Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

“Grab a seat, baby. I’ll bring them to you.”

 

 

I cupped my elbows and walked around him, scoping out the tables and trying to temper the blush that warmed my skin. Each time I felt the heat on my cheeks, it roused a peculiar smile on his face. A smile I’d never seen on him that gave me tingles—the good kind.

 

The rectangular tables were made of polished wood, and I chose a booth with yellow vinyl seats by the window.

 

When he appeared with two boxes, I laughed quietly. “I can’t believe we’re eating donuts at night. I haven’t done this in a million years.”

 

He slid the boxes onto the table and handed me my drink. I took a sip from the steaming cup and watched him flip open the first box, spinning it around to face me.

 

“Scoot over,” he said. “All the way.”

 

I slid against the window, and Jericho sat beside me with the other box in front of him.

 

He eyed the selection in his box. “I haven’t had a donut since I was with you.”

 

“Are you kidding?”

 

He picked at a candy-coated one and licked his thumb. “It just brought back too many memories. Plus, midnight donut runs were a me and you thing.”

 

Good memories, I thought wistfully.

 

Jericho reached over and removed the lid from my drink. “Dunk away.”

 

He remembered. I broke off a piece of the chocolate-glazed donut and dipped it in my cocoa. “Did you just come from a show?”

 

“Nope,” he said with a mouthful.

 

“Why the outfit?”

 

“We’re going to one,” he mumbled. I almost didn’t understand him because he’d shoved an entire jelly donut into his mouth. The jelly dripped down his chin, and he tried to lick it up with his tongue but couldn’t reach it. I really needed to stop staring.

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat all these. You might pass out on the stage in a sugar-induced coma.”

 

“They’re not all for me.” He lifted his right arm and waved at three guys who had just walked in. “I want you to meet some people, Isabelle. You’ve already met my family, but this is my second family—my band.”

 

Jericho stood up and greeted his friends, clasping hands and bumping shoulders.

 

“Isabelle, this is my drummer, Joker. Once he opens his mouth and puts his foot in it, you’ll know why.”

 

Joker had a sweet face and a slight overbite. He reminded me a little of a young Robert Plant. He scooted in front of me while Jericho patted the shoulder of a man wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses. His inky hair was spiked, and he had three lip rings. You couldn’t tell how old a Shifter was in years by their looks, but he seemed young—like one of those guys who was trying to be cool but wasn’t quite there yet.

 

“This is Ren, my rhythm guitarist who makes me sound good. Ren, have a donut.”

 

When Ren sat down, he leaned his head against the back of the booth and his jaw hung slack, as if he were half-asleep. “Not hungry.”

 

“And I’m Chaz, honey. Bass player and the reason this band sells tickets,” the last guy said. Chaz was a gaunt man with hollow cheeks and acne scars. He tried to hide it with a black goatee that was scruffy and too long.

 

Jericho sat beside me and whispered, “Soon-to-be-fired bass player.”

 

Chaz dragged a chair from a nearby table and sat at the end of the booth. When he reached for my box, Jericho seized his wrist and knocked it away. “No one touches Isabelle’s donuts.”

 

“No problem, sweetie,” Chaz said, giving me a wink. “Just let me know when you want me to finger your hole.”

 

I dunked my donut in my cocoa and let it soak up a little of the drink. “Sure thing. Just let me know when you get your thumb out of your ass and have a free hand.”

 

Joker howled and rapped his hands on the table in a rhythmic flow. “I love her already. So you’re the infamous Izzy Monroe. I’ve been wanting to meet the girl our band was named after.”

 

“How many times have you changed names?”

 

“More than we’ve changed underwear,” he said.

 

Ren chortled. “Speak for yourself.”

 

“You want one?” I slid my box in Joker’s direction. Chaz shot me an irritated glare.

 

“Nah. I’m diabetic.”

 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wave it in front of your face.”

 

“You’re cool. I’m not big on all that anyway. My weakness is ice cream. I can eat tubs and tubs of that shit.”

 

“And he has,” Ren added without so much as lifting his head from his napping position.

 

I finished off my first donut and looked between them. “You guys have a show tonight?”

 

“Big one,” Joker said. “Not just Shifters, but it’s going to be a mixed bag. They’re organizing an outdoor event on five hundred acres of territory some rich asshole owns. Campers are bringing their RVs and tents. It’s supposed to go on for three days.”

 

“Breedstock,” Ren said with a snort.

 

“How come I haven’t heard of this?”