Gray Back Bad Bear (Gray Back Bears Book 1)

by T. S. Joyce

  GRAY BACK BAD BEAR

  (GRAY BACK BEARS, BOOK 1)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  Gray Back Bad Bear

  Copyright © 2015 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2015, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: July 2015

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoycewrites.wordpress.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  Another day working on the landing stripping lumber, another night at Sammy’s Bar looking for her.

  The one.

  The mate that would fill the hole in Matt Barns’s middle.

  He touched the condensation on his half-empty glass of beer. A drop of water dripped down, gaining speed until it made a tiny splat on the napkin below. He and the water drop were on the same path to destruction.

  The search was the only thing that kept his bear even, though, so he’d keep doing this—searching and failing—until his animal ate him up from the inside out. Until his alpha had to put him down when he’d gone mad. That’s what happened to shifters like him. The bad ones.

  He glanced up as the front door swung open. Two blondes and a brunette with bodies like goddesses strolled in on long stem legs. Matching cutoff jean shorts barely hid their asses as they walked toward a table near the stage. They looked around like they were on the prowl for trouble, oversize purses hooked in the creases of their elbows, and shirts so tight they were like a second skin. Lucky fabric. Two of them looked like they had fake tits.

  Matt stood and downed his beer, never taking his gaze off a blond who’d locked eyes with him. Could his mate be one of them? Only one way to find out. He might be going down hard, but he was going to enjoy the shit out of the journey.

  ****

  Willa Madden glared at the behemoth walking toward her friends. She’d clearly underestimated Brittney, Kara, and Gia because it was now abundantly obvious they weren’t in Saratoga for a girl’s campout like they’d been planning since middle school.

  This was a werebear hunt. Her frown made her glasses slide down her nose, so she shoved them back into place primly. Shit on a cracker. She’d been hosed.

  “Do you think that’s him?” Kara asked in a rushed whisper. “It looks like him.”

  “Who’s him?” Willa asked.

  “Matt Barns,” Gia said, flipping her long chestnut tresses off her shoulder. “He’s on social media.”

  “Please tell me we aren’t here for you to sleep with a shifter.”

  “Bucket list, baby,” Brittney murmured, eyes on the approaching giant.

  “Fan-friggin-tastic,” Willa hissed out, angry at the epic dooping she’d fallen victim to. Her friends weren’t even that smart, and they’d still managed to trick her into forsaking beach destinations for this hole-in-the-wall town.

  She’d waxed her hoohah for this shit.

  “You look tense. Why don’t you go get yourself a drink, Willa?” Brittney asked …because clearly no one in here will buy you one.

  Brittney didn’t have to say that last bit out loud. It was implied by her tone and her love of subtle dominance battles. She was queen bee, always had been, and Willa was the peon who was lucky enough to be invited anywhere.

  Why had she put up with this crap for so long? Answer: she hadn’t. She’d pulled away from their quartet in high school when their popularity rocketed to the moon and they didn’t have time for her. But they’d all gone to the same college and kept in touch, and this was their follow-through on the blood pact they’d all made in seventh grade at Gia’s tree house slumber party. Friends forever and a girl’s trip after they all graduated college.

  And somewhere in those five years at university, the three bombshells had grown an obsession with shifters. They’d stalked the Internet and signed up for alerts when any new ones registered to the public and…oh my God, she was so dumb for not figuring out sooner this was a shifter booty-call trip.

  Three more men were approaching the table from across the room where the titan had been drinking, and now was the time to make her escape. She gave zero figs about shifters. Leave the poor things alone was her motto.

  “Anyone else want a drink?” she asked as she turned around and shuffled backward in the direction of the bar.

  “Nah, I think we’ll get our drinks from these sexy boys,” Kara said, winking at someone over Willa’s shoulder.

  She stumbled and ran into a solid brick wall. Or she thought it was, but when she turned around, Matt-What’s-His-Face was steadying her with giant hands on her shoulders and a look on his face that said he hadn’t even noticed her before now. Of course he hadn’t. No one ever did when she was with the bombshells. “Oh, just great,” she muttered, swatting at his hands. “Ignoramus,” she huffed as she jerked away from him and stomped off toward the bar.

  “Did you just call me an ignoramus?” the man asked in a deep timbre that sent a shudder down her spine.

  “You best believe it, mister.” When she cast him an angry glare over her shoulder, his eyebrows were lifted high and a surprised smile had curved his lips.

  Piercing blue eyes followed her until she ran into something, a waitress, and toppled forward as they both fell. Willa’s skirt flipped up, and she screeched as she hit the sticky wooden floors tits first. She was the worst at falling. She did it all the damned time, and she still had no instinct to catch herself with her hands.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she groaned as she helped a dark-headed waitress shove trash and a half-empty basket of fries back onto her tray. “I’m such a clutz.”

