Page 65 of Wanted

Or like he hears it at all.

I’m the center of his attention.

I immediately go back to dabbing the napkin at my face. There must be something on my cheek. I run my hand over my top lip to cover my mouth. Given the way I was eating, I likely have some food stuck between my teeth.

My mother’s recriminations about eating ‘like a lady’ creep up in the back of my mind. But my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’m still very hungry.

This time, though, when I lift my spoon, I do so with intention. I do my best not to attack the remaining chili in my bowl like a ravenous bear that hasn’t eaten in ages. I only barely manage to not lick the remnants of my lunch from the bowl, or pick at the crumbs of the cornbread I demolished.

Chance doesn’t buy my act however, because as soon as I place my spoon down, he picks up my bowl and empty plate to head to the stove. I watch him ladle more chili into the bowl and slices another steaming piece of cornbread.

I don’t realize the smile that’s spread my lips until I say, “Thank you,” as he places my second helping of lunch in front of me.

Embarrassment falls by the wayside as I scoop a spoonful of chili into my mouth. It’s not until I’m halfway through the second serving that my hunger subsides.

It fades away almost as quickly as it came on.

Despite how much I ate, I don’t feel stuffed. I’m content and no longer feeling famished, but I don’t feel as if I need to be rolled out of the door because I’ve eaten so much. As would happen many other times when I overate.

“Some sort of drug to keep you from who you truly are.”

Chance’s words from Dr. Drake’s office come back to me in an instant. I look up at him and again that odd sensation that’s been kicking around in my stomach happens. It’s not hunger, this time.

It’s some sort of longing that I can’t answer because I don’t know what it’s asking for. All I can see is Chance’s beautiful face.

I suddenly hate the fact that we’re surrounded by people. I open and close my mouth a few times trying to ask a question that I don’t even know the words to.

I’m smarter than this. I should be able to formulate a coherent sentence, but the private school education my parents sent me to from elementary school through college is failing me.

A helplessness I can’t explain claws its way up my chest. Just when it feels like a scream or worse is about to burst out of my mouth, a warm cloak envelops me.

Glancing down, I spot a large hand covering mine. Chance squeezes my hand and then rises to his feet, pulling me to stand as well.

“We’re leaving,” he says as a statement of fact.

I don’t even ask why or bother to tell him how rude it is to abruptly leave the table in this manner. All I know is that I want, maybe even need, to follow him. To be alone with him. I ache for his comfort in a way that stalls my breath.

“Breathe, Emery.” His deep and reassuring voice is the balm I need to soothe whatever this ache is.

Chance wraps a long arm around my waist and walks me past his truck down the road. We pass the beautiful houses of his pack, many lined with gardens of flowers or planted crops that are often shared among the pack.

The mountains that surround us provide a modicum of safety from the outside world that brings a slight feeling of peace. But what’s more reassuring is when Chance tightens his arm around me, holding me to his body.

“I’m sorry,” I say when we arrive at his house. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. The words just spill from me like the trained good girl I was raised to be.

“You were having lunch with your pack and because of… whatever’s happening with me you had to leave. I…we should go back. Or maybe you should go alone?—”

My incoherent rant is cut off by Chance’s kiss.

It’s not soft or sweet.

I’m grateful it isn’t.

He kisses me like he’s a man running out of time. The kiss is insistent. As if he’s savoring every second of it.

I throw my arms around his shoulders, surrendering to everything he’s pouring into this kiss. I receive it all.

Too soon, though, he pulls back.