Boarlander Bash Bear (Boarlander Bears 2)

by T. S. Joyce

  A little bit about me, in case you are interested in getting to know me. I’m twenty-eight years old and edit for the local newspaper, as well as a few others. I’m pro-shifter, but I’ve never been to a Shifter Night at Sammy’s. The bar isn’t really my scene, although sometimes I wish I was brave enough to go and just try to talk to you. I went to high school in Saratoga, but went to college out of state. I work from home and have only recently moved back here to be closer to my sister and her family, so I don’t know a lot of people yet. Anything else, just ask. I’m an oversharer, probably from hours of talking to my favorite pet plant, Spartacus. Anyway, if you read my message this far, thanks for taking the time to consider me as a match. I would love to do coffee or something, but be warned, I will be really nervous to meet you. You and the crews are celebrities around here, and I’ve never met anyone famous.

  p.s. it took me three days to build up the courage to send this message.

  Sincerely,

  Emerson Elliot

  Below that she’d listed her personal email address and phone number.

  Bash read it three times because she wrote real formal, and he was flattered a smart girl like her wanted to have coffee with someone like him. But she’d also sent this before she met him, and Emerson had told him flat out she was looking for a smart man. That’s why she wanted to be friends.

  As he punched her number into his cell phone, his chest started doing that achy thing again where it was hard to breathe. Reception was patchy in the park, but he had two bars if he didn’t roll his computer chair to the right. The phone rang and rang, and then his heart banged against his chest as her recorded voice came on, telling him to leave a message. She had such a pretty tone. Clear and sweet. His dick thumped against the seam of his pants, and he frowned down at his crotch. They were just friends. Friends, friends, friends.

  Beeeeep.

  “I remember you,” Bash rushed out. “You smelled like tulips and vanilla at the library. I don’t have a good memory. I should’ve recognized your scent when I ate fries with you, but I didn’t and I’m sorry. I read your message. Ummm. Call me back if you want to.” He almost hung up but stopped himself. “Oh, this is Bash. From the Boarlanders. We ate lunch together the other day. I like your hair and the color of your eyes and the way your dimples get really deep when you smile. Okay, bye.”

  Bash hung up and dropped the phone onto the desk. He should’ve thought it out more before he left a message. Emerson was a smart girl. He should’ve put more big words in there. Maybe he should leave her another one. No. Girls didn’t like that. The book had told him that much in chapter one before he got bored to shit reading it and returned it to the library. There hadn’t been a single picture in it.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there debating whether he’d done the right thing, but when his cell phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Fumbling with the phone, he accepted the call and said, “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Hello?” he asked again. His chest hurt so damned bad, he doubled over the pain.

  “Hi, Bash,” Emerson said, so softly he thought he’d imagined it. But then she said, “I got your message.”

  “I got your message, too. I like what you named your pet plant.” Bash frowned and shook his head. “I mean, I have a question. Well, I have lots of questions because I want to know everything about you, but I have a big question I want to ask you. Right now.”

  Emerson giggled that pretty tinkling sound, like a metal knife on some fancy wine glass. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Okay.” Bash swallowed hard and pulled the folded-up flyer from his back pocket. “There’s this party at Sammy’s, and I know you said it isn’t your scene, but I was wondering if you wanted to go. As friends.” The last part was bitter in his mouth, but he was fishing, and a good fisherman was gentle with the lure.

  “Oh. Well, what kind of party is it?”

  “My friends are throwing it for me, so I can find a mate.”

  “A mate?” she asked, her voice sparking with shock.

  “Yes. I’ve been ready for one for a long time but girls in the trailer park was against the rules for a long time. My alpha just lifted the rules, so I’m lookin’.”

  “You want a mate?” she whispered.

  “Of course. I want a lady and cubs and a little family to fit in with my big family, the Boarlanders. The party could be fun. Kirk told me the top three contestants that I choose drink for free, and I already pick you, so you wouldn’t have to buy a single drink. I know you aren’t wanting to be a mate, but we could have some fun. You could help me pick a good girl to take out.”

  There was something odd in her voice when she asked, “Will you pick a mate that night?”

  “No, no. Kirk says I need to take my time. I need someone who eases the hurt in my chest like you do.”

  Emerson was quiet for a long time, and just as he was about to ask if she was still there, she asked, “What should I wear?”

  “Anything. You would look pretty in a T-shirt or a dress or pajamas or naked.”

  Emerson gave off another soft giggle, and he sighed and leaned back in his office chair, reveling in the sound of her happiness.

  “Okay, I’ll go. What time is your party?”

  “It’s Wednesday at seven o’clock. I can pick you up if you want.”

  “Oh, Wednesday. Well, I’m on a deadline for work so I might show up a little later. Is that okay?”

  Disappointment clogged Bash’s throat for a minute, but he couldn’t just nod. She wouldn’t see it through the phone. He cleared his throat and told her, “Yeah, that’ll be fine. I’ll put your name on the list at the door, so don’t wait in line. Just go straight to the front and tell Ray your name.”

  “Whoa, like a VIP? That’s fancy, Bash.”