  “I am, too. It’s okay,” the woman said. Her cheeks blushed bright red. “It’s my first week.”

  “Oooh, now I feel even worse. You’re doing a great job!” she called as the waitress bustled away.

  “Hey, shrimp, can I buy you a drink?” Matt asked from above her.

  From the floor, it looked like his head was touching the ceiling. “Shrimp?” Her mouth was so frowny it hurt. “That offends me.”

  Matt shrugged as if he didn’t care. “It was that or Granny Panties.”

  “Granny Panties?” An exasperated sound huffed out of her mouth as she shoved the hem of her skirt downward to cover the panties in question. “They’re called comfy cottons, I’ll have you know. They came in six festive colors!”

  “Oh, you smell angry. And you look angry, too, with your eyes all scrunched up like that.” He was fighting an irritating smile as he offered her a hand.

  “I don’t need your help,” she grumbled. “I don’t need anything from you.” She scrambled upward, still holding her skirt over her legs. “Not a drink, not a hand up, not a diddle, not a conversation. If it’s a connection you’re looking for”—she waved her hand over toward the bombshells who were in shallow conversation with the men from the bar—“they’re
your girls. The brunette is super easy.”

  She stomped off toward the bathroom.

  “Really?” Matt called after her in an obnoxiously hopeful tone.

  “No, asshole.” She banged the single toilet bathroom door closed behind her and snapped the lock in place.

  Puffing air out her cheeks, she slammed her palms down on either side of the sink and glared at her reflection in the mirror. Burgundy rimmed glasses, chestnut brown eyes, and dyed red hair. She’d even spent extra time on her make-up and straightened her hair with one of those flat irons the bombshells probably carried around in their purses for hair emergencies. Hmm, she did look angry.

  She wasn’t even mad at the shifter. Not really. He’d just caught her right when she’d felt betrayed by her friends. She was upset she hadn’t dug deeper into the bombshells’ reasons for visiting Saratoga, Wyoming instead of Cabo or Florida. Truth be told, she’d pathetically been so flattered at being invited, she’d sat back while they made the plans. Heat blasted through her cheeks. How stupid she must look to them. No doubt the bombshells had been snickering behind her back this whole time.

  Why had they even included her on this trip?

  A knock sounded on the door. Right, she was hogging the bathroom. “Just a minute.” She washed her hands and re-adjusted her glasses, squared her shoulders because she was Willa-freaking-Madden, and despite how those girls out there made her feel, she was awesome.

  ****

  Matt waited, arms locked against either side of the bathroom door frame. He’d pissed off the little human, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how. She’d had that smell about her that most women got right before they slapped him, but he’d gone over their conversation in his head three times and still couldn’t think of anything he’d said that was slap-worthy.

  “Matt,” Jason said at normal volume from his stool at the bar. Matt could hear him just fine, but focused instead on the sound of running water in the bathroom.

  “Matt,” Jason called louder. “What are you doing messing with that chick?”

  Matt cast him a narrow-eyed glare as his bear snarled from inside him. She wasn’t just some chick. She was embarrassed from showing her panties to the bar, and he was going to make sure she was okay. Or something.

  One of the blonds was sitting on Jason’s lap, ripe for the picking and practically unzipping his jeans in front of everyone. Matt inhaled the scent of arousal wafting from the bar. Why was he here, worrying about this girl who obviously hated him, when there were three ready and willing women in there with his crew?

  The bathroom door swung open, and the tiny hellion ran into his chest. Again. Shoving her thick rimmed glasses up her nose, she glared up at him and blasted her hands onto her hips. She looked like a pissed off kitten.

  Matt did his best to hide his smile, but damn she was cute in her little black skirt and red tank top with a miniature tie-dye purse slung across her chest. It was two short steps away from being a fanny-pack. Her make-up hadn’t been slathered on like the other girls, but her doe brown eyes had been played up with some of that dark eyelid shit girls liked to wear, and her shiny red hair was pulled straight back in a ponytail and spiked out of the band, making her look like an anime character. She couldn’t be an inch over five foot of compact, angry, nerd. Sexy geek chic, and the opposite of his type. Yep.

  “They put these nifty pictures of girls in dresses on bathrooms in case you have trouble reading the word women,” she said as she did a Vanna White at the bathroom sign.

  Goddammit, she was cute all pissed off. “I made you mad.” Wait, that was the best he could do for an apology?

