Hope for the Best, But…

Chapter 12

Hope for the Best, But…

“Look, this stuff isn't going to work,” I said for the millionth time.

Maybe only the fifth or sixth time. But still. Ian and Matthew were both leveling identical glowers at me, their brows furrowed and their arms crossed over their broad chests. I turned a laugh into a cough, and they frowned in unison. I choked down another laugh and leaned back against the kitchen table of the pack house, taking a load off, since it looked like we'd be here arguing for a bit. My ass ached, and the boots I'd found in the pack house's hall closet to cover my stolen super-socks didn't fit quite right. I needed the boots, though, if only to keep Ian from ripping the socks off my feet. He’d actually growled when he saw them on me that morning.

I was finally caffeinated enough to deal with it, though. Ian and I had slept all night tangled up in each other's arms, and he'd slipped out of bed at the crack of dawn, taken a shower, and set a hot cup of coffee down beside