Prickly Business (Portland Pack Chronicles Book 1) by Piper Vaughn & Kenzie Cade

Author:Piper Vaughn & Kenzie Cade [Vaughn, Piper]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

DYLAN FELT stir-crazy. Maybe just plain crazy.

With a sigh, he flipped through the channels again. Two hundred fifty-eight of them and nothing on. He wanted to throw the remote. Hard. Hear it shatter against the wall. But he put a muzzle on that urge. Barely. Instead he leaned against the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

This was Avery’s fault. He was driving Dylan insane by holding him at arm’s length.

Of course, Dylan didn’t have any proof other than the short, distracted answers he got from Avery when they talked on the phone. That was only if Avery picked up.

Three days. That’s how long it had been since the talk that clued Dylan in to the fact Avery might be keeping something from him. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Then the call and the shopping adventure with Jaden. And an overall general lack of communication on the verge of radio silence. Had Dylan not called Avery in the first place, he had a feeling he wouldn’t have heard from his mate at all.

It was clear something was bothering Avery, and it was driving Dylan mad.

He glanced down at his phone. To call or not to call. Three days wasn’t that much time, so no, calling again wasn’t an option. And why did he care so damned much? Dylan was the hunter not the hunted. He got what he wanted when he wanted it.

So why was he sitting at home pining over the errant hedgehog?

He wasn’t. That was his answer. Not any longer. In his life, if he’d ever learned one thing, it was that if he wanted something, he had to take it.

Decision made. No more waiting around for Avery to come to him. Dylan was going to his mate.

After throwing on his coat, he snatched up his keys and helmet. Time to find out what was up with Avery.

If nothing else, the ride through the city soothed him. Cathartic—that was the only way to describe the relationship between a man and his bike. The rumbling of the engine, the metal beast that vibrated beneath him, and the open roads—it was everything he loved. Everything he’d ever wanted. It was freedom.

By the time he pulled up in front of Avery’s building, Dylan’s earlier frustration seemed a thing of the past. That was until he looked up at the loft itself and thought about what—or rather, who—waited up there. And fuck if Dylan wasn’t mad at himself for not believing in Avery, but it wasn’t like he could contain the doubts.

Since when did Dylan need to be reassured of anything?

Then again, they’d only been on talking terms—without throwing carefully aimed barbs at each other—for a few weeks.

At the front door, Dylan debated buzzing Avery, but as luck would have it, a man opened the door right before he pressed Avery’s button. Dylan caught the handle and held it open for him. The guy winked at Dylan, and…. Nothing. Not even the tiniest of sparks. He was just Dylan’s type too. Tall, dark, and scruffy.

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