How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf

by Молли Харпер

Forgetting his own pain, his brows furrowed as his warm fingers brushed along the turtleneck I was wearing. He pulled the collar down, revealing the ugly yellow shadows of healing bruises. I slapped at his hands, pushing myself away from him.

  “Don’t pretend you give a shit,” I spat. “You’ve made it very plain how you feel about me. It’s mutual. Stay away from me, and I will sure the hell stay away from you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his face paling to an ashen gray. “I didn’t know.”

  Cooper backed away into a shadow, the blue-green eyes trained on mine, glinting out at me. The same blue-green eyes that had shone through the dark alley, zeroed in on Teague.

  Even I am ashamed of how long it took me to connect Cooper with the wolf. My brain just couldn’t seem to keep pace with the information. So many little tumblers fell into place. The eyes. Cooper’s living so far away from town. His frequent “hunting trips.” The ridiculous amount of meat in his grocery cart.

  I looked back at him, mouth gaping, breath ragged. His expression shifted moment to moment, from anger to shame to some unreadable mix of fear and relief. I pursed my lips to say something, but he darted out of the alley on soundless feet.

  I leaned against the wall, sliding into a sitting position. I ran over every conversation, every exchange I’d had with Cooper. Someone in the alley kept saying, “Cooper is the wolf . . . the wolf is Cooper . . .” It took me a couple of repetitions to realize it was me.

  The rational side of my brain had a hard time catching up to my rampant disbelief. I mean, it made sense on a certain level. The man had too much general pissiness to fit into one corporeal form.

  I leaned against the wall, grateful for any distraction that drew me out of my panicky remembrances of the alleyway. So if werewolves were real, what was next? Ghosts? Chupacabra? Would I run into Sasquatch if I strayed too far from my cabin?

  Teague’s death scene took on a new character in my mind’s eye. Cooper had bitten Teague, ripped into him, and made him bleed. Teague made it to his truck but was either too seriously injured or too freaked out to drive safely. Cooper had contributed to Teague’s crashing into the ravine and dying a horrible death. I searched my soul and couldn’t find it within me to be disgusted or frightened by that. John Teague was a bad man who did vile things to defenseless women out of no other motivation than greed. The world was better off without him. If Cooper made that happen, all I could feel was gratitude toward him . . . underneath a healthy crust of annoyance and irritation.

  What exactly is the etiquette involved when one finds out that her sworn enemy is a mythical creature of the night? Should I tell someone? Start smelting silver bullets? Call animal control?

  I burst out laughing as I pictured Cooper getting tranqued and thrown into the pound. My laughter bounced around the alley, the bitter, hysterical edge of the sound grating my ears. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but I giggled again. And then again. Once I started laughing, I couldn’t seem to stop. It just poured out in hoarse, racking guffaws that bent me over and had me bracing my hands against my knees.

  “Werewolf!” I snickered. “I think he’s a werewolf!”

  I was going to have to ask Evie where a girl could get a quick no-questions-asked prescription for antipsychotics.

  Wait, no. Knowing Evie, she would ask me what was wrong and my answer would be I think your cousin morphs into a giant wolf at night, keeping the alleyways of Grundy safe for womankind. There’s a friendship-ending conversation.

  I wiped at my eyes, lips trembling a little as one last nervous chuckle escaped. The wolf theory was probably the product of shock, hysteria, and an overdone breakfast burrito. I shook my head. Back to reality. Werewolf hallucinations aside, nothing had changed, really. Cooper didn’t like me. I didn’t like Cooper. If he could ignore the whole kissing-in-the-alley situation, so could I.

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and walked back into the kitchen with my well-practiced calm, unaffected face on. I joked with Evie, whose brow remained furrowed and confused for the next few hours. I smiled and poured coffee. I ignored Cooper’s half-empty plate, which sat cold at the end of the bar.

  CHAPTER 7

  Thundereggs and Doughnut Etiquette

  BIRTHDAYS HAD ALWAYS BEEN a weird time for me.

