The Furry MEGAPACK®

by Huskyteer

  But he knew she wasn’t his type. His type was—well, his type was Lauren. He’d be on his first anniversary date with her tomorrow. Same restaurant they had their first date at. As always, he’d planned it out perfectly.

  Applause broke out, not the scattered polite ripple that had greeted previous performers but solid clapping across most of the room, including him. He felt a moment of irrational anger toward the people who didn’t clap.

  The rabbit stood, smiling. She didn’t look self-conscious or flustered, and had no hint of false modesty. “Thank you,” she simply said, and walked out of the light.

  As he watched her step into the shadows, he rose to go after her, then checked himself. Being a carnivore, that might come across as way too aggressive. Good for the office, but not for—for what, exactly?

  Instead of heading to the exit, he went back to the front counter. “I’d like another Americano,” he told the vixen. “And—is the girl who was just singing going to be back tonight?”

  She turned to the espresso machine, and only answered after she’d finished pulling the shot. “Wednesdays are open mike night. Everybody gets one song or poem. She’s good, though. Maybe the manager will ask if she can do a full set another night.”

  “He should. She was terrific.”

  She handed him his Americano with the most insincere smile he’d seen since his last meeting with the marketing director. “I’ll let him know she’s popular with the squares.”

  He suppressed the instinct to bare his teeth and just headed back to the table in silence, although he sighed aloud as another blathering free verse poet stepped to the mike.

  His momentary brooding kept him from hearing her approach. Instead, he caught the scent of lavender. Perfume? Soap? As he looked up, she was already sliding into the booth opposite him.

  “So I hear I’m popular with the squares,” she said, her voice a low, husky growl carrying power even at soft volume.

  Sterling stared, muzzle slightly open. She was even bigger than he’d thought; standing, she’d come up past his shoulder. Seeing her this close reinforced that solidness. Jackrabbit, maybe. Even in the coffeehouse’s dim light, her eyes shone a lustrous hazel.

  “You have an amazing voice,” he managed after a moment, smiling what he hoped was an easy smile. Of course, he’d hoped that with the counter vixen, too.

  “Thanks. Do you know what the song was?”

  “You didn’t write it?”

  Her laugh was as musical as her singing. “‘Diamonds and Rust’ by Joan Baez. It’s in the Top 40 right now.”

  He grinned lopsidedly. “I guess I’m not real up with popular music. Maybe I should listen to more.”

  “You’re here alone. Usually if I see a guy who dresses like you here, they’re humoring a girl. Are you trying to impress a girl who isn’t with you?”

  This would not be a place to impress Lauren at; he wouldn’t be able to get her out of the car on the same block as Wit’s End, much less down the stairs. “No. But lately I feel like I’ve just been going between the office and home. I need to loosen up a little.” He didn’t have to mention he’d been prodded into it.

  “So you’re subjecting yourself to shit poetry at a place that doesn’t even serve alcohol. That’s a stupid way to loosen up. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Sterling.”

  “That’s a great name. I’m Mahri. M-a-h-r-i. It’s short for Marigold. I changed the spelling because if somebody made one more flower child joke I’d have decked them.”

  He laughed.

  She tilted her head. “I saw you when I was singing. It looked like you were starting to leave, but then you stopped and went back to your seat just to watch me. That caught my eye. What caught yours?”

  “You were…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, your voice…not just your voice. You’re electrifying.”

  “I like that.” She smiled. “You should get me a drink.”

  He lifted his brows. “My stereotype about rabbits being shy around wolves is being shaken.”

  “Good.” She picked up his Americano and took a sip. “Hmm.” She set it back down again. “Get me a cappuccino.”

  He laughed, tail wagging, and headed back to the counter, giving the vixen a too wide smile. “One cappuccino for my friend.”

  She looked past him at his table and stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “Double or single?”

  “Double.” He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it sounded better.

  She made the drink silently and handed it off to him. When he walked back to the booth, Mahri stood up, motioning for him to sit down. When he did, she slid in next to him.

