Summary:
Sometimes it’s harder to teach a young dog new tricks.
That’s why werewolves embark on a Howling: a three-year rite of passage in which they’re sent to a group residence to wrestle with their wolfy instincts and assimilate into the Wider World. But Tanner Araya’s Howling is almost over, and he could be called back to his remote pack at any moment. His twenty-first birthday might be his last chance to act on his strongest instinct and finally kiss Chase Denney.
Chase is RA at the Howling residence affectionately dubbed “the Doghouse,” and he takes his job seriously. So seriously that when he realized he was developing feelings for a resident, he forced himself to keep Tanner at a distance. But now that Tanner’s twenty-one, he’s not Chase’s charge any longer. They could be friends or—if Chase is lucky—something more. At least until they both return to their home packs for good, as tradition demands.
It would take a miracle for them to get together—especially when the other Doghouse werewolves insist on “helping.”
Warning: Many Frisbees are harmed in this story, forgiveness is not always easier than permission, and the five-second rule does not apply.
When supernatural secrets collide, it’ll take more than coffee to brew the perfect love.
When Ky Hernández bonded with his familiar, Zuri, his life changed forever. Their connection turned him into a practicing witch and led him to his calling as a medimagical professional. However, it totally tanked his love life—what guy would settle for eternal second place behind a parrot? So Ky keeps his witchy nature under wraps and sticks to hookups with humans, which can never go anywhere. But the mouthwatering barista at the coffee shop next door makes him thirst for more than a caffeine fix.
The charms Ewan Jones uses to appear human are inconvenient, disorienting, and . . . necessary. Ewan and his siblings are achubyddion, metaphysical healers whose powers are coveted by unscrupulous supernatural beings. And let’s face it: all supes are unscrupulous, given the right incentive. He’s grateful for the protections that hide his little family, and for the barista job that keeps them housed and fed. He’s just so lonely. And his regular, Ky, the super-hot, commitment-averse EMT, seems like the perfect candidate for a one-night shot at intimacy. After all, humans are no threat.
It takes a clumsy coffee shop intern, a mysterious werewolf epidemic, and one snarky parrot to unravel their pasts—and give them a chance at a future.
Howling on Hold #1
Chapter 1
Tanner had been staring at his bedroom window in Howling Residence Seven since midnight, waiting for the first day of twenty-one to feel different than the last day of twenty. But as dawn filtered through his blinds, he was still the same not-tall-enough, not-social-enough, not-alpha-enough werewolf that he’d been before he’d crossed that invisible threshold from junior to senior, from provisional pack member to full adult.
Guess it was too much to hope for a magical transformation, some ping that would turn me into a stronger, wiser, more worthy version of me.
A thump outside his closed door drew his attention away from the slow creep of light across the carpet. Whispers, giggles, another thump, a hissed warning. He sighed, turned onto his back, and laced his fingers across his belly.
“You might as well come in, everyone. I know you’re there.”
The door burst open, and the other juniors at Residence Seven—nicknamed the Doghouse—tumbled into the room. They were led, of course, by Jordan, who, at eighteen, was the youngest of them.
“See?” Jordan bounded across the carpet, shaggy brown hair flopping, and leaped onto the foot of Tanner’s bed. Tanner moved his legs just in time. “I told you guys it was okay. It’s his birthday. He doesn’t want to sleep all day!”
Dakota, tall and lanky, locs framing his amiable brown face, flipped Tanner’s desk chair around and straddled it, leaning his arms along its back. “Some people like to sleep in, pup. Ever think of that?”
Jordan scoffed, settling himself on the bed cross-legged, his back against the wall. “Old people, maybe.”
His arms full of—gods help me—wrapped gifts, Gage entered more sedately, although he was grinning as he deposited the packages on top of Tanner. Hector followed, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he balanced a cake in his hands.
“Cake?” Tanner struggled to sit up, gifts sliding off his chest onto the floor. “It can’t be nine in the morning yet. Maybe not even eight.”
Jordan bounced on the mattress. “So?”
As Gage cleared a stack of Tanner’s books off the desk so Hector could slide the cake onto it, Tanner noticed Chase hanging back in the doorway, watching them all with an indulgent smile.
Chase Denney, their RA. Chase Denney, the perfect alpha-in-training. Chase Denney, who still sees me as a kid.
True, weres developed at a slightly slower rate than humans, but it still rankled, imagining that Chase thought Tanner was no more mature than Jordan. At least I don’t dig up the backyard and try to hide the evidence like Jordan does. But Jordan wasn’t even halfway through his first year. Tanner was a third-year resident, with the end of his Howling in sight.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. I don’t want to go back.
When he’d first arrived, his eventual departure was so far in the future that it was easy to pretend it wouldn’t happen. Technically, he had another six months before the three-year residence allowance was up. But in reality, once weres turned twenty-one and passed their assimilation exams, they weren’t bound by the regulations mandating strict supervision and education. Tanner had passed every test with honors. I should have thrown them somehow. Made it look like I still needed the structure and support of the instructors.
But their instructors were supes too, and fooling them was no easy task. Besides, Tanner loved his classes with Dr. MacLeod, their druid professor. Not doing his best, seeing disappointment in Dr. MacLeod’s eyes . . . Well, Tanner couldn’t face that.
Hand-to-hand combat lessons with Mal Kendrick, their fae instructor, were another matter. Tanner and Hector both had problems there—Tanner because he was smaller than all the other guys, and Hector because he didn’t see the point of so much physical exertion. But Mal had laughed, clapped them both on the shoulder, and told them they didn’t need to be enforcers. They only needed to be able to ward off an attack without going wolfy, in case the assailants were human. So Tanner had unfortunately passed those exams too.
Bottom line, nothing was keeping him here other than his desire to stay. As long as he flew under the radar, didn’t cause a ruckus, and didn’t give anyone a reason to report him and remind his uncle that he wasn’t required to stay, maybe he could delay his return until May.
And maybe sometime during those months he’d be able to convince Chase he wasn’t a kid anymore. And then what? Chase wouldn’t be an RA forever. His service requirement was almost over. He’d be returning to his own pack at about the same time Tanner would. Maybe if I do really well, I can apply to be an RA for my own service.
Even if he managed that, Chase would still be gone. But at least I wouldn’t be stuck out in the back of beyond in Imnaha, with no future but a dead-end mill job.
Jordan nudged Tanner’s knees with his foot. “Dude. Come on. Presents! Don’t you want to see what we got you?”
Tanner blinked. “Um. Sure.”
Jordan rolled to his knees and leaned over the edge of the bed, butt in the air. He rummaged among the fallen gifts and retrieved a clumsily wrapped package with its bow askew. It looked like a collapsing layer cake. “Here.” He plopped it onto Tanner’s lap, causing the paper to rip a bit. “Open mine first.”
