He’d long ago told Aspen about the years he’d spent at the Crescent Pride. He’d been surprised when she teared up, though not nearly as surprised as when she went ape-shit and declared an intention to execute every member. She’d been eleven-years-old at the time, and her outrage had touched him when few things did.
“You didn’t tell me you’d seen Julius near the parking lot,” said Aspen.
“I planned to, although I don’t consider it a big deal. But since you overheard the conversation I had with Sheridan and the others, I didn’t need to.”
“I remember the stuff you told me about Julius. None of it was good. Do you think Sheridan’s right to worry that Julius might come at you?”
Camden shrugged, unconcerned. “You can never really know what someone so unstable will choose to do. Whereas Esme wore a mask to hide her darker side, he never did. I don’t know whether that’s a matter of him not giving a shit or just poor impulse control. I’m not going to waste time out of my day contemplating it. If he comes at me, I’ll deal with it.”
Just then, her cell beeped. As she snatched it from the coffee table, he wondered if the sender of the text message was Grant. The thought alone made Camden’s gut clench.
She snorted at the screen and shook her head. “The girl’s a damn nut.”
“I’m guessing you’re referring to Bailey?”
“She sent me a weird-ass joke about red pandas.”
Camden’s insides untwisted. “Has Grant contacted you again?”
“He may have tried. I blocked his number.” She placed her phone back on the table near their drinks. “Havana’s not very happy with him right now. He apparently turned up at her home earlier demanding to be part of the hunt for whoever’s harassing his yet-to-be-claimed mate.”
Camden’s tiger hissed. “Son of a bitch.”
“Havana and Tate both made it clear he had no right to demand anything related to me unless I accepted his claim on me, which I don’t.”
“He’s going to keep trying to convince you that you’re his mate.” Camden had seen for himself how blindly the male pallas cat believed she belonged to him. Which she absolutely did not. And he found himself needing to know … “Do you wish you were his?”
“No,” she replied simply before shoveling more rice into her mouth. “I barely know him, and I can’t say I’m attracted to him—he’s not really my type. Come to think of it, he’s more your type.”
“I didn’t realize I had a type.”
“You usually go for long, lean, and blond. The surfer dude look. I wonder if your mate has that look going on or if it’ll be one of those cases where your fated mate is the exact opposite of what you usually go for.”
“You assume my mate is a ‘he,’” said Camden, scooping up more noodles.
“I would have thought you would, too. I mean, you seem mostly into men.”
He was into her. No other person—male or female—had ever come close to holding the appeal for him that she did. He didn’t seek out women, because where was the point when he’d only wish they were Aspen?
Peering up at him, she blinked. “What? You’re looking at me weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Just weird. My mascara isn’t all smudged, is it?”
He shook his head.
“Then why’re you staring?”
“Let me move into your spare room and I’ll tell you.”
She exhaled a put-out sigh. “Are we really back to this again?”
“We’ll keep going back to it until you concede that, no, there’s no need for us to live in separate apartments. We will be roommates again at some point. You might as well just give in.”
Aspen would totally admire the guy’s persistence in any other situation. The problem was that he was too used to getting his own way … which was because he often actually did. Camden could be incredibly persuasive when he wished to be. And although he often didn’t really see people, he could project all his focus onto them when it suited him. He could be so utterly compelling that people were eager to please him.
Well, he’d back down eventually. Of course, he probably assumed the same of her. He’d be wrong to do so, because she simply couldn’t give him what he wanted. So they spent the rest of their meal playfully squabbling about it.
Once they were done eating, they tossed all their trash into the takeout bag but didn’t rise from the blanket.
Camden took a swig from his can of soda. “You still going to the Tavern tomorrow night with your girls?”
Aspen nodded. “Uh-huh.” The Tavern was the Olympus Pride’s hangout. “Elle and Bree will be joining us,” she added, referring to two of their pride mates. “I heard that Tate—who, let’s face it, is only going there tomorrow so he can keep an eye on Havana—invited you to head there with him, Luke, and Bree’s mate. You going to go?”