Bound to love |BxB|

Chapter 7

Atticus' POV

Heyy, this one's gonna be a little filler type of chapter to let you on more into Atticus' world, but I hope you'll enjoy it regardless!

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"Go play UNO, Dexter. This ain't your cup of tea."

I lifted a glass of bourbon to my lips, giving the man at the other side of the round table a lighthearted smirk through the dark beverage.

Dexter stared at me with his cocoa eyes like I would've kicked his family dog down the stairs, every ounce of that deathly glare craving to shred me into pieces, "I'm going to knock your teeth out, you piece of shit."

He growled, slamming his cards down to the table right next to my beautiful row of high-value spades.

Another man seated on the right of me cocked his brows at the table absentmindedly, staring at the mahogany wood with foggy eyes, "You just suck, Dex. He raises everything and you call it. With that."

Silas had been sucked dry far back, and the sullen expression on his face was as depressed as was the number of empty beer bottles at the reach of his hands. He was the example teachers used in high schools to describe a self-caused health hazard.

Pretty sure the guy had burned all of his brain cells by the age of fourteen with that same stuff he was smoking at the very moment.

"I don't care, I'm done with this game!"

Dexter seethed, knocking the table so hard that the multi-coloured poker chips flew everywhere. The red-haired girl next to him rattled up from the exclamation, her annoyance readable letter by letter from her fair features, "Then sit out and shut up. No one's forcing you to play."

Miah muttered at him, earning another glare. Though that glare was stifled as quickly as it had been pointed toward her, the girl's emerald eyes humourless enough to let the man know just how much she could put up with her friend's shit. Which was none. And no doubt she could deliver that message in a much more physical form.

"Whatever. I still think no one likes him," Dexter's bubbling anger faltered a bit, the shouting turning into childish pouting as he sunk into his chair and crossed his arms over his buff chest.

I snorted at him.

"What? You won't invite me to your birthday party?" I exasperated with a sarcastic bite in my voice, with my finger kicking one singular poker chip that had rolled over to me back toward our dealer and the last member of our gathering.

Gael.

"His parties are just women and shit booze, so I think you'll be okay," the man in question retorted, tapping the chip flat against the table before it fell over the edge. Dexter's loud objection flew over my head as I glanced at Gael and lowered the bourbon from my hands, not even trying to hide the bitter amusement on my canny lips. To anyone else, his words would've not probably meant anything, but given our little history, I knew what he was doing.

The werewolf had the most unique features I've ever seen. Dark, stygian hair with snow-white stripes that framed his defined face perfectly, curling toward the end like the claws of a falcon. And a set of eyes that even I couldn't help but submerge into. Blue and green swirls dancing around, both of the colours as intense and unforgiving.

He was hot, but just like the rest of them, annoying and full of himself. A few times with him had been just perfect for me, and nowadays I tried my best to avoid him.

Which obviously hadn't worked out.

He had a record of being the fucking stickiest guy I've been with. Every time he would bring it up and try something new, as if my answer would ever change.