Gage and Hector settled onto the floor next to the bed, Hector licking what looked like a glob of chocolate frosting off one finger. Chase stayed by the door, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as if he were on his way out. Not joining in our reindeer games. Tanner’s stomach knotted, and not just at the prospect of cake for breakfast. But with Jordan wiggling on the bed, causing it to bounce, eager brown eyes on Tanner’s face, Tanner tried to at least pretend at some enthusiasm.
Tanner turned the package over and eased the tape off the bottom.
Jordan punched the mattress. “Come on! Rip it open! It’s not like you have to save the paper for prosperity.”
“Posterity,” Dakota said. “Nobody could use it again anyway, Jordan. Not after you’ve mangled it.”
Jordan shot Dakota a glare. “Hey. I’ll have you know that’s a stellar wrapping job. You try and wrap six Frisb—” He clapped both hands over his mouth.
Dakota lifted an eyebrow, his grin wide and white. “Gee, Tanner, I wonder what Jordan’s gift could be?”
Tanner laughed and ripped the paper, much to Jordan’s wriggling delight. “Wow. Six Frisbees. That’s—”
“What you want, Jordan,” Gage said. “But Tanner hasn’t been put on toy report three times in the last month.”
Jordan pouted. “Those were accidents. Anybody could have—”
“It’s okay, Jordan.” Tanner put the stack of Frisbees on the floor. “Thank you. It’s a great present.”
Jordan beamed at him. “I know, right? You need extras. Everybody needs extras.”
Tanner leaned over and picked up an improbably thin package, longer than he was tall, with a lump at one end.
“That’s from me,” Gage said. He brushed his sun-streaked hair off his high forehead, but it only flopped forward again, the sides parting over his rather protuberant ears. “Although there’s something included that’s not in the package.”
“Why not?” Jordan said. “Half the fun is in opening the present.”
“Sure, Jordan.” Hector bounced a balled-up piece of wrapping paper off Jordan’s forehead with pinpoint accuracy. “That’s because for you, the paper is another toy.”
Jordan froze, his hand halfway to the paper ball. “You guys just don’t get the point.”
Tanner carefully removed the paper from Gage’s gift. “A fishing pole?”
Gage scooted across the carpet on his butt until he was next to the bed. “It’s the same as my favorite offshore rod. Graphite-fiberglass hybrid. Cork handle. Aluminum oxide glides.”
Jordan flicked the end of the rod with a finger. “What does he need this for?”
“Fishing, of course.” Gage smiled up at Tanner. “The extra part of the gift is that I’ll take you out on one of our pack’s boats and teach you how to use it anytime you want.”
“Thanks, Gage.” Tanner’s voice was a little rough. It wasn’t only Chase who’d become part of his life. The other guys in the house had become his friends too. “I’d like that.”
“Why?” Jordan sounded genuinely perplexed.
“You know what they say.” Gage grinned at Jordan. “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day . . .”
Jordan snorted. “Yeah, but give a wolf a fish and he’ll bury it in the backyard.”
“You bury everything in the backyard,” Hector said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “But you have to admit, Gage, he’s got a point.”
Gage poked Hector’s calf. “Dude. I’m telling you, you’ve gotta try salmon.”
Jordan wrinkled his nose. “Coastal wolves are weird.”
Hector handed Tanner a small, slightly grubby envelope. The Dorito-dust fingerprint on the flap meant Hector had probably sealed it at the end of one of his marathon coding sessions. “This is from me.”
Jordan flopped over and flung his arms out. “Puh-leeeze don’t tell me you got him a gift card.”
“Jordan.” Chase’s calm voice held a gentle reprimand. “We’ve talked about respecting other people’s choices.”
Jordan hung his head. “Sorry, Hector.”
Tanner opened the envelope and drew out a piece of paper—similarly decorated with Dorito dust—that had obviously been torn out of a spiral notebook. When he unfolded it, he saw that Hector had scrawled a URL on it. “Um . . . thanks?”
Hector knee-walked over to the bedside. “Go there to download the game bits. It’s only a prototype, probably not a legit gift, since I’m hoping you’ll give me feedback. You’re good at that.”
Tanner met Hector’s dark eyes, and they shared a look—misfit to misfit. Like Tanner, Hector was an anomaly: he wanted to be a video game developer, not work on his pack’s farm. A little warmth loosened the ball of tension in Tanner’s belly. At least somebody values my opinion. “Thanks. Really.”
“Wait. It’s a game that’s not even finished?” Jordan reached for the paper, but Hector batted his hand away. “What fun is that?”
“Jordan,” Chase warned again.
Jordan whined low in this throat. “I keep forgetting.”
“It’s an awesome gift, Hector. I mean it.”
Hector’s warm brown skin didn’t reveal a blush the way Tanner’s did—thanks to his Irish mother’s genes—but Tanner’s thermal vision detected the wash of blood to Hector’s cheeks. “Happy birthday, man.”
Only two gifts remained—a long, flat box and another envelope. Tanner told the butterflies in his belly to settle down, but he couldn’t help it. One of those gifts had to be from Chase. And I’ll treasure it forever. Even if it was nothing more than a card. Because it would prove—or at least hint—that Tanner was occasionally in Chase’s thoughts.
Gods, I’m pathetic.
He picked up the envelope, which was completely clean. “That’s from me,” Dakota said, relaxed as usual. Nothing ever riled Dakota.
Then the box is from Chase. Something other than a card. Tanner’s mood rocketed, and he eased open the flap with a grin at Jordan, who groaned. The card inside was blank.
Jordan plucked it out of Tanner’s hand, turning it upside down and right side up. “What’s this?”
Tanner snatched it back. “This is mine. Remember Chase’s lecture about boundaries? The one he has to repeat each time you dog Mal’s every move?”
Jordan’s eyebrows bunched in a frown, pink staining his cheeks. “Yeah, but Mal’s fae and you’re were. Neither one of you are human.”
“It still counts, Jordan,” Chase said. “You’re supposed to be applying the lessons to your whole life, not just when humans can see you. That’s what control is all about.”
“Whatever,” Jordan muttered.
Dakota grinned at Tanner. “It’s a rain check for a lift pass. I figure we can take a weekend off sometime this winter, after we all get back from break, and I’ll take you to my pack’s resort and teach you to ski.”
“Ski?” Gage said. “Not snowboard?”
Dakota nudged Gage with a foot. “His choice, surfer dude.”
“Yay!” Jordan bounced up, his earlier shame forgotten. “Road trip!”
Dakota chuckled. “Dude. The present’s for Tanner. Not you.”