  He switched the phone to his other ear and rocked gently in the chair, his reflection on the computer screen grinning big. He liked the way she said his name. “Yeah, super fancy. Good luck with your deadline. We have deadline numbers here, and they suck to hit.”

  “Thanks, I need it. This article needs a lot of work.”

  Her voice had gone all dark and unhappy, and he wondered what it was about, but he didn’t know the rule about what was appropriate to ask and what wasn’t. He didn’t want to scare her off with his bad manners, so instead he said, “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me either. I promise I’ll help you find a good mate.”

  The smile fell off his face in the reflection. “You’re a good friend. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

  “Okay. Bye, Bash.”

  “Bye, Emerson.”

  He hung up the phone and stared at the screen until the glow went black.

  He should feel happy right now after talking to her for so long, but instead, the ache was back.

  Chapter Four

  The past two days had gone by at a snail’s pace. For one, Bartleby had fought every single attempt of hers to tame down his hate-filled article against shifters, and two, she had counted down each dragging hour until tonight when she would get to see Bash again.

  As much as she tried to fight the thought, she had a massive crush on him, but the same thing had happened last time she was this close to her artificial insemination appointment. She’d backed off before, cancelled it for a guy, and he’d been a huge waste of time that spanned two years.

  When the nurse at the woman’s clinic called her name, Emerson blew out a steadying breath and stood. With a polite smile, she passed the nurse and made her way to room three as instructed. Since she’d been tested and deemed fertile, she’d gotten out of the rigorous medications that would force her ovulation, which was saving her money, but it also meant she had to nail down exactly when her ovulation would happen this month. She’d been peeing on ovulation tester sticks and doing blood work all week, and this morning Dr. Mallory had called her in for a last-minute appointment.

  When the stately redhead in the white doctor’s coat came in staring at
her clipboard, Emerson’s pulse kicked up like a racehorse out of the gate.

  “Okay, I wanted to bring you in here before the procedure to prep you for what to expect.” Dr. Mallory sat in her rolling chair and smiled brightly. “We got confirmation that your sperm sample has been ordered, tested, and is en route here, and from your bloodwork, I think we will be able to inseminate you on Friday.”

  “Two days,” Emerson murmured.

  “That’s right. Now, we may have to do several before it works, or you could get pregnant this month. I’ve found no reason why you would have any problems, but sometimes nature, and in this case science, can take more time. Or it could take no time at all.”

  Emerson huffed a long, shaking breath and clenched the sides of the table to stop her hands from trembling.

  Dr. Mallory’s thick red brows furrowed. “Emerson, are you still sure you want to do this?”

  Well, she’d been one hundred percent sure before Bash had shared his cheese fries, but now she was about eighty percent sure. “Can I ask you a theoretical question?”

  “Sure. Ask me anything.”

  “If I had a friend, and this friend met a man who was excited to be a parent, and that theoretical man happened to be a shifter…what would the protocol be for asking him to be a donor?”

  Dr. Mallory straightened up as her blue eyes went round. With a quick glance at the door, she rolled closer to Emerson and lowered her voice to a whisper. “There would be no protocol because it’s not legal for me or any other medical professional to collect or administer donor sperm from a shifter. And this question needs to stay in this office.”

  Shocked, Emerson asked, “Why?”

  “It’s not my place to speak about this.”

  “But…you’re my doctor.”

  “Emerson, I’m going to tell you this once, and then you need to put this idea out of your mind. Riley of the Ashe Crew gave Diem and Bruiser a surrogate baby years ago, and it attracted the wrong kind of attention.”

  “What kind of wrong attention?”

  Dr. Mallory dipped her voice to barely audible. “Not everyone is pro-shifter, and Riley, a human surrogate, produced a dragon. A dragon, Emerson. It’s not legal for humans to make those kinds of medical interventions anymore. They have to breed on their own.”

  “But—”

  “Emerson,” Dr. Mallory gritted out. “If you have further questions about what is going on between the government and shifters, ask Diem and Bruiser. Or ask Cora Keller of the Breck Crew. Ask shifters. The government could shut down my clinic and ruin me for life in an instant if they even knew I was discussing this with you.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said soothingly. “I’m sorry I asked. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  “Great,” Dr. Mallory said, looking flushed and panicked. “Then we’ll do everything as planned on Friday, and you’ll be better off with a normal human baby.”

  Normal human baby. But Bash was normal, even if he wasn’t entirely human. He was nice and considerate, and he made her heart beat faster and butterflies flap around her insides. He wanted children…er...cubs.

  And now her eighty percent sure was down to sixty-five percent sure she wanted to go through with this. Everything was so confusing, especially with the baffling information dump Dr. Mallory had given her.

  Emerson walked out of that clinic like a zombie in slow motion, stumbling over the carpet, completely distracted.

  Something was going on behind the scenes that she and the public had no clue about. Maybe the shifters didn’t even know. They have to breed on their own. Shifters were people, too, not just animals. And what if a pair of them had fertility problems? They weren’t allowed medical intervention? That didn’t seem right, or ethical. Sure, she’d seen anti-shifter propaganda on the rise after the discovery of dragon shifters, but that was just people reacting to their fear of the unknown. But with this new information, it was clear it wasn’t just civilians who were fearful.

