Page 68 of Crashing Tides

I tap the toes of my boots together under the table and twist the edge of a napkin between my fingers. “Badly?”

Duncan’s quick to shake his head. “Not usually. Our relationships don’t usually get as messy as human ones do.”

“OK, so you won’t key my car or anything if we break up?”

A startled glance. “What? No. Why would you—Did someone key your car?”

I don’t want to talk about it. “It wasn’t my car,” I say finally. Before he can ask anything else, I add, “OK, so I shouldn’t date anyone else if I’m dating you. I can do that.” Other than my humiliating (and completely irrelevant) crush on Elarion, there’s no one I’m remotely interested in. “What else?”

“Like I said. We usually dive in headfirst.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s how I usually do things, too.”

“The way you say that, I feel like I should be concerned.”

“It’s called serial monogamy, and I already told you I was a Libra.”

Too late, I realize I never actually mentioned this outside my dream. Fuck.

He doesn’t even comment on this. Just stares me down as he laces his fingers together on the tabletop. “Are you sure? I—This is a big deal to me. More than I can explain.”

“As long as you don’t start stalking me or anything.”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “But if you need to set boundaries⁠—”

“Trust me, I will.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I’m sorry. This is the unsexiest negotiation of all time.”

I shrug, praying it comes across as nonchalant, that it covers up the surge of longing in my chest. “So is this a date?”

Perfect, full lips draw back into a grin. “You know what? Sure.”

“So is sex off the table?” I ask, when we’re back in his car and the heat is blasting on us. I know I probably sound like I’m obsessed, but I need to know where things stand so I don’t fuck anything up.

Duncan jolts in his seat and looks at me. “Uh, no,” he manages. “Not exactly.” His voice is strained.

I’m going to have to do some research on wolf shifters. Something is wrong here, and he either can’t or won’t articulate it. That’s probably a red flag, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now, anyway.

“I’m still confused,” I tell him.

We roll up to a stop sign, then onto the main road. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“So you’re not like, I dunno, promised to someone or anything, right?”

A short laugh. When he takes his eyes off the road to look at me, his expression is warm, almost fond. Something inside of me lights up. I have to squash it down before I get my hopes up. “No. Nothing like that. I told you. Dating is just… hard for my kind. In certain situations.”

I groan internally. “Which kinds of situations?”

He just shakes his head, looking solemn. The more I stare at him, the more I think he’s going to throw up. “I’ll tell you,” he promises eventually. “Just… not right now.”

“You know that’s weird, right?”

“I do. I’m sorry.”

I want to scoff at that, but he actually sounds sorry.

Maybe there’s some sort of code he has to follow. Some reason he can’t tell me anything.