He gave me a two-finger salute and took a drink of his beer. “So, do you want to talk or want a drinking companion? Or I can just f.uck off.”
“No.” I shook my head. I did need a distraction. “I’ll give you the short version. Ex-type person found his mate, didn’t have the decency to even text me. His mate, of course, is beyond gorgeous, and his son, her son, I don't know, is apparently a blessed wolf.”
His mouth opened and then closed. “Blessed wolves don’t get their gifts until they’re eighteen. How old is this ex of yours?” He looked me over as if seeing me for the first time.
“Almost thirty, his mate looked early twenties. I doubt her son is eighteen.” I crossed my arms.
He paused for a moment. “Who is your ex?”
“Ex-type person.” I corrected him.
“Sorry.” He gave me a small smile