  “So. Sterling.” She took a sip of the cappuccino and looked up at him. “Tell me something interesting.”

  His ears twitched. “About me?”

  “Ideally.”

  He picked up his coffee and took a slow sip, stalling, then set the cup back down when he’d thought up an answer. “I’m a prince hiding out in a foreign city, fleeing the royal family to avoid a loveless arranged marriage.”

  She laughed. “Bullshit.”

  “You didn’t say I had to tell you something true, just interesting,” he countered with a smirk. “And it’s not as far off from the truth as it sounds. You’ve heard of the MacMillan Oil Company?”

  Mahri folded her arms. “Sure. They’re pretty big around here.”

  “You’ve heard they’re rapacious bastards, right?”

  “The company kinda has a rep, yeah. They’re your family?”

  “Yeah.” He picked up his cup again. “For the record, they’re rapacious bastards.”

  “Okay, prince.” She grinned. “And the arranged marriage?”

  “I’ve been set up with dates picked out for business reasons, and there are…let’s say expectations about who I’ll marry.”

  “Jesus. It’s the seventies, not the eighteen-seventies.” She tilted her head. “Someone specific?”

  He sighed heavily and knocked back a gulp of the Americano like a tequila shot. “Depends on who you ask.”

  “You.”

  He bit his lip. Lauren was more than attractive. Both his family and hers already seemed to be treating their marriage as an inevitability. He’d already thought about how, when, and where he’d propose to her. Yet she seemed more interested in being seen about town with him than doing anything intimate. He didn’t feel a need to rush, but he didn’t like the feeling that the most desirable thing about him was his family. He already felt regretful he’d brought it up with Mahri.

  After another second, he shook his head. “No. Nobody specific.”

  He hadn’t noticed Mahri’s shoulders had tensed up until she relaxed. “So is the family planning to get into the coffeehouse business, or are you just slumming with the commoners?”

  “Neither. My sales guy and I got into an argument this afternoon about…fun. He says I’m always on, that I don’t know how to stop being in charge. I don’t think he’s right, but I’m here.” He sipped his drink. “Trying to…I don’t know.”

  “Relax by picking up low society girls.”

  “Now, that’s just setting me up. If I say yes I’m a sleaze, if I say no I’m a snob.”

  She took a sip of her cappuccino, licking a dab of foam off her nose. “So which is it?”

  “More no than yes. Maybe I’m just trying to forget my problems for a while. I know that’s clichéd.”

  “Nobody drowns their sorrows in coffee.” She spread her hands. “Besides, the way the cliché goes is that you keep a bottle of good scotch in your office for guests, but you drink it when you’re alone and working late. You work late a lot. Eventually you have an affair with your secretary to inject spice into your loveless, cold marriage. You tell her that you’ll leave your wife for her, but you both know it’s a lie.”

  Sterling cocked a brow in amusement as she spoke. “I think you’ve mistaken me for my father.”

  She started to laugh, then brough
t herself up short when he didn’t laugh with her. “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t prove the bit about the secretary, but it’s office gossip the staff thinks they’re hiding from me.”

  Her look turned incredulous. “You work with your dad. In the same office.”

  “Not directly. Different floor.”

  “Jesus Christ. I’d go bugfuck in a week. And I’m getting the sense there’s not a lot of love lost between you and your padre.”

  “We get along. It’s just…” He shrugged again. “Like I said. Expectations.”

  Mahri seemed to consider that silently for a few seconds. Then she finished her cappuccino and stood up, holding out her hand. “Come on.”

  “What?” He tried to keep his ears from lowering in surprise, although he could tell from her grin he hadn’t succeeded. “Come on where?”

  “Your problem is that you can’t relax because you’re always in charge, and your life is kind of on rails.”

  “Okay,” he said dubiously, crossing his arms. “And?”

  “Now I’m in charge. First problem solved.” She wiggled her fingers impatiently.