  When I was a kid, I welcomed every birthday, as it put me one year closer to my moving out on my own. But birthdays also marked another difference for my family. Instead of celebrating with a cake (too full of poisonous refined sugars) and presents (too materialistic), my mother would come into my room at exactly 3:57 A.M. to tell me the story of my miraculous emergence into this world, as if it was some fairy tale. Although I supposed few fairy tales involved the words “vaginal flowering.”

  When I moved out, Mom would call me, again at 3:57, to give me the early-morning audio version. That helped me make friends with my dorm-mates. Given that I was a water birth, I supposed I should be grateful that she didn’t climb in the tub and reenact it every year.

  I’d never had what you’d consider a traditional birthday party. As in the case of Christmas, Hanukkah, Easter, and any other tradition celebrated by ninety-nine percent of the population, my parents just didn’t see the point in birthdays. In high school, I’d had small annual celebrations with Kara and her parents. But they’d kept it low-key, in an effort not to offend my parents completely. Kara’s mother would make a German chocolate cake, and we’d go to the movies. When I turned sixteen, the Reynoldses bought me a little silver charm bracelet, just like Kara’s. Every year, they added a charm—a graduation cap for our senior year or a little magnolia to salute our roots. Kara had already sent me this year’s charm, a silver moose to mark my move to the Great North.

  The morning I turned thirty was the first time I’d missed out on one of Mom’s dramatic monologues. I just wanted a nice quiet day at work. But when I walked into the saloon that morning, it was dark, which was unusual. I heard the faint sound of hurried whispering, of scuffling footsteps behind the counter. I backed away, thumping into the door, nearly dropping the morning’s baking to the floor as I fumbled for the knob.

  No.

  No, damn it, this was my home. I was tired of crying, of being afraid. This was my place. I didn’t care if I got robbed again, no one was going to send me running out of here. I quietly set my bags on a nearby pool table and picked up a cue. I rounded the corner of the lunch counter, prepared to swing for the fences when the lights flicked on and a deafening roar of “SURPRISE!” filled the room. I screamed and sent the pool cue clattering to the ground. Evie, Buzz, Pete, Walt, Nate, Gertie, Susie Q, and a few of the breakfast regulars popped up from behind the counter blowing on noisemakers.

  My eyes blinked against the flood of light. I could see now that the bar was strung with pink and white streamers. Everybody was wearing silly paper hats and wide grins. There was a banner that read, “Happy 30th Birthday, Mo!” in homemade construction-paper letters. And on the counter was an obscenely large stack of doughnuts with candles stuck in them. The rush of relief, of love toward them all, squeezed at my chest.

  “How did you know?” I asked, still shaking as Evie wrapped her arms around me.

  “I do actually read the employment forms, you know,” Evie teased as Buzz moved in for his bear hug. “The question is, why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m not a big birthday person.”

  “Well, get over it,” she told me, holding a powdered sugar doughnut up to my lips.

  “No, no, faux pas, Evie,” Gertie tsked, her double chin quivering in mock disapproval. “When a girl turns thirty, she gets the chocolate doughnut. Powdered sugar is for when you turn forty.”

  Evie laughed and plated a chocolate doughnut with a flourish.

  “That’s why we keep her around,” Susie informed me, strapping a big pink “Birthday Girl” hat on my head. “Her extensive knowledge of etiquette.”

  I laughed, dabbing at my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until the first te
ar rolled down my cheek. I wiped at it self-consciously.

  “Aw, hell, boys, we made her spring a leak,” Abner cursed.

  “Thank you, all of you, for this. This is the best birthday party I’ve ever had.”

  “Well, that’s plain sad, honey,” Walt said, shaking his head.

  I expected the party to break up when the breakfast crowd started filtering in, but the new customers just joined us for doughnuts. It was a little overwhelming, the hugs and well wishes from people I’d known for such a short time. I expected to bristle at the attention, to want to run into the kitchen for some peace and quiet. But I found that I didn’t feel crowded or pressured for a positive reaction. People here just wanted me to be happy, and not on terms carefully prescribed by them.

  “Aw, shoot, I missed the surprise.” I turned to see Alan walking through the door with a little blue gift bag.

  “Sorry, Mo’s an early riser,” Buzz said. “You have to get out of bed pretty early and all that.”

