by Troy Hunter
I laugh, tossing my head back. “I left my cardigan and Italian leather shoes in my truck.”
“Oh, a truck too?” He grins.
“You got me pegged,” I say, my lips twisting into a sensual smile.
He watches me with bright eyes. “I can’t say that,” he murmurs.
My brows furrow at his strange remark. “What?”
“Oh, I, uh,” he laughs nervously. “It’s stupid. But I had a…well, a pickup line come to mind.”
“Let’s hear it,” I say, spreading my hands invitingly.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and clears his throat nervously. “That’s not the only thing I can peg.”
I stare blankly at him, watching the blush creep over his cheeks and redden his ears. And then I burst into laughter, my shoulders shaking. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard,” I wheeze.
He smiles, relaxing. “You can see why I didn’t want to say it.”
“I can’t believe you even thought it,” I laugh. “So, Dale, tell me about yourself.” I’m curious now, more curious than I was before.
“I’m an IT guy,” he says confidently. “At a research lab. I’m a programmer.”
“A programmer? Interesting.” The truth is I know shit about programming and technology in general. The most complicated thing I can do is mess around on my laptop while I edit my photos.
He smiles wryly at me. “I take it you’re not a tech guy?”
“Not at all—I prefer the outdoors. It’s much simpler.”
He nods understandingly. “I can understand that. It’s calmer.”
“It is,” I say, a blossom of happiness in my heart. “It’s like heaven on earth being up in those mountains.”
“I haven’t been to the mountains yet, but judging by the sunrise this morning, I believe you,” Dale says thoughtfully.
He noticed the sunrise, I think, staring at him. I feel my heart pound faster as I look at Dale, sipping his coffee, staring nonchalantly outside. He listens well, says all the right things. Even his flop of a pickup line was charming enough to endear him to me. And the fact that he could appreciate something as simple as a sunrise is one of the most attractive things about him. I want to spend more time with him. A lot more time with him.
Dale
I’M GRINNING INTERNALLY, more than pleased that I’ve managed to sit down with Cliff and test out the ARF device. Which is working perfectly, thank you very much. Its only mistake was suggesting I use that god-awful line with him, which it fed me word for word. But my accidental outburst responding to the machine went over well with Cliff when I wrote it off as talking to myself. Though I’ll have to make some changes to the device, so it doesn’t make every user sound so cheesy.
He isn’t gullible. No, I can tell already that he’s matured into a self-confident, intelligent man. But my device couldn’t be working more smoothly. When I get back to my parent’s house, I’ll try to eliminate the slight delay it has while it calibrates responses to Cliff. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the short pauses I make before replying.
“Target shows signs of arousal,” the ARF device says into the earpiece I’m wearing.
I glance at him in surprise but I don’t notice anything that screams “I want to fuck you”. His fingers are playing against the to-go cup he got his coffee in, his head turned to the window while he watches the streets grow busier. But the statement from the ARF device sends my blood pumping stronger and tingles through my body.
I still remember that night on the field, when he kissed me and ran a hand over the bulge in my jeans. Since then, I’ve never felt a kiss like that. A kiss that drove all the thoughts from my mind and made me feel like I was floating. I’m still bitter at Cliff for the way he rejected me the day after that kiss. For the sake of the ARF device, I need to keep this experiment as controlled as possible. It stung only slightly when he revealed he didn’t remember me. But now, I understand it’s perfect for my plan.
“So, you’ve heard all about me,” I say, interrupting the silence. “What do you do?”
“I’m a wildlife photographer,” he says, turning back to me. He pats a satchel at his side, his camera must be inside.
“Ask him for more details,” the ARF device says.
“Really? How’d you get into that?” I ask obediently.
“I’ve always loved the outdoors, and one day when I went out on a hike, I picked up a dodgy old camera, just for kicks. When I got the photos developed and hung them in my room it just felt right. So, I took a camera each time I went out and I guess everything just fell into place,” Cliff says. His voice is husky, a little gravelly, and more than a little sexy. It’s just the way his voice is, the way it’s always been.
“And so you made a career out of it,” I finish, sipping my coffee.
He nods, pursing his lips. “Yeah, nature has been good to me.”
I like that. “Nature has been good to me.” It’s a humble statement, a way to deflect any compliments of his own skill. Nature is his subject, and I suspect a way of life for him.
“Ask him to dinner,” the ARF device suggests. “Analysis predicts the subject has a 93.4% probability of success.”
I chew my lip nervously. “Do you want to go to dinner some time?”
He looks me over appraisingly as he considers. I can hear the ARF device running equations. “Target shows signs of arousal,” the ARF device says again.
I ignore it, waiting with my heart in my throat for Cliff to speak. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he finally says.
My shoulders almost sag with relief but I keep them straight and my face carefully composed. “Great.” I smile. “My friend Kate is acting in a dinner theatre tonight—how does seven sound?”
“Dinner and a show?” Cliff raises a brow. “You’ll spoil me.”