Jordan drooped, his big brown eyes wide with the hint of unshed tears. “You mean we’re not invited?”
Dakota maintained a straight face for maybe ten seconds before he burst out laughing. “That sad-puppy face isn’t gonna work on everyone, you know. But yeah. I meant for all of us to go.” He nodded at Chase in the doorway. “Chase too. My mom wants to meet all of you, and my dad’ll cook.” He grinned at Gage. “No seafood though.”
Gage snorted. “No imagination, more like.”
Tanner lifted the last package. It was wrapped in paper decorated with mistletoe and holly and had a snowman gift tag on it.
To: Tanner
From: Hector
Tanner kept his smile from vanishing, although it probably slipped noticeably. Not from Chase. He cleared his throat, tapping the gift tag. “Christmas isn’t until next month.”
Hector shrugged. “Last year’s supply. You know how Dr. MacLeod is always on us—”
“Reduce! Reuse! Recycle!” the guys all chorused.
“Heh. Right.” Tanner unwrapped the gift slowly, ignoring Jordan nearly vibrating with anticipation, then lifted the lid. Inside lay a pocket knife with a polished wooden handle, a little longer than Tanner’s palm. “Wow, Hector. This is beautiful. But you didn’t have to give me two things.”
Hector dug a finger into the carpet. “Well, the other one’s not all that great.”
“It is.” Tanner leaned forward. “Really it is.”
“I wanted to give you something practical too. This’ll come in handy since you’ll be heading back to your pack soon. The knife’s like the one my dad gave me. A little bigger than a Swiss Army. It’s great for cutting vines in the field. I know Wallowa isn’t the same as Umatilla. Your economy is lumber products, not produce, but what the hey, you know?”
“It’s great.” Tanner batted Jordan’s hand as he reached for the knife. “And it is not a toy.”
“I was only going to look at it,” Jordan mumbled. Tanner relented and handed it to him. To give Jordan credit, he handled it with proper respect before returning it.
Tanner looked around at his housemates—his friends—carefully not glancing at Chase. “Thanks, everyone. This has been one of the best birthdays ever.”
Jordan bounced on the mattress so hard he nearly ejected Tanner onto the floor. “What are you talking about? It’s barely started. There’s cake! And tonight—your twenty-oner party at”—he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper—“the Bullpen.”
“Wait. What?” Tanner had no desire to prove his legal adulthood by getting smashed at Portland’s legendary shifter bar. “I don’t—”
“Come on,” Jordan wheedled. “Nobody else turns twenty-one for at least another year. This is our chance to see inside the place.” He wiggled closer. “They have fight pens in the sub-basement. Did you know? My cousin told me all about it.”
“Even if we go to the Bullpen,” Chase said as he walked over from the door, “which is entirely Tanner’s decision, since it’s his birthday, you will not get any closer to the fight pens than the men’s restroom, Jordan. Are we clear?”
“But, Chase—”
“I said, are we clear?”
Jordan plopped back down on his butt. “Crystal.” He hung his head and muttered, “Spoilsport.”
Chase lifted the flap of his messenger bag and pulled out a small square box. He held it out. “This is for you too.”
As Tanner took the box, his gaze snagged on his frayed cuff. Oh gods. I’ve probably got epic bed hair and morning breath, not to mention I’m wearing a sleep T-shirt that’d seen better days when it belonged to my jerk-face cousin Finn. “Th-thanks.” He accepted it with appropriate reverence because Chase.
This time, not even Jordan’s barely contained excitement could make Tanner move quickly, because this was to be savored. Chase had chosen it for him. Wrapped it. Given it to him with his own hands. The moment would have been better if they’d been alone—then Tanner could have opted for the kind of thank-you he’d been dreaming of since the first time he’d seen Chase. The moment would be better if I didn’t look like last season’s scarecrow’s backcountry cousin’s dog.
But it was still a gift from Chase, something Tanner would keep forever, even if it was a box of werewolf-safe chocolates. He’d let them crust over with white bloom before he’d eat a single one. Okay, maybe he’d eat them all except one and keep that one in a glass case forever. Don’t be an idiot. The box is too small for chocolates. Unless it was one of those super-fancy truffles that came one to a box.
Chase tucked his hands into his pockets. “It was delivered for you a couple of days ago with instructions that I was to give it to you on your birthday.”
Tanner’s stomach plummeted. Not from Chase. But that crash of disappointment wasn’t the only reason he wanted to hide under the bed. Or maybe under the house. Because the card tucked under the ribbon was inscribed in his uncle’s careful handwriting. “D-delivered?”
Chase’s brows drew together in a tiny crease. Probably detecting my incipient panic attack. Chase was too good at reading him. Reading them all, really. It’s what made him such a good RA. “FedEx.”
“Oh.” Tanner smoothed the hairs on the back of his neck that had risen at the thought that one of the pack enforcers—or worse, his cousin—might have actually been here, where he’d always felt safe. He glanced at the other guys, who were all watching him expectantly.
Tanner took a deep breath and yanked the ribbon off, then tore the paper savagely enough to meet Jordan’s strict gift-opening standards. The velvet box inside could only hold one thing.
He flipped the top open with his thumbs, and sure enough, his father’s signet—the crest of the Wallowa pack alpha—winked gold at him from its nest of satin.
“Duuude,” Jordan breathed. “Did someone just propose to you?”
Tanner’s choked laugh was buried in the guffaws from the other guys. “Hardly.”
“Do yourself a favor, Jordan,” Dakota said, wiping tears of hilarity from his eyes. “When you’re ready to propose to someone, don’t do it via FedEx. Not if you want ’em to say yes.”
Jordan flopped back against the wall, his arms crossed. “Maybe the person was shy. Maybe they wanted to find out for sure before they got turned down in person, like in those flash mob proposals that go wrong.”
“In that case,” Chase said, his gray eyes glinting in amusement, “I expect they’d arrange a private proposal. However, it’s not likely they’d pop the question in front of everyone except themselves.”
“I guess.” Jordan sat forward, angling his head for a better view of the ring. “So what is it, T?”
“My dad’s signet.” Tanner tried to close the box, but Jordan snatched it out of his hands, despite a warning growl from Chase. “The pack leader’s crest. It’s a replacement, actually. The old one got ruined. Got caught on the machinery at the mill and nearly took Dad’s finger off with it. When he died and my uncle took over as alpha-regent, Uncle Patrick put it in a safety-deposit box.” Tanner swallowed against a lump in his throat. “Waiting for me to come of age.”
“Wow.” Jordan’s eyes were the size of saucers. “That’s so cool. We don’t have anything like that in our pack.”