  He stood up slowly. “Okay, but you’ve gotta tell me where.”

  “No, I don’t. Let go of all those expectations. Second problem solved.” She closed her hand firmly around his and pulled him along.

  “Hold on a minute,” he protested.

  “No.” She led him up the narrow exit stairs, still holding his hand.

  The wolf’s head was starting to spin. “Aren’t you leaving your guitar?”

  “Nah, it’s not mine.”

  “Are you trying to take me to a bar? I don’t really drink. I mean, just a little wine.”

  She grinned over her shoulder at him as they reached the street level. “Then it’s time to practice.”

  “I haven’t liked any drinks I’ve tried.”

  “You’ve tried crappy drinks. Let’s go.” Releasing his hand, she spun around in a complete turn, hair swirling around her shoulders, then strode down the street without looking to see if he followed.

  Sterling stared after her openmouthed, then ran a hand through his head fur. Well, he certainly wasn’t on rails this evening. He shut off his sensible inner voice and hurried after her.

  The bar Mahri led him to was two blocks away from Wit’s End. She didn’t explain why this bar, or why she passed by several other bars—including ones that looked much less dumpy—on the way there, answering any question with a variant of “Trust me” or just an enigmatic grin. It took four or five tries before the wolf gave up.

  “There.” She pointed ahead at an open wooden door set in a chipped black concrete wall. A barely readable painted sign hung over it: VELVET ANVIL.

  “Seriously? What kind of name is that?”

  “It’s the house drink.” She motioned for him to enter, and he stepped in, the rabbit close behind.

  If anything, the Anvil was even darker than the coffeehouse, lit only by tableside candles and a few low wattage track lights over the bar. Every bit of decor was tarnished brass or dark stained wood, and from the stench most of the stains had been barrel-aged. It looked like the kind of place his grandfather might have hung out in his day, but the clientele looked more his and Mahri’s age. “So what’s special about this place?”

  She pointed at the bartender, a burly bear even bigger than Sterling, wearing a T-shirt so tight across his muscular chest and arms it looked like it’d rip if he flexed too much. “He is.”

  “Mahri,” the bear rumbled, nodding to her.

  Sterling just arched a brow, waiting for further explanation.

  “Sterling, this is Jesse. All the bartenders here are good, but he’s the best. Don’t tell Sam I said that, Jesse.”

  “My lips are sealed. What’ll it be?”

  Sterling furrowed his brow. Did he even know any cocktails?

  Mahri nudged him. “What kind of wine do you like?”

  “Both. White more than red.”

  “Sweet or dry?”

  “Sweet.”

  “So kinda light. Fruity?”

  He flicked his ears. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Mahri looked at Jesse rather than Sterling. “Piña colada?”

  The bear nodded. “That’ll work.”

  The wolf’s ears flicked back. “Isn’t that kind of a girly drink?”

  “Nah,” Jesse said, at the same time Mahri said, “Absolutely.”

  Sterling sighed, crossing his arms.

  “Just as much booze as any other drink.” Jesse started to throw ice into a blender, pouring pineapple juice and coconut cream in afterward. “What’ll the girly have?”

  “Bourbon on the rocks.”

  The wolf shook his head, laughing.

  After they both had drinks in hand—Jesse had been kind enough to spare Sterling the indignity of a paper parasol, instead pouring the piña colada into an ungarnished pint glass—they headed to one of the tables, Mahri in the lead. “You come here often?”

  “It’s in my top three bars. The Clock Bar at the Ritz makes better drinks but it’s way expensive, and I don’t get hit on here.” She dropped into a seat.

  “That’s surprising.” He looked around. “You’re really attractive, and this place is full of men.”

  She smirked, sipping her drink. “Yep, but none of them are looking at me.”

  Sterling’s ears skewed at her expression, and he looked between Mahri and the rest of the bar again. He only saw two other women, sitting together. Nobody was looking at her. A few were looking at him, though.

