Krystian chokes on his bite of eggs, and Zaid’s face turns crimson.
Everett simply arches an eyebrow, unamused. “Excuse me?”
“Is that, like, your superpower?” I query. “Can you look at any woman and be able to tell her exact bra size?” I gesture towards the open window, where an eighty-year-old woman is staggering along the sidewalk. “What about her? Can you tell me her bra size?”
“Yes, Ev. Tell us her bra size.” Krystian’s lips twitch up in amusement.
Everett rolls his eyes and ignores us both, focusing back on his food.
I realize that, out of all the guys, I know him the least—which is saying something, because I barely know the others.
It’s obvious that Everett is a shifter, but what type eludes me.
A wolf? Dragon? Tiger?
Everett freezes with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth.
“What?” he demands, glaring up at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Just trying to figure out what you are,” I confess, shrugging.
“And how’s that working for you?” He snorts derisively and refocuses on his food.
I contemplate him carefully, taking in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the scruff on his jawline, and the tattoos coloring his skin. “You’re a dragon, aren’t you?”
“No.” Everett doesn’t even look my way again.
“You’re totally a dragon.”
“I’m not.” He shakes his head and takes another bite of his food.
“You are.” I turn towards Krystian and Zaid, who are watching the exchange with amusement. “He’s a dragon, isn’t he?”
Krystian winks. “I don’t shift and tell.”
“You don’t shift at all,” Zaid points out, but I notice that he doesn’t confirm or deny my theory either.
The guys finish their meals in silence then spend only a few minutes packing up. I hold on to my bag of supplies, feeling inexplicable warmth in my chest whenever I glance in Everett’s direction.
He bought this for me.
Despite his feelings for me, and his obvious distrust, he still went out of the way to purchase these items, knowing I needed them.
My heart swells, and before I can stop myself, I hurry to Everett’s side.
“Thank you,” I whisper, keeping my voice low so the words are just between the two of us.
I expect him to blow me off or ignore me, the way he usually does, but instead, he appears uncomfortable and grunts out, “You’re welcome.”
We exit the room, and I’m surprised to find Rafe leaning against the “borrowed” car, something clenched tightly in his hand.
“Rafe? Where have you been?” I wonder, skipping towards him.
He extends the object for me to see.
My brows shoot upwards, and my heart picks up speed, ricocheting against my rib cage.
It’s…a bouquet.
