Read Online Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears Book 4) by T. S. Joyce - Free Book Online
Authors: T. S. Joyce
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colder. You’ll be up first.”
Clinton scowled but didn’t argue, and that was some progress right there.
“We should celebrate,” Audrey said, her grin infectious.
“Celebrating nudie pictures?” Bash asked, looking from one face to the next. “That’s weird, but okay!”
“No, Bash Bear,” Audrey said through a giggle. “Celebrating Mason’s return.”
“Return of the pig!” Bash crowed, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Boar,” Mason corrected for the billionth time. Bash’s filter was broken.
Harrison draped his arm over Audrey’s shoulders and said, “There’s a new home cookin’ restaurant that just opened ten minutes from Moosey’s we could try. That Jam’s Chicken House place. I think it’s BYOB.”
“Bring your own boobs,” Bash said excitedly. “I call Emerson!”
“Good God, you moron,” Clinton muttered. “It’s bring your own beer.”
“Fried chicken and mashed potatoes,” Beck said tiredly. “The perfect pre-photoshoot food.”
Everyone scattered quickly, on the hunt for six-packs to load up, but Beck’s smile was sad as she watched the chaos.
“What’s wrong?” Mason asked. “You know they’ll still have hard-bodies even if they ate all the fried chicken in that place. Shifter metabolisms and all.”
“Yeah, I know.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m glad you’re back and that your crew is so happy. Have fun tonight.”
Beck made to head back to 1010, but he grabbed her fingertips just before she slid her hand out of his. “What do you mean? You’re comin’ too, woman.”
“Oh, but this is crew business, and I’m not…” She swallowed and looked around the park. “I have work to do, anyway.”
Mason arched his eyebrows pointedly.
“I don’t want to be a burden—”
Mason leaned down and pressed his lips to hers to quiet her protests. Beck froze under him, her lips in a stiff line, but little by little, she melted against his side, and her lips turned soft. He cupped the back of her neck, reveling in her taste. Squaring up to her, he pulled her tight to his chest and pushed his tongue gently past her lips. And then he smiled against her mouth because she let off the fucking cutest little needy sound in her throat. He’d pulled that noise from her. Him.
Gripping the back of her hair, he brushed his tongue against hers one last time and eased back. Resting his forehead on hers, he kept his eyes closed just to savor the moment. Oooh, Beck Anderson felt huge to him. Bigger than he’d realized until he’d kissed her. “You’re part of the craziness here now, Beck. You’re coming to dinner with us. Go on, hop in my truck, and I’ll get us some beers.”
“Okay,” she murmured. She was gripping his wrists hard, like she wanted him to stay, and damn, something about this little vixen was calling to his boar.
He let her go, gave her his most charming smile, and sauntered off toward his trailer. If he’d stayed locked up with her another minute, he was gonna say something dumb about how she already felt like his and scare her off.
And the thought of Beck leaving now was unimaginable.
Chapter Eight
Mason draped his arm around the back of Beck’s seat and leaned onto two legs of his rustic ladder-back chair. The Boarlanders had eaten dinner on a long table against the far wall of Jam’s Chicken House. It was one of those old-fashioned restaurants with dark wood walls, exposed rafters above, vintage street signs hung everywhere, mismatched tables, and checkered table clothes. There were only a few options for dinner, and all the sides and biscuits were served family-style.
Everyone was cutting up, ribbing each other, laughing louder than anyone else in the restaurant, and for the first five minutes, she’d debated reminding them they had a public image to uphold, but she’d decided against it. Let them laugh. Let them have a good time. If nothing else, the people in this restaurant could see the Boarlanders genuinely
Clinton scowled but didn’t argue, and that was some progress right there.
“We should celebrate,” Audrey said, her grin infectious.
“Celebrating nudie pictures?” Bash asked, looking from one face to the next. “That’s weird, but okay!”
“No, Bash Bear,” Audrey said through a giggle. “Celebrating Mason’s return.”
“Return of the pig!” Bash crowed, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Boar,” Mason corrected for the billionth time. Bash’s filter was broken.
Harrison draped his arm over Audrey’s shoulders and said, “There’s a new home cookin’ restaurant that just opened ten minutes from Moosey’s we could try. That Jam’s Chicken House place. I think it’s BYOB.”
“Bring your own boobs,” Bash said excitedly. “I call Emerson!”
“Good God, you moron,” Clinton muttered. “It’s bring your own beer.”
“Fried chicken and mashed potatoes,” Beck said tiredly. “The perfect pre-photoshoot food.”
Everyone scattered quickly, on the hunt for six-packs to load up, but Beck’s smile was sad as she watched the chaos.
“What’s wrong?” Mason asked. “You know they’ll still have hard-bodies even if they ate all the fried chicken in that place. Shifter metabolisms and all.”
“Yeah, I know.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m glad you’re back and that your crew is so happy. Have fun tonight.”
Beck made to head back to 1010, but he grabbed her fingertips just before she slid her hand out of his. “What do you mean? You’re comin’ too, woman.”
“Oh, but this is crew business, and I’m not…” She swallowed and looked around the park. “I have work to do, anyway.”
Mason arched his eyebrows pointedly.
“I don’t want to be a burden—”
Mason leaned down and pressed his lips to hers to quiet her protests. Beck froze under him, her lips in a stiff line, but little by little, she melted against his side, and her lips turned soft. He cupped the back of her neck, reveling in her taste. Squaring up to her, he pulled her tight to his chest and pushed his tongue gently past her lips. And then he smiled against her mouth because she let off the fucking cutest little needy sound in her throat. He’d pulled that noise from her. Him.
Gripping the back of her hair, he brushed his tongue against hers one last time and eased back. Resting his forehead on hers, he kept his eyes closed just to savor the moment. Oooh, Beck Anderson felt huge to him. Bigger than he’d realized until he’d kissed her. “You’re part of the craziness here now, Beck. You’re coming to dinner with us. Go on, hop in my truck, and I’ll get us some beers.”
“Okay,” she murmured. She was gripping his wrists hard, like she wanted him to stay, and damn, something about this little vixen was calling to his boar.
He let her go, gave her his most charming smile, and sauntered off toward his trailer. If he’d stayed locked up with her another minute, he was gonna say something dumb about how she already felt like his and scare her off.
And the thought of Beck leaving now was unimaginable.
Chapter Eight
Mason draped his arm around the back of Beck’s seat and leaned onto two legs of his rustic ladder-back chair. The Boarlanders had eaten dinner on a long table against the far wall of Jam’s Chicken House. It was one of those old-fashioned restaurants with dark wood walls, exposed rafters above, vintage street signs hung everywhere, mismatched tables, and checkered table clothes. There were only a few options for dinner, and all the sides and biscuits were served family-style.
Everyone was cutting up, ribbing each other, laughing louder than anyone else in the restaurant, and for the first five minutes, she’d debated reminding them they had a public image to uphold, but she’d decided against it. Let them laugh. Let them have a good time. If nothing else, the people in this restaurant could see the Boarlanders genuinely
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