  He leaned forward. “You took me to a gay bar?” he hissed incredulously. “God, I can’t be seen—”

  “Jesus, Sterling.” She rolled her eyes. “If you run into one of your coworkers here, that means they’re here. Think about it. Besides, you’re here with me.” She grinned, sipping her drink. “I’ll protect you.”

  He leaned back slowly, shifting in his seat and trying to look comfortable again. He regarded his glass with a dubious expression, took a sip, then grunted. Coconut, pineapple, a caramel sweetness from the dark rum—he liked it. “All right, Mahri. Tell me something about you. I’m guessing you don’t boss around wolves for a living.”

  “If you find any places hiring for that, let me know. In the meantime I work at a record store a couple blocks from here. I’m a good singer, but I don’t think I’m interested in trying for that kind of career. Sometimes I tell people I’m an artist. I am, but I haven’t sold much.”

  “What kind of art? Paintings?”

  She nodded. “I can show you a few sometime, maybe.”

  “I thought that line was supposed to be about etchings.”

  The rabbit grinned, then tilted her head. “You just made a strange face.”

  Sterling furrowed his brow. “I did? Sorry. It’s just… it’s a strange evening. The first time I ever went to a coffeehouse, felt entirely out of place, but somehow left with a girl I just met.”

  She grinned. “The ‘somehow’ is that I grabbed you and brought you here.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He laughed. “Which I appreciate. Although it’s getting late.”

  “It’s not even ten.”

  “I go to bed at eleven.” She raised her brows, and he suddenly felt angry. No, defensive. “Look, I have to be up at six and at the office by eight.”

  Mahri leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. “Everything’s on a tight schedule, recorded in the Day-Timer, right? Brush your teeth before bed at 10:45, be in the morning shower at 6:10, make the coffee at 6:30.”

  His ears flicked back. The shower was at 6:15. “Something like that.” He took another sip of the drink. “Mahri, this has been a lot of fun, but I’m not going to—”

  “Give up control.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say!”

  “It’s what you mean, though.” She grinned. “But I mean it as a command.”

  His laugh was less easy. “How about you se
ttle for me finishing the drink with you?”

  Her grin widened, but she didn’t respond beyond that. She just picked up her own drink and resumed talking. She proved almost disarmingly open—although he supposed he’d been much more open with her than he had with Lauren on their first date.

  By the time he’d finished his second drink he knew the rabbit had been born in California (surprise), grew up in the Santa Cruz Mountains, had dropped out of Berkeley a year shy of a degree in sociology. She’d moved cross-country with her mother after her parents divorced four years ago. He wasn’t quite clear on whether the divorce was precipitated by her dropping out, vice-versa, or they were entirely unrelated.

  He felt the alcohol more strongly than he’d expected to. Wait, there were three empty glasses there, weren’t there? He looked at his watch. Well past eleven. “Man. Mahri, I’ve got to get going.”

  She grinned. “You said that before, but I think you’re having a lot of fun not going anywhere.”

  Sterling found himself distracted for a moment by the grin, then by pondering just why it was so distracting. “Well, yeah. I am. But I told you I had to leave.”

  “But you didn’t.” She plucked the stemmed cherry from his last glass. “Because you agreed I’m in charge tonight.”

  He rubbed the back of his ear. “And you have been, and it’s been fun. But it’s time for me to take the reins back and head on home.”

  Mahri nodded, dangling the cherry. “And back to what’s expected. An executive office at the family firm. Maybe taking it over when Dad retires.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and flashed her a challenging stare. He hoped.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Well, I mean, it’s a great…” He trailed off as she tilted her head back and slipped the cherry between her lips, then pulled the stem free and swallowed visibly. Audibly.

  It took him a moment to stop staring with his own jaws slightly parted. And to breathe. “Don’t even think of claiming you’re not doing that on purpose.”

  She licked her lips. “The question isn’t whether I’m doing it on purpose. The question is what it makes you think of.”