  “If only . . .” Alan shot a dazzling smile my way. I rolled my eyes at the obvious joke. He slipped an arm around my waist and gave me an affectionate squeeze. I waited for the butterflies, but mostly, I felt a warm rush of affection, the same love I felt for Nate or Walt or Abner.

  “Evie said no presents, but I wanted to give this to you,” he said, handing me the gift bag.

  “That’s very sweet. You really didn’t have to—” I pulled out what looked like a tiny fire extinguisher. “Wow. Alan, I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s bear mace,” he said, proudly showing me the label. “I worry about you, all alone out there at your place. The bears are coming closer and closer into town every year. I want you to carry that at all times. But don’t flip the lid unless you really mean it, because that stuff stings . . . and stains.”

  I nodded. “That’s very thoughtful,” I assured him.

  “A fella really has to like a girl before he’ll give her pepper spray,” Nate said, winking at me. He could not have been more pleased.

  “Do I get to kiss the birthday girl?” Alan asked, leaning close. I could smell Scope on his breath. Obviously, he’d come prepared for this. “They say it’s supposed to be good luck.”

  “Says who?” I asked, teasing.

  “Well, I’m sure someone says it,” he said, shrugging good-naturedly.

  As Alan leaned in, I gave him a friendly peck on the lips. He laughed and gave me another in return, murmuring, “One to grow on.”

  My eyes widened as Alan leaned in and brushed his mouth over mine. He definitely knew what he was doing in the kissing department. I felt the warm, soft pulse of his mouth all the way to my toes.

  “She’s thirty, you know,” Nate said. “That’s a lot of kissing.”

  “I’ve got to get back to work at some point today,” I protested in mock horror as I gave Alan a hug. His returning squeeze was warm and strong, and Lord help me, I couldn’t help but lean right into it. Alan smelled of fresh minty breath and a good woodsy aftershave. I could hear his steady heartbeat against my ear and feel the warmth of his breath against my hair. I felt completely relaxed for the first time in weeks . . . so, of course, that was the moment that Cooper chose to walk through the door.

  Over Alan’s shoulder, I saw Cooper take in the streamers, see me straightening out of what looked like a clutch with Alan, and frown. He turned on his heel and walked back out. Despite the quick sting of hurt, I pointedly acted as if I hadn’t seen him.

  “You know, I was thinking that you shouldn’t have to cook for yourself on your own birthday,” Alan said, brushing a piece of glitter from my cheek. “I was thinking you should come over to my place tonight after work so I could make you dinner.”

  “Well, that’s mighty neighborly of you, Ranger Dahling.”

  “Alan makes a mean lasagna,” Nate added with a wink.

  “Don’t oversell it, Nate,” Alan warned him. “I’ll have to throw away the Stouffer’s box before she comes over.”

  “I’m sure anything you make will be fine,” I told him. “Can I bring anything?”

  “Nope, just yourself. And maybe wear the hat. It’s pretty damn cute.”

  “I can’t just not bring something for my host. It’s practically against my religion.”

  Nate and Alan gave me skeptical looks.

  “Southern counts as a religion,” I insisted.

  The party eventually broke up when some tourists came in looking for steak and eggs. Susie and Gertie tried to get me to wear my birthday hat all day, saying it would help our health-code rating if my hair was covered. I politely declined.

  That afternoon, close to the end of my shift, there was a little white gift box on the bar. Inside was a spherical lump of rock about the size of a baseball. I thought it was a practical joke, until Evie, a wide grin on her face, grabbed the tool kit out of the utility room and took me out to the alley. Using an awl and a hammer, she carefully tapped at the top of the rock.

  “Evie, what are you—”

  “Shh. I’m concentrating,” she said, chewing her lip. “I haven’t done this in a couple of years.”

  With one final ringing tap, the rock split open. Even in the dim light of the alley, I could make out the glimmer of milky crystal surrounded by dark slate-colored agate.

  “It’s a thunderegg,” Evie said, her eyes twinkling. “The ancients believed that when the thunder spirits in the mountains were angry, they’d chuck these things at one another. It takes just the right geological conditions to make them, and they’re pretty rare, even around here.”

