Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

Denver laughed and wiped down the bar. “Now you’ve done it.”

 

 

“Well, maybe they’ll tip me better and it’ll make up for some of the cheap-ass snakes.”

 

“You have lost your mind,” Rosie said with a roll of her eyes. “Jake is going to have a hissy fit.”

 

An entire table of men by the jukebox collected their drinks and moved to my section.

 

“Look what you’ve done!” Rosie said, pointing at my new customers. “Now you’re going to end up with all the alphas, and the girls are not going to like this. Some of their biggest tippers are the Packmasters.”

 

“Rosie, it’s a Shifter bar called Howlers. Maybe you should drop some of the deadweight on the floor and hire a few wolves. Sixty percent of our customers are wolves.”

 

“Incoming,” Denver blurted out.

 

I heard a few girls making sexual sounds, and I got an eyeful when I looked toward the front. Jericho Sexton Cole swaggered in wearing jeans, a leather belt with silver studs, no shirt, and a black blazer. He had on a pair of black sunglasses, even though it was after dark.

 

“He is so working it,” I said with a laugh, watching a sliver of a smile touch his mouth.

 

Jericho and I hadn’t kissed since that morning in his room. He wanted to give me space to get my head together. We’d slowly begun rebuilding our friendship, and I realized that without that solid bond we shared, we’d never be able to make anything serious work between us.

 

“Does he have a show tonight?” Rosie wondered aloud. “I don’t have him on my calendar.”

 

Denver handed me a tray of shots. “Here, Izzy. Your new friends ordered these.”

 

A familiar blonde slinked up to Jericho’s side, so I blew it off and carried drinks over to my table. I didn’t own the man, and I wasn’t about to start acting like an insecure lunatic. I set the glasses in front of the men and caught a few stares. They certainly didn’t like the looks of my wrists.

 

“You got a pack?” the more distinguished one asked. He wore a flannel shirt, and I’d never been a fan of flannel. He was the spitting image of Sean Connery. Minus the sexy accent and the sparkle in his eye.

 

“I’m currently staying with one,” I said.

 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

 

“She has a pack.” Jericho appeared on my right and stood close. “How’s it going, Turner?”

 

“Not bad,” the man replied. “Just got a few boys here who think Izzy is the kind of girl they’d like to know a little better. Respectfully, of course.”

 

“Of course. If she’s interested in them, she’ll let you know. Until then, no recruiting. Comprende?”

 

“I got it,” he said with a laugh that dissipated into a wheeze. “You’re a funny one, Jericho. A little protective for someone who’s had about every woman in this room.” Turner sipped his drink slowly, his eyes still on Jericho.

 

“Will that complete your order?” I said in a clipped tone. “Because I don’t serve anyone who insults my friends. You can stay in my section and play by my rules, or you can mosey on over to Trina’s section and fantasize all you want that she’s a wolf when everyone knows she has hooves.”

 

Jericho rocked with laughter and wrapped his arm around me, guiding me away. “That’s enough, Isabelle. You don’t have to jump to my defense.”

 

“You’re my best friend, and nobody demeans my friends like that. Especially someone who’s paying me.”

 

We kept meandering toward the door, and then he leaned in close. “I’m used to it. Doesn’t matter what they think anymore; I know what I’m all about.”

 

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and we turned to see Denver leaning over the bar with two fingers in his mouth. “She’s still on her shift! You can’t just walk out,” he said, holding out his arms.

 

“Tell Jake I’ll do an extra show,” Jericho yelled back, and that was that.

 

“Where are we going?” I asked.

 

“Someplace.”

 

“That sounds interesting. Hmm. The North Pole?”

 

“Nah. My nipples would freeze.”

 

I stumbled on my shoe and Jericho held me steady as we walked across the parking lot.

 

“Outer space? I’ve always wanted to go there,” I said, completely deadpan.

 

“Nah. The spacesuit would kill my image.”

 

“Disneyland!”

 

“Isabelle.” He scolded me with a tight squeeze. “You know I have an issue with people who wear giant costumes of animals.”

 

“They freak you out.”

 

“They do not freak me out. It’s just creepy as hell.” He opened the door to the blue truck and helped me in.

 

“Admit it, Jericho. Mickey Mouse makes you wet your bed.”

 

He snorted and slammed the door, walking around the front.

 

“You’re going to like this,” he promised, starting up the engine.

 

As we merged into traffic, I was underwhelmed by my attire. “I hope wherever we’re going, they’re not going to give me the stink eye because of my outfit. Do I need to change?”