?"

"A moderate one?"

"It's by the river."

"Ooh." I settle back in my seat. "That's fancy. All the riverside restaurants are. Should I be scared? Because you're considerably more dressed up than I am."

"No. You're perfect," he murmurs, glancing over.

The streetlights slide over his face in slow strips, gold then shadow then gold, and light up his hair where it brushes his collar. It suits him so fucking much I want to bury my hands in it.

I want to put my hands all over his biceps, too, which strain the shoulders of his suit whenever he turns the wheel.

He catches me looking and reaches up to tug at his collar. Then his lapel. Then he rolls his shoulder against the seat, subtle, like the jacket is slightly too small.

It's snug on him, and I'm noticing a slight thickness to him that wasn't there before. I guess holding a pack of psycho alphas and a maybe equally psycho omega together with his bare hands hasn't just given him a few premature gray hairs at his temples.

Oh yeah. He's getting a massage tonight.

A long one.

Not just because he's fucking hot and I want my hands all over him. I really do want to help him relax. If he doesn't decompress, he's going to spontaneously combust.

"So," he says, his eyes locked on the road. "Fair warning. Another hint. The restaurant is… traditional." He pauses and his thumb taps the wheel. "I know it's not exactly fireworks."

"Fireworks?" I echo curiously.

"Never mind," he says, clearing his throat like he almost spoiled something. "I just, uh, I know I'm the… normal one. Dinner and conversation. I understand if it's not⁠—"

"Thane."