by Laura Del
“No,” I lied, which left a bitter taste in my mouth, as it always does. “I told you everything.”
He seemed skeptical. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said softly, looking away from him. “I am.”
“Positive?” he asked, putting his arm around my waist and untying the sash on my robe.
“Only fools are positive,” I whispered against his lips as I looked into his eyes. He smiled, feeling the curves of my body under my robe. Suddenly, I felt exposed, and I moved away from him.
He frowned at me. “What’s the matter?”
“We can’t do this,” I breathed, my heart in my stomach.
“Why not?” he asked. A sly little smirk played around the edges of his mouth. “We have protection.”
I wondered if I should tell him that Samuel might be watching. That he might be in the room with us at this very moment. But when his hand moved downward, I threw all caution to the wind. “Oh,” I breathed. “What the hell?”
What can I say?
I’m weak.
chapter
THREE
Before Mike left at ten-thirty, he took a nap while I caught up on some work that was due by the end of the week. Joey, my New York editor, had asked me to do a piece on weather-resistant something or other, and I did it without complaining. I just couldn’t afford to lose my job right now. Besides, I didn’t mind doing what Joey asked. I really enjoyed working for him, and he really enjoyed me working. That’s why when I asked him to help me out with finding another freelance gig, he was all too happy to help. He found me a guy that he had worked with for a while and told me that he was the person to see. So now, I had another editor and this one was breathing down my neck.
Elliot Sagmore was the rudest, slimiest, most annoying person that I had ever met. He owned and operated a small magazine called Weekend Specials, which focused on sports, cars, and any other guy toys and games that you could think of. It was definitely a man’s magazine, and the only reason that he agreed to interview me was that he thought that Pat Wyatt was a male’s name. And when I showed up…well…let’s just say I didn’t go over to well.
Elliot is about six-foot even, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. He has brown hair and eyes, is muscular without being bulky, and is by no means unattractive. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew I was in trouble. He is a chauvinistic pig with a big mouth and an even bigger ego. And if Joey hadn’t recommended me to him, I wouldn’t have taken the job, but I was in no position to refuse it, and he was in no position to be picky. So I smiled, shook his hand, and left to do the assignment, which was due tomorrow.
When I came home that day after the interview, Mike wasn’t too happy about me being so upset that I couldn’t speak. So he offered to break the man’s legs for me, but I persuaded him not to, barely. As much as I would have loved for him to do that, I couldn’t afford for him to go to jail. Still, it was a nice gesture.
Anyway, Elliot, unlike Joey, had me doing something on the local high school sports teams, which was odd considering he already had a sports writer. I knew then that he wanted me to fail, but I wasn’t giving up. I wrote that piece so eloquently that he just couldn’t say no, not even to the rough draft.
“Not bad,” his almost baritone, lightly southern-accented voice told me over the phone, “for a girl.” That was about two days ago, and since then he was breathing down my neck with revisions. He told me do this and to omit that. I did everything he wanted, and it still wasn’t enough. He sent me another email with yet another revision! “Ugh!” I said with feeling, as my fingers typed the letters O-K, and then I sent the stupid thing.
Around twelve-thirty in the afternoon, I was done with the twentieth version of my article, and I was just about to send him the email with the attachment when someone buzzed the apartment.
I walked to the intercom by the door, pressing the button. “Hello?”
“Hello,” a male voice came over the line, “is Mike there?”
“I’m sorry,” I answered, “but he’s gone on an errand. May I help you?”
“Listen, girly,” he huffed. “Just let me in. I’m a friend.” I’d know that voice anywhere, so I buzzed him in, and about a minute later there was a knock. I honestly didn’t need to look through the peep hole, so I just opened the door, plastering a tight smile to my face.
“Mr. Sagmore. What a…surprise.”
He looked me up and down, in shock I think. “Ms. Wyatt? You live here?”
I nodded. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Then why don’t you…” he paused, giving me a cocky smile, “let me in and we can discuss this further?” He winked at me, and I felt a little nauseous when he did that. But I let him in out of politeness.
He made himself comfortable on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Nice place you got here,” he said in a breath. Then he stretched, putting his arms on the back of the couch. He made my skin crawl.
I pulled out the chair from behind my small desk on the far right wall, and sat diagonally from him. “So,” I paused, clearing my throat. “How do you know Mike?”
“Through…” his voice trailed away as he thought about it, “a mutual acquaintance.”
“Do you mind if I ask why you’re here? Besides the fact that you want to see Mike, I mean.” I tried to keep the smile on my face, but my cheeks were starting to hurt from the strain.
He put his hands behind his head and sighed. “Yeah, I do mind.” He laughed at me. “But I’ll tell ya anyway. I’m considering hiring him as my attorney.”
My mouth dropped. I could’ve kissed him, if I didn’t find him so disgusting. I blinked, composing myself, the smile returning to my face. “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Sagmore.”
He leaned forward, taking his feet off my coffee table. “Call me Elliot,” he said with a wink.
I noticed that he a had deep tan that he didn’t have when I’d first met him, and I had to wonder if it was real or spray-on. “Call me Pat,” I said with a smile that I hope exuded confidence.
