The Enforcer Enigma (San Andreas Shifters #3)

by G.L. Carriger

The cafe was called Bean There, Froth That, because the owner was an idiot. Everyone else called it the Bean.

“Patrick Inis, why didn’t you tell me?” Judd didn’t know Colin could get that loud. “I didn’t know we were friends, Col. Not that kind of friends. I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping rough yourself. Poor student, alone all the time. You sure dress like you’re homeless.” “That’s cause I’ve terrible taste, not lack of resources. You’re an idiot.” Colin’s tone softened to kindness. “But adorable, remember?” “Yes, yes, adorable.” Colin huffed in exasperated fondness.

Judd was absurdly proud of how brilliant Colin was, especially with computers. Judd was too old to be anything but a Luddite. He admired a man who spoke the language of the beeps and clicks.

But you’re old enough to know the damage done, regardless of who did it originally, eventually is your responsibility and not your excuse.

Colin gave a sad lopsided smile. “Family code. Don’t talk about shit that hurts. You’re old, you should know that one.” Judd snorted. “I’m so old I know better, kid.”

“You are beautifully intelligent, infinitely precious, and profoundly lovely,” Judd said. “And if you’d let me, I’d tell you that every day until you believed it.”

Trick was great fun. He was also going to drive the wolf pack completely batty. Judd rather looked forward to it.

Americans didn’t have the concept of afternoon tea, a fact that, even all these years later, Judd still found a grave character flaw.

He was exhausted by several lifetimes spent coping with not just bigotry, but others’ guilt when they witnessed that bigotry. Even though the first came from a place of entitlement and the second from a place of affection, they were both burdens placed on him through no action of his own.

Knitter Floyd was the only human still inside, because Floyd was part of the furniture. Plus, if there was about to be a rumble, Floyd wanted to see it. Frankly, Floyd would probably survive the vampire apocalypse by simply sitting, right the fuck there, knitting forever.

Colin bit his bottom lip to stop a laugh. Was his sainted mother about to have a fit of the vapors? Excellent.