Page 43 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

“That’s okay,” Alana says with a bashful laugh. “My dad always has extra of everything. You can borrow one of his if you’d like. No pressure, though. I, um, know that I’ve kept you longer than you planned already.”

Even though she says that, there’s a hopeful look in her eyes that Cyrus is, once again, struggling to refuse. His mouth falls open in an attempt to tell her he really should head back. But he sighs, defeated, then stands to dust the nonexistent wrinkles out from his t-shirt. “Who am I to deny the birthday girl?”

When Alana sparkles at him, Cyrus’ heart skips a few beats, the annoying thing.

“He’s in, guys!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CYRUS

Grabbing Cyrus by the wrist, Alana leads him into the house. They step through the sliding glass doors that lead into the kitchen, where a pair of aunties are making the finishing touches on all the food. Alana blurts out her hellos and goodbyes in the same sentence, and Cyrus barely manages a polite nod before he’s pulled upstairs. He hears them laugh as they return to their conversation.

Upstairs, Cyrus waits in the hallway as Alana lets herself into one of the main rooms. She comes out a few minutes later with some different options, none of which seem suitable for his…stature. Alana’s father isn’t a small man by any means. They were introduced during cards, and he stood maybe an inch or two shorter than Cyrus, at most. But he sure as hell didn’t have the same wolfish waistline or thighs to worry about. The shorts Alana holds up make him question whether he’s attending a barbecue or one of those shirtless car wash charity events he’s certainly never done before.

“I’m not quite sure these are going to work for me,” he says as he examines himself. “They look a little, uh, tight.”

Alana waves his worries off. “They stretch, don’t worry.” She hands them both to him so he can pick his poison, then points her thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be out here when you’re ready.”

Sure enough, he finds that Alana was right—they do have some stretch to them. Well, somewhat. It’s enough to make sure he isn’t completely indecent. The blue fish design is stretched thin, and the cut hits low on his hips, showing off a thick happy trail. Cyrus steps out with his shirt and jeans balled up into a pile in his hands. Alana is waiting for him as promised, her back against the wall while she scrolls on her phone. When she looks up, he swears sparks fly from her screen with how hard she clenches the device in her hand.

“Wow,” she whispers, eyes roaming his body. “I, uh, guess I underestimated how big you are.”

A grin slowly spreads across Cyrus’ features. “Aw, shucks. I must not have made a lasting impression if you’ve forgotten that already.” His voice lowers, canines bared. “These shorts weren’t the only thing we’ve been worried about me fitting in, if you recall.”

Alana’s jaw goes slack, and she resorts to violence again. She smacks his chest and arms, face red. “Shut up. You’re such a child!”

“Careful, now,” Cyrus taunts. “If I’m a child, what does that make you?” He sticks his tongue out at her.

Alana gasps, eyes narrowing at him. “Fine,” she grumbles.

“Slut, then.”

“Says the woman who hired me to defile her.”

Alana’s mouth opens as if she wants to argue, but the words fall short. She snatches his clothes from him to put aside for later. “You’re insufferable,” she mumbles, but there’s a note of affection hidden there.

Cyrus keeps that in his pocket while they make their way back downstairs, opting to avoid the stares of the old aunties on his way out. One of them murmurs an “oh my heavens” as he closes the door behind them onto the patio. The rest of the family’s reactions aren’t much different. It’s like a record scratches when he steps outside. All eyes are on Cyrus; Alana’s mother grins in his peripheral vision, and her father gripes about his shorts needing to be thrown out after this. Valid complaint, really. Cyrus makes a mental note to have a few replacement pairs sent to him out of courtesy.

“Well, damn! Glad you could join us. Are you coming from the strip club?” Citlalli catcalls with an impressive wolf whistle. Her appearance is more feline than when Cyrus last saw her. Sharp teeth and intricate rosettes look tattooed onto her skin like faded henna.

As Cyrus enters the water, he splashes a wave over her. “These were the only options I had available!”

“Uh, huh. Riiiight,” she drawls, sarcasm in every drag of her words. “Anyway, have you ever played a thing called chicken ball, big guy?”

Cyrus blinks. “Can’t say that I have?”

Citlalli’s grin shifts into something downright lawless.

“Okay, this is going to be fun.”

Before Cyrus knows it, he’s pushed in Alana’s direction so aggressively that they practically fall into each other. Alana’s chest hits his torso. Cyrus takes a step back in an attempt to be respectful of her space, and his hand finds a place on the side of his neck. Alana clears her throat from beside him as she creates distance. Distance that’s immediately diminished when Connor comes barreling over and inserts himself between them. He slings an arm around each of their shoulders and drags them all together in an impromptu group hug of sorts.

“Cyrus!” he bellows, his laughter echoing out as if speaking through a bullhorn. “What’s good, man? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

It isn’t often Cyrus comes across folks who can knock him off his feet, but Connor’s embrace stumbles him, sending him falling straight into his chest, where soaked hair sticks to the side of his face. Cyrus grimaces at the contact. The minotaur lets go with another hardy laugh and slaps his back hard enough to leave an imprint.

Cyrus swallows a hiss of pain, eye twitching and jaw tense. “Yeah. Good to see you,” he murmurs through gritted teeth.