His words, spoken slowly and seductively, send a rush of anticipation through me. “Calculations indicate that an attempt at intercourse would be met with a 74.8% probability of rejection,” the ARF device says to me.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’m not going to proposition Cliff in a crowded café at 7:45 a.m. But the device doesn’t know that—it’s simply reading my biological signs as well as Cliff’s. I’ll have to fine-tune it later. Then again, those aren’t bad odds.
Cliff rises, adjusting his camera bag over his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up.”
“You’ll pick me up?” I ask, surprise lacing my voice.
He grins at me and I get a wave of intense alpha male vibes from him as his eyes spark like a wildfire. “Yeah, in my very stereotypical truck.”
“I’ll give you my number and text you my address,” I say, standing. I list off a set of numbers to him and he texts me instantly, sending an emoji of a wolf. I reply with my address, knowing I’m liable to forget if I don’t do it right then.
“Thanks, Dale,” Cliff says, my name falling from his lips like he’s tasting it.
“See you,” I say, raising a hand as he sweeps through the door.
My knees feel like gelatin and my heart is beating too fast. I collapse back into my chair, nursing my drink while he disappears down Main Street. I can’t believe I have a date with Cliff Taylor, the boy of all my high school fantasies, tonight. I wonder if he’ll remember who I am by then. I hope he doesn’t, simply because that might compromise my testing of the ARF device.
“Probability of success with target is 83%,” the device chirps.
I unplug it and power it down, slipping the tiny earpiece from my ear and tucking it into my pocket. This is going perfectly.
CLIFF
I haven’t been able to get Dale off my mind all day, not even when I went out to shoot. My photos were sloppy, unfocused, and all-around terrible because I couldn’t clear my mind. I couldn’t get into that headspace that makes everything but nature disappear. Instead, I’d found myself trying to ignore a massive erection the majority of the time.
Finally, I knew I was losing the battle against my body’s pi
ning for Dale. So, I set my camera aside and braced myself against a tree, spilling all my cum into the dirt and grass below. I had grunted, bellowed, and jacked off in the empty forest to a fantasy of Dale giving me head.
But I’m not in that forest anymore. I’m in my truck, heading to his address and trying not to think about all the ways we could fuck in the cab. I squeeze the steering wheel tightly, willing down my stiff cock as his house comes into view. It’s a modest-sized farmhouse, well-tended and cheerful with lots of flowerbeds. I screech to a halt on the street outside and take a deep breath. I haven’t been nervous like this over a date in a long time. I just hope Dale doesn’t disappoint.
I changed for the date, partially because I covered my earlier clothes in mud while I was out hunting for good photos. Now I’m dressed in a light jacket, a plain black sweater beneath, and nice jeans. I considered shaving before I left the house, but the way Dale was staring appreciatively at the scruff on my chin made me change my mind.
At the front door, I ring the bell, my stomach doing somersaults. This whole house smells familiar, an undertone of Dale’s own scent. I wracked my brains all day trying to remember how I know him, because I’m certain we’ve met before. And with a house here in town, I suspect he was raised here and is just returning for a visit. It’s likely we were in school together, maybe high school. Or perhaps his parents retired to Bear Moose for a little country quiet.
Of course, I don’t remember much of my high school days. Adolescence is difficult for shifters like me, the heightened emotions and immaturity make it easier for the beasts within us to manifest. So I spent a lot of my time in high school battling my animal impulses with sports or smoking pot to make life easier for me. A lot of pot. It was good for mellowing me out, which in turn made me less likely to shift out of anger.
I ring the bell a second time and hear footsteps thudding toward me. It isn’t Dale, though, too heavy. The door swings open and a shirtless man stands in the entrance, his dark skin rippling with muscles.
“Uh, hi,” I say, ignoring the way his eyes rake over my body. “Is Dale here? I’m supposed to pick him up for dinner.”
“Dale!” the man shouts, his head angled to the side, probably toward a staircase.
I hear a muffled response and then suddenly another man is at the door, older this time. He’s got the same lanky frame as Dale, the same nose. His dad. He grins widely at me. “Well, how do you do?” he asks, extending a hand toward me.
“I’m Cliff. It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand.
He doesn’t release me right away, his thumb lightly brushing my knuckles. “I’m Hank, this is Michael.”
Michael flexes his muscles imperceptibly as he hangs on the doorframe.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” Hank asks, still clutching my hand.
“I’m sorry, I’m just waiting on Dale,” I explain politely.
Hank waves a hand and looks me up and down appraisingly. “Just while you wait then.”
Suddenly, there’s a small woman at the door, her blazing eyes are the same shade as Dale’s. “Hank leave the boy alone,” she says, slapping his ass playfully. “We’ve already got Michael, you greedy man.”
Hank drops my hand reluctantly and then flinches as the woman pinches his ass, the other reaching for Michael. He lets out a satisfied grunt and they all exchange a heated glance. What the fuck? I wonder, wishing desperately Dale would get down here and explain to me what’s going on.
“Mom, dad, Michael, please,” Dale’s voice echoes toward me and I breathe a sigh of relief. My wish has been granted. He leaps down the stairs and pushes past them out the door, casting a sheepish glance at me. “Stop hitting on him.”
I laugh. “It was nice to meet you all.”