Dakota lifted an eyebrow and held out an open palm. “May I?” Tanner nodded, so Dakota took the box from Jordan. He lifted the signet carefully and held it in a dusty sunbeam, studying its etched wolf’s head backed by the silhouette of a fir tree. “Did your father actually wear it? I’d think it would be a liability if he had to shift quickly.”
Tanner shrugged. “I don’t really remember much about him. He and my mom died when I was four.” Subtle whining from all of the guys, even Chase, greeted Tanner’s statement, causing his eyes to prickle. “But my uncle said something about it being shift-enabled.”
“That accounts for it,” Chase murmured.
Tanner, ever sensitive to any word out of Chase’s mouth, looked up. “Accounts for what?”
“The magic detectors in the house security system pinged with a low-level maintenance spell when I brought it inside.”
Dakota passed the ring back to Tanner. “You know no artifact can confer pack leadership, don’t you? Not even these days, when challenge-by-combat is outlawed.”
“Yeah, I realize it’s only a symbol. But my uncle, my cousin, and I are the only ones with alpha potential, and my pack is traditional. Really traditional. The pack alpha mantle passes from father to son and I’m the last of the line, so it’s expected.”
Gage coughed into his hand, but it sounded like Bullshit. Which Tanner had to agree with. If only I belonged to a more progressive pack. He’d heard that some of them actually held elections, for Remus’s sake, and passed the leadership around. Not the Wallowa pack. Never the Wallowa pack.
Jordan nudged Tanner’s knee. “Aren’t you going to put it on?”
Tanner shuddered. “No.” He set it aside, resisting the urge to fling it out the window. He’d mastered his instincts to bury things, either valuables or threats, early in his first year at the house, but he’d be happy to dig a very deep hole—maybe to the center of the earth—and drop this in if it meant he could escape his destiny.
Sadly, Dakota was right. The signet didn’t make him the pack alpha. The mantle would fall on his shoulders at 11:52 tonight, the time of his birth, when he was officially twenty-one. He drew a pattern in his blanket with one finger.
“Dude,” Jordan mock-whispered.
Tanner jerked his head up to find Chase smiling down at him, a flattish rectangular package in his hands. “This is from me.”
Tanner stared at Chase for a moment. He did get me a present.
“Tanner,” Jordan whined. “Are you going to open the present or not?”
Tanner jerked out of his fugue. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He folded the paper back. It wasn’t chocolates. It was a book. A hardcover book—Wolves in Legend and Lore—the very book Tanner had mooned over when Chase took them all to Powell’s City of Books for an assimilation outing last week. It was written by a folklorist not much older than Tanner and had only been released that very day. Tanner had picked it up, but before he could buy it, he’d caught Jordan—who was recovering from a flea infestation he’d picked up from some injudicious, er, wallowing—taking off one shoe as though he were about to scratch behind his ear with his foot. So Tanner quickly returned the book to the display table and dragged Jordan to the restroom to douse him with Dr. MacLeod’s druid anti-itch potion.
That night, Tanner had bored the other juniors silly, enthusing about the book. “A serious, scholarly treatment of werewolf history. With contemporary first-person anecdotes. Can you believe it?”
“Contemporary?” Hector asked around a mouthful of pizza. “Doesn’t that mean, like, now?”
“Not in this case. It means the person telling the story lived at the same time as the wolf. Eye-witness accounts. You’ve gotta admit it’s cool. Our people. Our history.”
“But I thought you said all the research was from Europe,” Gage said. “That means they’re not quite our people, are they?”
“It’s as close as we’re likely to get unless the North American packs get better at information sharing. I’m definitely buying that book on our next trip.” Tanner glared at Jordan. “Assuming Jordan keeps clear of the squirrel scat at his next shift.”
“Hey!” Jordan stopped scratching his neck long enough to return Tanner’s glare. “That could have happened to anybody.”
Chase chuckled and passed Tanner a bowl of popcorn. “I think the druid flea bath will be a sufficient deterrent.”
The other guys had drifted off to bed, leaving Tanner with Chase. The two of them had talked into the night about werewolf traditions and politics and the dearth of historical data on supe populations in general. It was the longest one-on-one time he’d ever had with Chase.
Tanner hadn’t made it back to the bookstore. But Chase obviously had. And he’d cared enough to remember.
“This is . . . Wow. I don’t know what to—” He looked up to find Chase smiling down at him. Was that fondness in his gaze? More than fondness? “Thank you.”
“Happy birthday,” Chase murmured, his rich voice resonating in Tanner’s bones.
“Is it time for cake yet?” Jordan asked, bouncing off the bed to land on his feet next to the desk. He lifted one hand, but before he could swipe a finger through the frosting, Hector grabbed him around the chest and towed him backward out of the room. “Hey!”
Chase chuckled as Gage and Dakota ambled out in their wake. “The last time I checked, there were waffles happening in the kitchen, but with both Jordan and Hector heading that way, you might want to hurry, or you’ll miss out.”
“That’s okay.” Tanner glanced sidelong at the signet box. “I’m not that hungry. And if I feel a bit peckish?” He gestured to his desk. “There’s cake.”
Chase gripped Tanner’s shoulder, his palm warm through Tanner’s T-shirt. “Seriously, though. I know the twenty-oner party at the Bullpen is kind of a Doghouse tradition, but if you don’t want to face it, we don’t have to go. After all, you and I are the only ones who are of legal drinking age, and the preventative spells at the Bullpen are proof against the most sophisticated fake ID, even assuming any of the guys could get one past me.”
Tanner was still mesmerized by the pressure of Chase’s hand. “I’m, um, not technically twenty-one until almost midnight. Maybe I shouldn’t drink either.”
“The spells are tuned to the date, not the time, so you’re good.” Chase’s eyebrows pinched again. “If you’re really sure you want to.”
Tanner pulled himself together. “No. I don’t mind. Besides, if I bailed on another rite of passage, I’d sink even lower in Jordan’s esteem.”
“Well, we can’t have that!” After a final squeeze, Chase let go and walked to the door. “I’ve got a meeting with the Assimilation Board this morning.” He patted his messenger bag. “I’ll file your exam results with them, and you’ll be officially released from the necessity of supervised shifts.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“Hey, it’s my job.” Chase’s smile held a trace of melancholy, unless Tanner was projecting his own feelings. As usual. “And Tanner? If anyone deserves a happy birthday, it’s you. I hope you get whatever you want.”
Chase closed the door gently behind himself, and Tanner sighed. “Unfortunately,” he murmured as he climbed out of bed, “what I want is you.”
Witch Under Wraps #2
Chapter One
“Stupid.”
