When I finally got a hold of myself and had gulped down a load of Coke to soothe my burning throat, I glanced up to see an utterly chagrined expression on Barton’s face. “Sorry,” he said, his hands spread in supplication. “Didn’t mean to, uh, shock you like that. Guess I’m just direct.” He lowered his voice a little, though there was no one close by. “I’m so used to being around other werewolves who are, shall we say, feral, that I forget humans are distinctly more subtle, particularly when it comes to conversations of this kind.” “It’s okay,” I replied, giving him a tight smile. He was lucky he was cute—I was sure he got away with an awful lot because of his extraordinary looks. God knows Ace did—and not just with me. “I like direct, actually. I just wasn’t expecting it. But now I am, I’m sure we’ll be just fine.” “Good, good.” Barton nodded, then downed the rest of his drink. “Now I’ve thoroughly shown myself up, I’m going to excuse myself for a couple of minutes and go to the bar.
