Novak Grizzly

Page 6

Skin as pale as a ghost, dyed blond hair, raven black eyes like her mother’s, and a smattering of dark freckles all over her face and shoulders and chest that no amount of makeup could cover. The rest of her features didn’t really matter much. It was impossible to see past all the freckles. She’d worn thick makeup over her freckled skin for Kagan because he was so concerned about appearances when they went out. She’d justified it as making sacrifices for her man because that’s what love was—sacrifice. But now she thought perhaps she’d been wrong. She didn’t really know what love was, or what it was supposed to be, and she probably never would.
She made her way two trailers down to Kamp’s place and set the borrowed clothes on his porch chair. But when a loud clang sounded from inside, followed by a muttered curse word, she stepped closer to the front door to listen.
“No, jackass, you should just stay right here, where you belong, in this fucking prison and leave her alone. Decision made.” There was a beat of silence, and then “Fuck! I can’t let her just starve tonight. She’s hurt. She needs food to start healing up good.”
When the front door flung open, Remington gasped and stumbled backward, gasping at the pain of landing wrong on her hurt leg. Kamp stood in the doorway, looking just as shocked as she felt, holding a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich and chips.
He inhaled sharply and shoved the plate at her, dislodging three potato chips that tragically fell to the ground. “Here. I made this for you. I swear I didn’t poison it.”
Slowly, Remington reached out and took the offered dinner. “I would never accuse you of poisoning it.”
With a jerky nod, he said, “Good, because I wouldn’t. You’re safe. Okay. Goodnight.” He stepped back into his house and slammed the door closed.
“Uuuuh, Kamp?”
“Yes?” came his muffled reply.
“I brought back your clothes.”
“Leave them on the porch, that’s fine.”
“Okaaay. Did you make a sandwich for you?”
“No. I made three sandwiches for me.”
Oh my God, this man is ridiculous. “Okay, well since you made both of us food, do you want to eat that food together? Instead of both of us eating alone?”
“No. Yes. Nope. Maybe. Probably? Maybe we shouldn’t. No. Definitely no.”
Remington rolled her eyes heavenward, snatched his clothes off the chair, and then barged into his house.
“Your welcome mat says ‘fuck off,’ but I’m not very good at minding directions.”
Kamp snorted. “Clearly.” He scanned the living room and then strode right past her and stacked a bunch of outdoor magazines neatly into a pile. Then he picked up a couple empty glasses off the table and straightened a throw pillow on his leather couch. “Um,” he said, frowning at her. “I’ve never had anyone over.”
“Ever?”
“Well, I’ve only been here for three months and I hate the guys, so…”
“Right. No parties at your place.”
“I don’t have a table yet. I had plans to make one, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”
“Here is good,” she said, taking a seat on the couch. “Your TV is even bigger than the one in 1010.”
Kamp pulled a full plate off the counter and set it on the coffee table next to hers, then made his way back into the kitchen. He popped the tops on two cold beers and settled down beside her, setting one by her plate and one by his. “You say that weird.”
“Say what weird?”
“That house number. You’ve called that trailer 1010 a few times, but your voice goes all soft when you say it.”
“It reminds me of something from back home.”
Kamp took a big bite of his sandwich and gestured to hers. “Eat good. Food will help you heal faster. I can make more if you want.”
“I thought you only made chili dogs,” she teased.
“I only make chili dogs for Rhett because I want that dipshit to get annoyed and leave.”
She nearly choked on a chip with her laughter. “You three are the worst Crew in the world.”
“Agreed. We’re all going to get fired. We can’t even come close to hitting our quotas because we hate each other and fight all the time and eventually just quit early. I hate it. It means less income. I’m not used to quitting early, but it’s hard to care about the guy beside you when he doesn’t care about you.”
“You wish it was better?”
Kamp shrugged. “I wish I wasn’t here.” He gave her a sad smile and reached for the remote. “I’ll let you pick the show so long as it’s not some romantic bullshit with a bunch of kissing. Unless it’s porn.”
Remington giggled and took a giant bite of sandwich. “Admission,” she said around the bite. “This is the first time I’ve felt comfortable eating like a pig in front of a guy.”
“Shut it. There’s no way to not eat like a pig when you have a motherfucking grizzly bear inside of you. I call bullshit.”
“No, it’s true! My ex-boyfriend was human. He got super disturbed if I went werebear on a rack of ribs. Especially in front of his friends.”
“Well, his friends sound lame. And he sounds like a boring moron. A boron. You dated a boron. Congratulations, you found one; they are super rare.”
She shoveled another bite into her maw and said around the food, “He wath a little boring.”
“My ex-girlfriend left me for a hyena shifter.”
“Oooooooooh,” she said in sympathy. “Burn. Wait, aren’t they notorious for having teeny tiny little peckers? I’m offended for you.”
“Thank you! Finally, someone gets it. She told me I wasn’t ‘sensitive enough to meet her emotional needs.’” He did air quotes with his fingers.
“Your ex sounds…ex-hausting.” When he rolled his eyes, she laughed. “Ha, ha, haaaa!” He was smiling, though, so he couldn’t hate her pun that much.
“That one,” she said with a full mouth, pointing to the TV. “I want to see the scores.”
“You watch football?” he asked, looking at her as if he’d found a unicorn or a tricky demon and didn’t know which one quite yet.
“I play fantasy football, and my quarterback is on this team. When did your ex leave you for teeny-peeny?”
“Three years ago. I gave up on the fairer sex after that.”
“Seriously?”
“Look around, Novak. What am I gonna do? Seduce a girl in town and bring her back to my trailer park with my delinquent Crew?”
“One, my friends call me Remi, not Novak. Every time you say that, I feel like one of your bros. Two, you’re hot, and not all girls need a mansion. Some like destructive, mildly psychotic lion shifters with temper problems who put logging blades through houses but also know first aid. Someday, someone is going to stumble into your trailer park and point to you and go, ‘That mess right there is all mine.’”
One of his eyes had turned a light gold while the other stayed green, and his face had softened as he’d watched her talk. “Are you a future-teller like Beaston? Are you saying that will happen?”
“Not at all. You are probably screwed, and no girl is going to live up here in the wilderness with you guys.” She couldn’t control her laughter by the end. He shoved her in the shoulder until she toppled over on the couch and spilled some of her chips.
“God, you’re annoying, Novak,” he said, chuckling. “I’m glad you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“This is a really good sandwich. Your chef skills are on point. Except it’s even yummier with turkey in it.”
When Kamp took a swig of beer, Remi really did try not to stare longingly as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his muscular throat. His lips were perfectly puckered on the lip of the bottle, and his powerful arms stretched the sleeves of his black T-shirt. He smelled like that cologne she’d sniffed on the shirt she’d borrowed. Kamp was yummy.
Remi followed suit and took a long sip of her cold beer, too. “This is good,” she said, studying the label. It was a beer she’d never heard of before called Pen15 Juice. She laughed. “The logo looks like it says penis juice.”