“Come on, Zuri. Don’t be like that. Our shift doesn’t start for another half hour.” Though Ky Hernández resigned himself to at least twice that long to coax Zuri out of her snit. He shrugged into his windbreaker, settling it over his uniform shirt. To humans, the logo emblazoned on the back would read United Memorial EMT. But to other supes? United Memorial SMT. “I’ll be gone ten minutes, tops. I promise.”
Zuri, of course, didn’t buy it. She mantled her wings and sidled across her perch in the hospital’s staff lounge until she was as far from him as possible. Yeah, even literal birdbrains don’t believe my lines. Ky stroked the soft gray feathers on her back.
“I’m just grabbing some coffee, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
She flicked her tail, and Ky sighed.
“Hola, hermano.” Ky’s brother Wash ambled in from the corridor, a jacket over his scrubs, and his amiable brown face wreathed in a wide smile: his default expression lately. “What’s got Zuri’s tail feathers in a bunch this morning?”
“She’s mad because she can’t go with me to get coffee.”
“Why can’t she?” Wash extended a finger, and Zuri butted her head against it. “Familiars are allowed in the cafeteria.”
“Because I’m not going to the cafeteria. I’m heading next door to Wonderful Mug, and human businesses don’t take kindly to livestock—” Zuri squawked indignantly “—sorry, nonhuman entities—invading their premises unless they’re service animals, and I don’t think anybody will buy an African Grey parrot as a service animal.”
“Stupid,” Zuri muttered.
“Aw, don’t worry, princess. I know you’re kickass.” Wash held out his fist so Zuri could hop onto it, and then brought her up to his face. “You can do whatever you set your mind to. If you can keep my muleheaded brother in line, you can do anything.” Zuri stroked her head against Wash’s jaw.
Ky snorted. “Oh sure. She’s sweet with you.”
Wash grinned at Ky as he transferred Zuri back to her perch. “That’s because I’m her cool gay uncle.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a shelled pistachio. “Here you go, princess.” She took the nut delicately—then turned her back on Ky again.
“I give up,” he grumbled as his work partner, Pete Cotton, wandered in, rubbing his eyes.
“Heeey!” Wash clapped Pete on the shoulder. “How’s it going, Cottonballs?”
Pete glowered at Wash, although his lips twitched as if he were hiding a smile. “I’m going to murder you someday, Hernández. Just because I’m a jackrabbit shifter—”
“Nah, it has nothing to do with that. The name is just too easy.”
Zuri’s head bobbed up and down, and she shifted from one foot to the other. “Bunny Foo Foo.”
“Why me?” Pete groaned. He collapsed onto the uncomfortable sofa, not stirring when Zuri fluttered over and landed on top of his head.
Ky grinned down at him. “She learns new words through repetition, so it’s your own fault for letting your kids sing that ridiculous song to her for three hours straight the last time we were over for dinner.”
Pete flipped him off without opening his eyes.
“Get off your ass and come to Wonderful Mug with me so we can grab coffee before shift.”
“You guys need to get over your weird aversion to the cafeteria,” Wash said. “Since that brownie who used to run the Faerie King’s kitchen took over, the food is stellar, and rumor has it they use druid-blessed coffee beans.”
“I like Wonderful Mug.” Ky pretended to be having trouble with his windbreaker’s zipper. “Habit.”
Pete cracked an eye open and stage-whispered to Wash. “Ask him why he really wants to go.”
Wash perked right up. “Oho. There’s an ulterior motive at work? Outstanding. This I gotta see. Let’s go.” He grabbed Ky’s elbow and hauled him out the door.
“Bring me back a triple espresso,” Pete called. “The baby’s teething and I was up all night.”
Wash looked over his shoulder as they headed for the stairwell. “How many kids does this make for Pete and Molly?”
“Four.”
He whistled. “Wow. They’re breeding like—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—rabbits.”
Ky punched Wash in the arm. “I told you not to say it.”
“Yeah, but since when do I listen to you?”
“Good point.” Ky trotted down the stairs to the staff entrance and held the door for Wash. “How’s your internship with Dr. Mori going?”
Wash beamed. “Aces. She’s had AJ and me sitting in on clinic appointments to test our diagnostic capabilities. So far? Pew!” He lifted his hand in the air like a rocket launching. “The sky’s the limit.”
Since forming an unheard-of bond with his demon boyfriend, Wash had made the leap from orderly to medimagical staff, something he’d dreamed about since he and Ky had been kids at the orphanage. He’d never been able to attract a familiar, and without one, any witch who identified as male was effectively magic-null. Familiars—always female—were required to act as intermediaries to access the Triple Goddess’s power. The coven council was still debating whether Wash was technically a witch at all, since the magic he tapped into was AJ’s, and not the Goddess’s.
But as far as Ky was concerned, the council could shove it. Anything was worth the spring in Wash’s step, the sparkle in his eyes, the grin that held no hint of regret or self-doubt. “I’m surprised you wanted to come along without AJ. You two have been attached at the hip lately.”
Wash leered at him. “That’s not the only place we’ve been attached.”
Ky clapped his hands over his ears. “Stop. I don’t want to hear details about my brother’s sex life.”
“Consider it payback for the many times I’ve had to listen to you grouse about your revolving-door relationships.”
Although the early June breeze was still chilly, that’s not why Ky hunched his shoulders. “You know why long-term relationships aren’t possible for witches.”
“Estúpido, just because you’re committed for life to your familiar doesn’t mean you can’t have another relationship too. Look at Papi and Jefe. They’ve been together for over a hundred years.”
Great, now Wash is calling me stupid too. Ky got enough of that from Zuri. “Yeah, but they fell in love before either of them bonded.”
Wash poked Ky’s biceps. “But their bonds didn’t diminish their commitment. I think you’re using Zuri as an excuse to be a manwhore.”
“Shut up.” Ky tugged on his jacket irritably. Their adoptive fathers’ relationship had been his ideal from the time they’d plucked him and Wash from the orphanage. He wanted to fall in love like that. He dreamed of falling in love. He’d tried to fall in love more times than he could count. If his familiar bond wasn’t the reason he’d never succeeded, then why the fuck couldn’t he manage it? “So where is AJ?”
“He’s meeting with Dr. Mori about some moldy old books she wants him to translate.” Wash’s expression turned dreamy. “Have I told you he can read any language?”
Ky sighed, maybe a shade overdramatically, but it was better than giving into flat-out envy and punching the man who might not be a brother by blood, but was definitely a brother by heart. “You may have mentioned it once or twice.”
“And perfect recall.”
“Yep. Heard that too.”
Wash grinned. “Dr. Mori keeps asking him if he can be in two places at once. He can remember everything that happens in the clinic appointments and can write it out faster than a transcriptionist can type.” His expression darkened. “AJ said he’d be willing to do the work, since he doesn’t technically have to sleep, but he’s been exploited enough. I’ll make sure she doesn’t overwork him.”