His cocky smile returned, and I think he thought I was flirting with him. “So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ with a dog like Mike?”
I could feel the smile slip from my face, as I crossed my arms and legs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to like him.”
His eyes glanced at my breasts then moved up to my mouth. “He can’t be satisfying you,” he said candidly.
I could feel my brows knit together. “Excuse me?” I scoffed.
“Sexually, that is,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me. “You seem like the kind of chick who likes it a certain way, and knowing Mike, I know he’s not up to the task.”
“That’s none of your business,” I hissed.
“That’s what women say when they aren’t gettin’ any.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…I reminded myself to keep my mouth shut. There was no need to acknowledge his stupidity. That is, until he said, “That’s what I thought.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “For your information, he’s…” I stopped myself. This was an inappropriate conversation to be having with my boss. So I cut myself off before I could get fired. See, I actually was getting better at this filter thing.
“He’s, what?” he asked, the cocky smile brightening a bit.
“He’s a great lawyer.” I told him, and the smile faded from his face. “You’d be lucky to have him.”
“Oh, I would, would I?” he asked, as he sat back again.
“Yes, you would,” I answered, unfolding my arms and legs and placing my hands in my lap. I was so lucky that I had changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before I started to work, because if I had my robe on, this would’ve been awkward. And it made me extremely glad that I changed when he decided to stare at my crotch. Thankfully,
the door opened a second later, and Mike walked in. I smiled up at him, noticing that he was wearing one of his ratty gray t-shirts with his holey jeans, and his pair of high top white Converse.
“Hey, bébé,” he said, looking from me to Elliot. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is my other editor, Elliot Sagmore.” I made sure I said it slowly and carefully so Mike understood.
“You’re Elliot Sagmore?” Mike asked, and something in his voice told me he wasn’t expecting that.
Elliot stood. “Yup,” he said, holding out his hand to Mike. “One and the same.”
Mike took his hand, pulling him into a manly hug, with a pat on the back and everything. “Stagmore,” he said, pulling away from him and giving him a good once-over. “How the hell have you been?”
Elliot smiled brightly. “Good, Wolfman, and you?”
You have got to be kidding me! “Do you two know each other?” I asked with a tight smile. It seemed to be my day for them.
“Yeah,” Mike said, as they sat down on the couch together. “He’s one of my old pack mates.” My mouth dropped.
Elliot looked at Mike, confused. “Mike, what are you…?”
“Don’t worry,” Mike said, patting him on the back. “She knows what I am.”
Elliot smirked at me, while his eyebrows rose in shock. “She does?”
Mike nodded, smiling even brighter. “Yeah. Bébé,” he turned his attention to me, smile never wavering, “you didn’t tell me that old Stag over here was your editor.”
“I didn’t know you knew him, my wolf.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but my jaw was so tight that I might have needed a crowbar to open it again.
“My wolf?” Elliot asked, raising an eyebrow. “Bébé? Well, it looks like you got yourself a fleshy girlfriend, Wolfman.”
“Fleshy?” The saying confused me.
“That’s what we call humans,” Elliot explained with a smirk.
This was just wonderful. My co-editor was a werewolf, and a grotesque one at that. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked Elliot, getting up from my chair. I needed to get away from him.
“Yeah,” he said. “A beer would be nice.”
I smiled and nodded at him. “Mike?” I asked, and he shook his head. Finally, I went into the kitchen to get Elliot his beer, but before I opened the fridge, they started talking.
“Jesus,” Elliot whispered. “What a body.”
Mike laughed. “Hey, watch it, pal.”
“So, how long have you two been…?” He must have made some sort of obscene gesture, because Mike laughed again.
“We just live together, Stag. That’s all.” Well, that made me feel like dirt.
“But she called you ‘my wolf’?” Elliot sounded confused.
“It’s just a nickname,” Mike said, smacking him. “She’s like my sister.” His sister, huh? And he wondered why I hadn’t said that I loved him.
Elliot laughed. “More like friends with benefits.”
I walked out of the kitchen, with Elliot’s beer in one hand, and a glass of Coke in the other. “Here you go, Elliot,” I said, handing him his drink. “And here you go, Mike.” I poured the Coke on his head with a bright smile on my face. “There,” I breathed, putting the empty glass down on the coffee table, “that’ll just about do it.” I turned on my heels, grabbed my purse, and walked out of the apartment in a huff.
Once outside, I remembered that I didn’t have a car, so I had nowhere to go. “Want a ride?” Elliot asked from behind me, and I jumped.
“You scared me,” I hissed, looking over my shoulder to see a cocky smile playing around his lips. “Sure,” I said with a shrug and a sigh, “why not?”
He led me over to a white Cadillac Escalade, and I just rolled my eyes. It was a monstrosity. It was so typically Elliot. “Get in,” he told me, as he unlocked the car with the remote.
I had to literally crawl into the passenger seat, while he just stepped into the driver’s side without a problem. Then we closed our doors, buckled up, and drove off.