  The government was on the defense from shifters reproducing too fast.

  Emerson drove home in a daze, waving distractedly to every car she passed because that’s what everyone did in a small town. She still had a final round of edits to do on Bartleby’s stupid article before Bash’s party tonight, and she definitely needed some time to process her feelings on everything that was happening. Two more days until insemination would’ve been exciting a few weeks ago, but now she felt like she was walking slowly toward a frigid river without the ability to stop her legs from forward movement. She still wanted a baby more than anything, but now having the father be some stranger felt a lot scarier than it did before. If she did this, there would be no chance for her and Bash to have any kind of relationship. But if she didn’t, she was right back where she’d been for the last decade, searching for a partner to build a family with, and hoping it happened soon.

  At the duplex she lived in, she pulled into the drive and hefted her purse to the front door. A giant Moosey’s Bait and Barbecue Styrofoam cooler sat on the welcome mat, and with a frown, she lifted the lid. There were dry ice packs around the edges, and in the center was nestled frozen packages of short ribs, burnt ends, brisket, and jalapeno sausage with directions on how to heat up everything. There was even a container of creamed corn and a jar of Moosey’s World Famous BBQ Sauce.

  With a baffled grin, Emerson pulled out a folded note that had been taped to the side.

  Emerson,

  One of my friends told me ladies like when men send them flowers, but I spent way too much time trying to figure out what kind you liked, so I got you meat instead.

  See you tonight.

  Bash

  Well, that man knew just how to lift her mood. Her melancholy thoughts puffed away like dandelion seeds on the breeze. This was way better than flowers.

  With a big old grin on her face, Emerson dragged the heavy cooler inside.

  And now her sixty-five was down to fifty percent.

  Chapter Five

  No matter how many times she patted her hair down, Emerson wasn’t going to tame her locks. Giving up, she clapped the mirror on her visor closed and shimmied out onto the curb of the main drag of Saratoga. She’d tried to find a spot in the parking lot of Sammy’s Bar, but the closest she could get was two blocks away.

  She straightened her cherry red eyelet sundress and pulled her dark-wash jean jacket over her shoulders, then made her way down the sidewalk, her glossy black heals clopping with each step. She’d bought this outfit from the boutique just for tonight and felt like a million bucks. Or at least she did until she saw the line outside of Sammy’s had snaked around two sides of the building. All these women were here to seduce Bash.

  Her gaze bumped and bounced from one beautiful, made-up woman to another until she was drowning in a sea of hair spray and sex-appeal.

  What was she doing here?

  No less than three women pitched a fit as she made her way past the line and to the front entrance where a bouncer, Ray, held the Bash Babes at bay.

  “No cuts, beautiful,” the bald, muscle-man said without looking at her.

  “Uhhh, Bash said I’m on the list.”

  “Emerson Elliot?”

  “Y-yes. That’s me.” She handed him her ID before he asked for it.

  Once he checked her name, he grinned and turned his clipboard around. It was just a piece of computer paper with her name written across it and nothing else. “The list is short tonight.” Ray twitched his head toward the door. “Go on inside.”

  Flattered to her teats, Emerson mumbled her thanks and made her way into the bar.

  This was her first time in Sammy’s, and it was a lot different than she’d imagined. The lights were dim and hanging from exposed, dark wooden rafters, and every square inch of floor was covered in mismatched tables and shifter groupies.

  A tiny woman with straight, dyed-red hair popped her head in front of Emerson’s face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Startled, Emerson ju
mped and squeaked, but a bevy of beauties currently leaving the bar looking angry stopped her escape.

  The redhead cackled and handed her a shot glass of something that smelled strongly of poison. Whiskey, she’d guess.

  “I’m Willa. Bash told me to bring you straight back ’cause the bar skanks won’t let him move.” Willa threw her head back, gulping her own shot of what looked like orange juice. “I’m on juice shots tonight because I’m currently trying to get knocked up by that burly beefcake in the corner.” Willa pointed to a group of sexy giants gathered beside the stage. “You know, I don’t think Kirk and Jake planned this out very well because we can barely move in here and everyone reeks of pheromones.” She jammed her hand forward. Her nails were painted black with little pink slivers on them. “Worms. Red wigglers, specifically. I like your nails, too. Red like the sex-pot you are, raar.” Willa clawed her hands and winked behind her thick glasses. “Down that shot, girl. You’ll be holding court at the bar with Bash, and the ladies in here are territorial.”

  “Oh, okay,” Emerson said uncertainly. Was she allowed to drink? Dr. Mallory hadn’t told her not to, and she still had two days until insemination. She supposed this was her last hurrah, which left her a little breathless to think about.

  “Bottoms up, beautiful,” Willa said, pushing Emerson’s shot glass toward her lips.

  Well, okay then. Emerson gulped the burning liquor and yelped when Willa grabbed her hand and yanked her forward, maneuvering the crowd like a pro. The music was loud, but really good. The Beck Brothers of the Ashe Crew, Brighton and Denison, were rocking out on stage, and Willa lifted her empty shot glass in a silent cheers to them.