“You mean no more than she overworks any of her staff?” Ky drawled.
Wash snorted. “A point. But yeah. Demons like AJ, or that guy who’s working for Quest Investigations—they’ve never been in a position to demand rights before. It’s up to us to behave like decent supes and treat them like they deserve.” His face cleared, settling back into its new contented lines. “How’s your job been?”
Ky was forcing himself not to race down the sidewalk. “Surprisingly slow. Since the Faerie King set up the Fae Transportation Agency, many supes who’d have called for emergency transport before are taking the FTA to the walk-in clinic instead.”
Wash nodded. “That explains why the clinic has been so busy.”
“Seeing lots of interesting stuff to test AJ’s diagnostic mojo on?”
“Nah. Lately it’s been nothing but werewolves with the sniffles.”
“Easy, then.”
“Are you kidding? Nobody whines louder than an alpha were with a snootful of snot. I didn’t think weres could catch a cold, but it’s like there’s an epidemic.”
“Maybe they all caught it from each other in one of those meetings about pack restructuring.”
Wash chuckled. “Could be. I understand those got a little heated, and there’s not a pack alpha I’ve ever met who could resist getting all up in a challenger’s face. Even if they’re just debating what sandwiches to order for lunch.”
Ky led Wash past the wide front windows of Wonderful Mug. Its neon logo—a purple mug with steam wreathing the suggestion of a hooded eye—was bright in the gray morning. He held the door, but Wash stopped, studying the sign and the crowd inside.
“Seems popular. But what has it got that the cafeteria doesn’t?”
“Shut up and get inside.”
Wash strolled in, and Ky followed, although he paused at the door to make sure his collar was straight and to smooth his hands along the sides of his high-top fade. Then he took his place in the order line, unable to prevent an appreciative grin.
Wash glanced between Ky and the counter, and his expression morphed into one of unholy glee. “Oho! This is why the princess was busting your balls. It’s got nothing to do with the coffee.” He snickered. “Well, not the end product anyway. Guess you’re more of a process person.”
“She doesn’t know about him.” And I’m keeping it that way for now.
Wash snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. She knows everything. She’s your familiar.”
“Keep it down, asshole,” Ky muttered. “Yeah, she’s my familiar, not my father. Neither are you, by the way, so back off.”
“Somebody has to call you on your shit. You’re pissing off Zuri so you could flirt with a barista.” He leaned closer and whispered, “And another human? Goddess bless, Ky, are you insane?”
Ky kept his gaze fixed straight-ahead, although it wasn’t because he didn’t want to look at Wash—at least not much. But given the choice between glaring at his brother and feasting his eyes on Ewan, the beautiful man behind the espresso machine, there was no contest. “That’s a very insensitive comment coming from a healthcare professional.”
“Don’t try to deflect. Two minutes ago, you were moaning about being unable to form a long-term relationship. So why start up something that you know can’t go anywhere? It’s like you want to fail. Or at least want to blame the Secrecy Pact for your pathetic track record.”
Ky sighed. “I’m getting a cup of coffee, Wash, not declaring my undying devotion to anyone.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Wash murmured. He narrowed his eyes, his head tilted to one side. “He’s cute, I’ll give you that. Although he doesn’t hold a candle to AJ.”
“You—”
At that moment, Ewan glanced up and met Ky’s gaze, his breathtaking smile dawning even as he filled another customer’s order. Ky’s insides did a little jig. Goddess, that mouth.
“Earth to Ky. I what?”
He focused on Wash with difficulty. “You, uh, don’t think anybody holds a candle to AJ.”
“Well, they don’t,” Wash said, matter-of-factly.
“So you didn’t mind moving out of your apartment—which you waited for over a year to get, I might add—into one that’s less convenient and frankly ugly to swap the gas stove for an electric one?” AJ, for some reason best known to his demon progenitor, couldn’t work with fire. At all.
“It’s worth it,” Wash said simply. “He’s worth way more than a change of address or appliances. Someday, you’ll get it.”
“Yeah, right,” Ky scoffed as their line inched forward.
“Last time you flirted with a guy—number eighty bazillion in your string of humans, wasn’t he?—he dumped your ass cold because your version of dating was too freaking painful. What was it he said?” Wash squinted up at the ceiling, tapping his chin. “Oh yes. That you were a closed-off, commitment-averse asshole who couldn’t sustain a relationship in an iron lung.” Wash grinned. “The guys before him said much the same, but I gave that one props for the medical reference.”
“It would have ended anyway. You know my reasons.” Ky shuffled another step closer to the counter.
“Yeah, yeah. The familiar bond precludes all others, blah blah blah, natural consequences, blah blah blah.” He poked Ky’s ribs with a sharp elbow. “I’m telling you, that logic doesn’t apply once you figure out what you’re willing to give up.”
Ky scowled. “I’d never give up Zuri.”
“Of course not. But you could stand to give up using her as an excuse.”
“Whatever,” Ky muttered.
When they were two customers from the front of the line, Ewan met Ky’s gaze again through a haze of steam. He grinned, those killer dimples popping in his lean cheeks.
“Morning, Kentucky. The usual, I presume?”
“Right as usual, Ewan. Plus a triple espresso for Pete.”
Wash whispered out of the side of his mouth. “You told him your real name?”
Ky didn’t stop smiling at Ewan, because that would have been an impossibility. “It’s my Mug name. Everyone has one.”
As if to underscore Ky’s point, Ewan set a cup on the counter and called, “Thor, caramel macchiato.”
“See?”
Wash’s expression was the definition of skeptical. “Yeah, but I doubt that guy’s name is actually Thor. You never tell anyone your real name, especially not your human hookups. Which may be the only reason the coven council hasn’t sanctioned your ass. None of your dates can find you afterward.”
Wash . . . might have a point, but Ky wasn’t ready to admit it yet. “Based on your one-star review of my performance, why would any of them try?”
“Goddess knows I wouldn’t if I were them. You sabotage every relationship before it even starts. I’m amazed you actually let one real thing slip. Watch out.” He grinned evilly. “Someone might catch you this time.”
Heat rushed up Ky’s throat. For once I wouldn’t mind. Still, he refused to let Wash win. “Using my name here doesn’t count as real, and I’ll prove it.” He leaned around the customer in front of him. “Hey, Ewan,” he called, “I’d like to introduce you to my brother. Washington.”
Ewan smirked. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” He placed another cup on the counter and called out, “Gandalf, soy latte, double vanilla shot.”