“You have him back here by midnight!” Hank yells after us as we descend the steps.
“Or keep him out all night!” Dale’s mom shouts before they dissolve into laughter.
Dale tosses his head back, exposing his neck, and groans. “Fuck, they’re embarrassing.”
I hold the door open for him as he clambers into the truck. His ass is tight, and I catch myself falling into another fantasy involving my tongue and his asshole. “What’s going on there? If you don’t mind my asking,” I say, slipping into the truck on the other side.
He sighs deeply, as if it pains him to even think about it. “They’re experimenting sexually. Michael moved in a while ago. I have to share a room with him,” he explains.
I don’t have a problem with ménage à trois. I think with the right partners it could be fucking hot. I haven’t had a chance to try it myself but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t, given the opportunity. So I don’t judge his parents for experimenting a little. I just hope Dale isn’t judging them either.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says, “I mean, I don’t care that they’re having a threesome. Whatever, you know, it’s important to embrace your sexuality and pleasure. But they’re my parents. And they’re not exactly subtle. It’s enough to drive any kid crazy.”
I nod. “That makes sense. And they gave him your room?”
“Yep,” he sighs.
“Savage.” I grin at him.
He chuckles low, the sound making my cock throb. “Thanks for picking me up. I know we live a little way out of town.”
I almost laugh. Dale’s place is practically the center of town compared to where I live, which is in a mountain cabin with very few amenities. Of course, I spend half my time living with the pups anyway.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, flashing him a smile. “So, where am I headed?”
He gives me directions to the dinner theatre, which is a few blocks from Main Street and already busy. I recognize it when we pull into the parking lot, though I’ve never been before. He whistles low at the crowd heading through the doors. “I guess I should have made some reservations.”
“In Bear Moose?” I laugh. “It’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you have a friend on the inside?”
He nods. “Very true. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”
“Damn right.”
We walk beside each other toward the entrance. His hand is swinging beside mine and I’m tempted to grab it, to hold it while we walk and then keep hold throughout dinner. But it’s a little soon for that kind of thing, even if every cell in my body is screaming at me to claim Dale.
To say I’m looking forward to spending time with him tonight is an understatement. My wolf is sniffing around him eagerly, pacing. And I ache to be with him. I don’t know how I’ll last a full night without pouncing on him and fucking him until he’s roaring my name with absolute abandon. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
We’re at dinner. Enjoy the show. Fuck him later.
DALE
C liff holds the door open for me when we reach the restaurant, the second time he’s opened my door tonight. I might be old-fashioned in the sense that his chivalry is an intense turn-on. I was hungry for him before when I saw him on my porch, but now I’ll have a hard time focusing on anything besides Cliff.
He’s just as I remember him from high school, with an easy smile and kind eyes. He treats me the way he did before our fateful kiss that night on the field. I can feel myself falling into his gravity the way I did in high school, an inexplicable pull toward him.
The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, red curtains bunched along the walls to give it an old-world feel. There’s a long bar in the back, and small round tables and booths filling the main area, all facing a stage.
Suddenly, a woman pops in front of me, her eyes panicked. “Oh, shit,” I exclaim, taken off guard by her sudden approach.
I hear Cliff choking back a laugh behind me. The woman adjusts her hat and shawl. “I hope you two are prepared,” she says in a thick cockney accent. “Tonight may just be the most frightening night of your sorry lives.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to study the woman’s features in the dark. “Kat
e?” I ask.
“We haven’t had the pleasure,” Kate says in her fake accent. “The name’s Doris. I’ll show you to your table.”
I shrug at Cliff and we follow her. We weave between tables and booths until Kate stops in front of a booth that has a great view of center stage. She ushers us in and draws two menus from beneath her shawl.
“Now, you gents have an excellent evening,” she drawls. “The night is young.”
Then she disappears back into the dim restaurant, probably accosting another customer. I flip open my menu and study our options. “That was my friend Kate, I didn’t realize she would already be in character,” I muse.
“I know Kate—we chat sometimes in the Cocoa Peak. I didn’t recognize her either. I’m actually looking forward to the show,” Cliff says over his menu. “It’s been years since I saw a play.”
Probably since high school, I think.
“I was in a play once, in high school. Grease.” Cliff eyes me, as if studying my face for a reaction.
“Show him that you’re interested in his past. Ask for more detail,” the ARF device instructs me.
“Really? You don’t seem the type.” I cock a brow.
He shakes his head, chuckling. “There you go, stereotyping me again.”
“Did you go to school here?” I ask, steering the conversation in a new direction.
“Yeah, I did. I’ve been in Bear Moose my entire life,” he says, folding his menu.
“And with wildlife photography you could potentially stay here, right?” I probe.
He shrugs. “Most likely. I love it here. Where are you from?”
“Silicon Valley,” I say.
The waiter interrupts before he can reply. Cliff orders a Jack Daniels and a garden salad. Curious. I order a pasta dish and a soda, as drinking while I’m using the ARF device is probably not a good idea. Although it would be best to set up a test of the device in that situation as well, so I can understand its full capability. But on my first date with Cliff, hell no.