  Thanks to my hippie parents, I’d seen a lot of crystals and geodes in my day but nothing compared to this. The patterns, the dance of light across even the rough slice, were hypnotic. “But why would someone leave one on the bar? As a tip?”

  “It’s for you, for your birthday.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Evie, it could be for anyone. Some tourist could have just left it there by accident.”

  “Do you see anyone else turning thirty around here?”

  “OK, if it’s for my birthday, who’s it from? Why didn’t they leave a card?” I asked.

  “Sometimes the gift is message enough,” she said in her “wise” tone. “Fine, I saw him drop it off. I think someone feels a little guilty over how he’s treated you.”

  “Cooper? But he—he—” He howls at the moon and murders defenseless elk.

  “He doesn’t like me,” I finished lamely.

  “Aw, honey, he’s been nicer to you than he is to most of the locals. Sometimes a man just has to pull your pigtails a few times before he can deign to admit that he likes you. Honestly, I don’t know why we put up with any of them. You just wait and see. He’s coming around.”

  “I don’t see how not insulting me or openly sneering at me for a few days can be considered being nice to me.” I snorted weakly. I looked down at my watch. I was supposed to be at Alan’s house in an hour. “Crap. I’ve got a date.”

  “Well, that’s the right attitude to head into a date with,” she said, smirking.

  “Alan’s fixing me dinner.”

  Evie sighed. Loudly.

  “What?”

  “Mo, it’s not that I don’t like Alan. I love him to death, but he’s not right for you. You need a challenge . . . like, say, my idiot cousin, who apparently doesn’t know about signing gift cards so he can get credit for what is clearly a romantic gesture. A weak and somewhat backward romantic gesture, but—”

  “Evie,” I huffed in a warning tone.

  “Cooper needs someone who won’t put up with his surly crap, someone who will sift through all that and find the great guy he used to be. And you, you need someone who’s going to make you work a little bit. And Cooper will make you work like a dog just to get him to ask you out.”

  “Well, you make it sound so appealing,” I muttered. “And what do you mean, the great guy he used to be?”

  She preened. “I have you intrigued now, don’t I?”

&nbs
p; I glared at her.

  “Look, I’ve watched you every day since you moved here. You don’t trust anything that comes to you too easily. And Alan is the definition of easy-going. Anything you have with him will be doomed from the start.”

  “It will be now that you’ve put your evil date voodoo on it. Jesus, Evie!” I pushed to my feet and shoved the thunderegg back into the gift box.

  “OK, ‘doomed from the start’ was probably going a bit too far,” she said, following me to my truck. “I just think you need to be careful how you handle this.”

  “I will be.” I slid into Lucille’s driver’s seat, rolled my window down, and started the ignition, all the while glaring at her. “If I go into your office and find an Alan doll with pins stuck in its crotch, I will be super-pissed.”

  I drove at highly illegal speeds to get home. I put the thunderegg on my mantel, rushed into the shower, and spent fifteen minutes scrubbing Eau de Blue Plate Special from my general person. And then another fifteen debating among the few nicer outfits I’d brought with me. I was torn between a sweater and jeans and a low-cut red party dress, which was a little too much for a dinner in.

  I settled on jeans and a sky-blue silk blouse that brought out the color of my eyes, a birthday gift from Kara the previous year. With her in mind, I put on my silver charm bracelet as I thumbed through my bathroom drawer searching for my eyeliner, which I hadn’t used since I moved. Overall, the effect was quite nice, considering I’d been assembling tuna melts only an hour before.

  I managed to slide into Alan’s driveway two minutes early, which I figured was polite but not desperate. And because I was physically incapable of not bringing some sort of hospitality offering with me, I presented Alan with a batch of chocolate chess squares when he opened the door.

  “I told you, just bring yourself,” he said, feigning a stern tone. I fought against the giggle forming in response to the little plaid apron he was wearing over shirt and jeans. He said, “I have dessert covered.”

  Just then, the loud screeching of a smoke alarm sounded over Alan’s shoulder. As he turned, I could see smoke billowing from the kitchen. Alan paled. “Oh, shit.”