Ky slid a glance at Wash. “See? Nobody believes it, even when it’s true.” Hiding in plain sight was definitely a thing. It’s how the supe community functioned. And restricting his sex life to humans was how he functioned. No fear of messy strings or messier explanations.
Wash only shook his head and ordered a flat white for himself and a chai latte for AJ, then they both moved into the register line, which gave Ky an excellent vantage point for watching Ewan work.
He was good at multitasking, his long-fingered hands deft as he lowered the steam nozzle into a gleaming silver pitcher. “Good weekend, Kentucky?”
Dimples again. Gah. Shoot me now. Ky’s answering smile was probably just this side of sappy. Or maybe one step beyond. Wash snorted behind him, and Ky shot an elbow backward into his ribs. “I was on night shift, so it could have been better.”
Ewan wrinkled his nose. “Ah. No wonder I didn’t see you in here.”
Ky had been tempted to come in early so he could get his daily dose of Ewan, which was fast becoming a drug. Flirtation hadn’t won out over fatigue yet, although Ky’s obsession had been growing exponentially over the last couple of months, Ewan’s smile catching him in the chest more every day.
Ky’s last temporary boyfriend, Trevor, had dragged him into Wonderful Mug back in March. In fact, that might be why Trevor had been extra temporary—he had objected to the way Ky had flirted with Ewan over the milk steamer. No great loss. Zuri hated the guy and vice versa. Once Trevor had taken off in a huff, Ky started coming into the Mug on days when he didn’t have a shift, despite the perfectly good Peet’s near his apartment.
Ky handed his credit card to the cashier, a petite woman called Sierra whose warm brown skin was the same shade as Wash’s. Who knew if that was actually her name or if the employees had Mug names as well as the customers. He frowned, his gaze wandering down to Ewan’s stellar ass. Is Ewan really his name? And all of a sudden, knowing that little bit of truth became the most important thing in Ky’s life.
He accepted his receipt and card from Sierra and stepped aside so Wash could pay for his order. “So, Ewan.” Ky’s voice tried to get lost somewhere south of his throat when Ewan raised his gull-wing brows in inquiry. “Is your name really Ewan?”
His mouth tilted to the side. “Is your name really Kentucky?”
“Actually, it is.”
“Uh-huh.”
Wash tucked his wallet back into his pocket. “It is. Really. And mine’s really Washington, like he said, although we go by Ky and Wash.” Wash grinned, and Ewan grinned back—Wash’s smile had always been infectious, the fucker. “Blame the folks at the orphanage who didn’t have any more imagination than to name the kids after states.”
Ewan let out a surprised laugh, and Ky’s breath caught. I’ve never heard him laugh before. Somehow, it seemed to reach right inside and lift Ky’s mood about a hundred degrees. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish.” Wash leaned against the counter. “Ky and I did okay. So did Virginia and Montana. But poor New Hampshire has a terrible time.”
Ewan shook his head. “Now I know you’re putting me on.”
“Wanna see our IDs?”
“Maybe later. I—”
Sierra captured Ewan’s attention, so Ky gripped Wash’s elbow and pulled him a few steps away from the counter. “What the hell, Wash?” he whispered. “I thought you were the one who freaked because I gave my real name to a human.”
“That was before I saw the way you looked at him.” Wash clucked his tongue. “You’ve got it bad.”
Ky scowled. “I don’t.” He shifted his gaze to Ewan, who happened to glance over at the same moment, turning Ky’s knees to jelly.
“You so do.” Wash nodded in Ewan’s direction. “He’s into you too.”
“He is?” Ky practically did a pirouette, putting his back to Ewan so he wouldn’t be tempted to gawp. “I mean, is he?”
“Judging by the way he’s been peeking at you from under those ridiculously long lashes? I’d say it’s a lock.” Wash rocked back on his heels. “You’ve got tomorrow off, and if he works the early shift at a coffee shop, he’ll probably be free in the evening. Why not ask him out?”
Ky choked on his own spit. “Wh-what? Aren’t you the guy who was just warning me about”—he lowered his voice—“consorting with humans?”
Wash snickered. “‘Consorting’? Is that what you call it?”
Ky scowled at him. “Shut up.”
This time, Wash flat-out laughed. “Goddess, Ky, we’re not twelve. You’re acting like—”
A crash from across the shop made Ky flinch, but at least it shut Wash up.
“Sorry! Sorry! Don’t worry. I’ve got this!” A lanky kid in a Wonderful Mug apron was crouched on the floor amid shattered crockery. He started to gather the shards into his apron.
“Jordan,” Sierra called. “Go get the broom. Don’t try—”
“Ow!” Jordan stuck his index finger into his mouth.
Sierra sighed. “I’d better tell George we need the first aid kit again.”
“It’s still under the register from last time.”
“I’m okay,” Jordan said around his finger. “It’s only a scratch.”
Seizing the excuse to escape from his brother’s scrutiny, Ky strode across the shop. After all, this was his job. He hunkered down to where Jordan knelt in a puddle of murky coffee. The kid’s jeans are going to be soaked. He held out his hand. “I’m a paramedic. Will you let me see?”
Jordan pushed his floppy brown hair off his forehead, his bright dark eyes meeting Ky’s. “It really is nothing. I mean, worse happens all the time.” He waggled the fingers of his other hand, two of which sported bright blue Band-Aids.
“What?” Ky widened his own eyes in feigned hurt. “You’ll deny me a chance to show off in front of your handsome coworker?”
“Cowor— Oh!” Jordan looked over his shoulder to where Ewan was glancing from the steamer to where the two of them huddled on the floor. “Okay then.” He extended his hand, a line of blood oozing from a half-inch gash across the pad of his index finger.
Wash appeared at Ky’s shoulder, holding out a package of sterile wipes. “From the cashier. Apparently they’ve stocked extras lately.”
Ky took the packet and tore it open. “I haven’t seen you here before, Jordan. Are you a new hire?”
“I’ve been here about a week. But I only work a couple of hours a day.” He beamed at them. “I’m an intern!”
“Awesome.” Ky reached out to steady Jordan’s hand, but the instant their skin made contact, his triage spell, the one that identified a patient’s supe nature, flared to life.
Werewolf.
His jaw sagged. What the fuck? Wonderful Mug was employing a werewolf? Did they know? Furthermore, what was a were this young doing outside his pack compound or Howling Residence?
Jordan’s nose twitched and his eyes widened. “You’re a wi—” He clapped his hand over his mouth, smearing a little blood on his cheek. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“No harm done.” Ky glanced around to make sure nobody was watching except Wash and held out his hand. “Let’s see that finger.”