We sat in a silence that I did not intend to break. However, Elliot had other plans. “I’m guessing you and Mike are more than friends?” he asked, glancing at me sideways.
I shook my head. “No. We’re just friends.”
He laughed. “Well, that didn’t look like just friends behavior to me.”
“Listen,” I snapped, “I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care if you fire me for this, but you are the biggest moron on the face of the planet! And I am so tired of your shit! You wouldn’t say and do half the things you do if I were a man. So just shut the fuck up and drive!” Wow, that felt good! And if there were consequences it was worth it.
He drove in silence for a second, then he pulled over. “Wow, no one has ever said anything like that to me before in my life!”
“I’m not sorry for saying it,” I hissed, waiting for him to tell me to get out of the car and walk.
He stared at me, looking confused. “I know. And that’s what makes it so…so…hot!”
I just sat there, eyes wide, mouth open, and eyebrows all the way up to my hairline. “You’re disgusting,” I scoffed, placing my hand on the buckle, but he caught it before I could undo the strap.
“What I meant to say was that I respect it.” I looked into his dark brooding eyes, and knew that he was being serious.
I could feel my face soften. “Elliot, you really mean that, don’t you?” He nodded. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You could say we’re friends,” he said with a scheming smile on his face.
“Not with benefits,” I retorted, popping his perverted bubble.
He laughed a little. “We’ll see about that.” He got back into traffic, making an illegal U-turn.
I held onto the handle tightly, realizing that he was driving like a maniac. Look, Ma! Two wheels! “Where are we going?” I asked, voice coming out a little panicked.
“Lunch,” he said with a smile, while I dug my fingernails into the armrest. I had a sudden urge to close my eyes, I was so scared, but I didn’t trust him driving. So the only option was to keep them wide open.
About a half hour of running through red lights and illegal turns later, we stopped at a diner called Big Bears. It was just outside of town and hidden away from everything by trees. I was relieved when we parked in the small parking lot, surrounded by other cars and the soft green of the brush that I almost clapped for joy.
I shivered when I opened the door, realizing I had gone out without a coat. Elliot helped me out of the car, placing his brown leather jacket around my shoulders. I thanked him, but he just smiled, and said, “You’re gonna love this place.” I didn’t ask why, I just took his word for it.
We walked up to the doors and I noticed that there was a very appropriately large carved wooden bear outside of them. It made me laugh. “Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed,” I said in a tiny, squeaky voice.
Elliot laughed, opening the door for me. That was surprising, because I hadn’t taken him for the chivalrous type. Anyway, once inside, I looked around and thought the place seemed very nice. It had a counter with stools, and just booths (no tables) lining the walls on either side of us. The whole diner was shaped like a large rectangle, and even though it was crowded, I still liked it a lot.
However, as soon as that thought passed through my mind, I noticed that every eye in the place was on me. As we walked up to the counter to sit down, the stares never wavered. “Why is everyone glaring at me?” I asked Elliot, instinctively looking down at myself. After all, some people were dressed far worse than I was, and one guy didn’t even have a shirt on, but still they stared.
“That’s because you’re the only fleshy in the room,” he whispered to me, and my eyes widened. I was sitting here with the pack. Holy Mary, mother of God, help me. My hand went up to my
mother’s crucifix as I prayed silently. If nothing else it was made of silver, and I had seen first-hand what a piece of silver could do to a werewolf. But to a whole pack of them? That’s what prayer was for.
“What can I do for ya?” the woman behind the counter asked. Her name tag said that she was called Angel, which suited her very well. Her face was definitely angelic. She had a small straight nose, a perfectly angular chin, and high cheekbones. Her hair was long, straight, and shinning black. She had eyes of pure honey, and her skin was this beautiful glowing copper color. She was a Native American beauty.
Elliot smiled at her, but it wasn’t friendly. “Angel baby, drop the attitude. She’s a friend.”
“She doesn’t have an attitude,” I said, sticking up for her. “She was being…nice.” The truth was, little Miss Angel had an attitude wider than the diner.
Her “What can I get for ya?” was dripping with disdain, not just for me, but for all “fleshies.”
She smiled, showing her mouth full of perfectly white teeth. “Yeah, I was being nice, Stag.”
He shook his head, smile never wavering. “No. You were being a bitch. She,” meaning me, “was bein’ nice. Now apologize to her.”
She looked at him like he was on fire, then her shoulders hunched and she muttered, “Sorry.”
“That’s more like it,” he said with his cocky smile. “Get us the usual.” She nodded, and went to fetch us our food. “Ladies and gentle-wolves,” Elliot bellowed, turning in his seat so he could face them. “This woman,” he pointed to me, “is Pat Wyatt.” I nodded at them sheepishly. “If anyone has a problem with her, they got a problem with me. Is that understood?” Everyone stared at me, but no one said a word. “Good,” Elliot said, but before he could turn around a large man asked, “Does she know what we are?” His voice was deep and southern. I considered it more of a growl than a voice.
Elliot shrugged, smiling at me as he turned around in his seat. “I don’t know,” he answered, back toward them, but his eyes on me. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”