Since Jordan was a supe and had already recognized him, Ky could use the low-level first aid spell, one of several that SMTs renewed at the start of each shift. If Zuri were with him, he’d be able to mend the cut completely—it wasn’t that severe. Without her, he could still help, but it was just as well she wasn’t here to tempt him into doing more: public instantaneous healing tended to draw unfortunate attention from humans.
He wiped the pad of Jordan’s finger. The cut had already stopped bleeding—werewolves were tough, although one this young was bound to be vulnerable. Ky let the magic whisper along his skin and murmured, “Occludo.” The cut sealed, leaving only a faint red line behind. It would still be a little tender, but not too painful. “Not to worry,” he called to Sierra—well, to Ewan too. “It’s not bad at all. Didn’t even break the skin.”
“If you want anyone to believe that,” Wash murmured, “wipe the blood off his face.”
Instead, Ky handed Jordan the wipe and tapped his own face in the affected spot. Jordan blinked, then scrubbed away at his cheek. Ky resisted rolling his eyes. Subtle this guy was not. “You might want to put a Band-Aid on that while you’re working.”
Jordan smiled sunnily and dug in the pocket of his apron, pulling out a handful of Band-Aids. “No problem. I always carry some with me, just in case.” A few bandages escaped his fist and fluttered down into the coffee puddle. “Shoot.” He shrugged. “That happens all the time too.” As he picked them up and blotted them on his apron, he glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you as a you-know-what before. The coffee messes up my sense of smell. I should have known, though, since you work at St. Stupid’s.”
”You mean United Memorial.” Ky winked, a gentle reminder to the kid not to use the hospital’s supe nickname in front of humans.
“Oh! Right.” Jordan nodded sagely, then mimed zipping his lips. “Got it. Thanks.” With one last grin at Ky and Wash, he leaped up and scurried off through the door next to the counter, presumably to fetch the broom.
Ky levered himself to his feet. “Well. That was . . . interesting.”
Wash frowned at the half-open door. “Was he a—”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t know the pack council allowed kids that young out without a leash.”
Ky shrugged. “Things are changing fast. Who can keep up with it all?”
“True. If it’s something we absolutely need to know, somebody’ll write a memo about it. What you need to do—” Wash grabbed Ky by the elbow and towed him aside as Jordan returned with the broom and began sweeping enthusiastically but not very effectively. “—is ask your barista crush for a date.”
“I couldn’t.” Ky glanced sidelong at Wash. “Could I?”
“Why not? It’s not as if you’d ever commit to anything long-term, and you can keep your mouth shut about stuff humans shouldn’t know. I mean, you’re more discreet than young Jordan over there.”
Ky snorted. “I’m pretty sure everybody is more discreet than Jordan.”
“So why not go for it?” The two of them watched Ewan add syrup to one of Wonderful Mug’s signature purple to-go cups. “He looks like he knows his way around a pump.”
Ky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t.”
“Yeah, did you see that squirt?”
“Seriously. Don’t.”
“Wow.” Wash widened his eyes in mock amazement. “He can serve up some serious cream.”
“Wash. I’m warning you.”
“Mothman,” Ewan called. “Almond mocha, double whip.”
Wash pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “Did you hear that? Whips. He’s getting a little kinky.”
“Wash—”
“And the heat.” He shook his head as Ewan frothed another beverage. “Steaming.”
“If it gets you to shut the fuck up . . .” Ky marched over to the counter. “Hey, Ewan.”
“Kentucky.” He nodded at Wash. “Washington.” Then he smiled with full dimple action. “I’m redoing your drinks now, since the first ones cooled while you were helping Jordan. Thanks for that, by the way. He’s a good kid, but he’s still learning the ropes, you know?”
“Ropes,” Wash murmured in Ky’s ear. “Oooh, bondage.”
Ky elbowed Wash in the ribs—hard—while giving Ewan his best smile. “No problem. I’d be a pretty poor paramedic if I couldn’t finger a guy— I mean handle a guy’s— I mean treat a cut finger.” Ky’s smile was probably more of a grimace now. Damn Wash and his stupid innuendos. It didn’t help that Wash was snorting laughter while he collected his and AJ’s drinks.
“Here’s Pete’s espresso.” Ewan slipped an insulated sleeve on the cardboard cup and passed it across the counter.
“He sure knows his way around a smoking hot cylinder,” Wash murmured.
“I’m warning you,” Ky growled, but pasted on a smile when Ewan turned to him again.
“And your usual. Americano, double shot.”
Sierra sidled over and set a bag on the counter. “Some scones. On the house.” Grinning, she returned to the register.
“Thanks.” Ky licked his lips. “Listen, Ewan. Um, do you have plans tonight?” Goddess strike me blind. I sound like I’m a kid Jordan’s age instead of a thirty-six-year-old medimagical professional.
Ewan’s smile faded, Ky’s coffee wobbling in his hand. “P-plans?”
“Yeah. I was wondering if you might like to have dinner. I mean, if you’d like to go to dinner. Everyone likes dinner.” Ky pinched himself in the thigh. Hard. Because he was smoother than this, damn it. “What I mean is, if you’re free, I’d love to take you to dinner. I know a great place—”
“No. Sorry. I mean, thank you, but I can’t.”
Ky blinked. He’s turning me down? Nobody turns me down. At least not at first. Oh . . . hang on. Ky wanted to slap himself in the forehead. Of course a guy like Ewan wouldn’t be single. The flirting over the milk steamer was safe—customer service and all that—but if he was already in a relationship . . . “I’m sorry. I assumed you were single.”
“That’s not— I mean, I am. But—”
“Just not interested.” Ky made himself smile. “No worries.”
Ewan set Ky’s cup down and knotted his fingers around the hem of his apron, his eyes shifting as if searching for an escape. “I didn’t want—” His shoulders lifted in a deep breath. “It’s not possible. I’m sorry.”
Ky grabbed both coffees and raised his own cup in salute. “Like I said. No worries.” He turned and attempted to leave the shop with his usual stride, but his feet had turned into blocks of wood and he stumbled over the threshold. He held on to the coffees—barely—but his exit was the furthest thing possible from smooth.
Wash joined him on the sidewalk, staring back inside Wonderful Mug with his mouth hanging open. “I don’t believe it. Did he turn you down?”
“You heard him.” Ky powered along the sidewalk, heading for the ambulance bay.
Wash dogged his heels. “But nobody ever turns you down.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Nobody Ky asked had ever turned him down, but he always took his time before making the offer. He was a master at gauging a guy’s interest—or he’d always thought he was.
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.” But damn, he wished the first time had been somebody other than Ewan.
Author Bio:
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Howling on Hold #1
iTUNES / RIPTIDE / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
Witch Under Wraps #2
iTUNES / RIPTIDE / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