  Sexy Nerd sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “You didn’t.” She jerked her chin toward the trio of buxom beauties hanging all over his crew. “They did.”

  “You want to get out of here and talk about it?” Talk about it? He winced. Talking wasn’t his gig. Banging relentlessly was.

  “Ha! You, mister, are barking up the wrong tree. I’m a virgin and proud.” She waved her hands in front of her skirt. “No one has touched this magical box with their tally whacker, and I assure you, you won’t be entering my sacred temple either.”

  “Yeah, I figured. The pink polka dot granny panties gave you away.”

  “Comfy cottons.”

  He wanted to kiss that little angry moue off her glossed lips. Frowning, he said, “Well, you just saved yourself from my evil clutches because I don’t touch virgins. I find them dissatisfying for my…needs.”

  When her face fell, a burning ache slashed through his chest. What the hell was happening to him? He needed to go find the woman who’d just about sunk her claws into him before he’d followed Sexy Nerd to the bathroom.

  “You’ve been officially friend-zoned. The name’s Matt Barns,” he said, offering his hand for a shake.

  “Oh.” Her bravado faltered, and she looked vulnerable for a moment, then gripped his hand tightly and shook him once, hard. “Willamena Madden. People call me Willa.”

  “Willa?” He laughed. Even her name sounded nerdy.

  “Yes, Willa. It’s a family name. A lot of strong women in my lineage have carried that name.”

  “A warrior’s name then?”

  “Yes, you oaf. Stop making fun of me.”

  Matt cleared his throat and let the smile slip from his lips. “You’re right. Where are my manners?”

  “What kind of bear are you?”

  “Now, where are your manners? Shifter etiquette one-oh-one. No asking about the animal side unless you know someone really well.”

  She wasn’t paying attention and was instead clicking away on her phone. “Grizzly. Nice.”

  “What? How did you know?”

  “I just friend-zoned you…on social media. Your About Me section is super informative.”

  “And what if I’d been a panda shifter?”

  She scrunched up her face in a sympathetic look. “Then we couldn’t have been friends, Matt Barns of the”—she looked at her phone again—“Gray Back Crew. I’m extremely prejudiced against shifter animals. Apex predators only on my friend card.”

  Matt snorted and pursed his lips to hide how truly amusing this little human was to him.

  “Okay, while I have you here and talking, what size to you prefer?” she asked, digging through her colorful purse. She pulled out three condoms and lifted the tiniest. “Extra small?”

  Shock jolted up Matt’s spine as he guffawed. “If you’re a virgin, why are you carrying around condoms?”

  “Oh, not for me. For them.” She twitched her head at the Barbie trio. One of the blonds was now making out with Jason. “Safe sex is inconceivably important.”

  “I have my own condoms, thanks, and besides, you don’t have the right size for me.”

  “Extra extra small?”

  He gave her a cool look. “You’re funny.”

  “I think so, too,” she said through a giggle as she shoved the condoms back into her purse. “I’m glad you stalked me to the bathroom. I feel better now. Thanks, Griz.”

  Matt ran his hands over his face and shook his head. Willamena Madden was a handful in a tiny package. That was for sure and for certain. “Can I please buy you a drink now?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits behind her oversize glasses. “Why?” She slid her gaze to the left and right, then back at him. “Are you filming this? Am I being pranked?”

  “What? No. I just want to hear more about how you ended up here. With them.” He pointed to her friends.

  “It’s a long, boring story.”

  “I can’t wait.” And that was actually true, which was weird, because this was probably the longest he’d held a conversation with a woman without getting bored and popping off a dirty joke to shock her.

  “Fine, but no trying to get in my pants. It’s not happening.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “And you also have to tell me why you passed them up to buy me a drink.”

  “So many rule
s, woman.”

  Willa crossed her arms over her chest, pushing those perky little tits of hers higher.

  With a growl, he said, “Because I’m tired of banging shifter groupies, you seem to borderline hate me, and it’s nice to laugh with someone instead of trying for a quickie fuck in the back of my truck.”

  Willa jerked back, her soft brown eyes gone round. “Honesty. That’s nice for a change. Fine, Griz, you may purchase me a drink, so long as I buy us the next round.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a strong-ass woman who doesn’t need a man to pay for my shit, and I don’t want to feel like I owe you anything.”

  “Fair enough.” He liked that she didn’t need anyone. It would be the perfect friendship since he was infinitely undependable. Holding the crook of his elbow out, he smiled and said, “Pick your poison.”

  “Cranberry vodka,” she said, chin held high as she marched clumsily beside him.

  “Willa,” one of her friends, the blond with the claws, said when they reached the bar. “I thought you were leaving.”

  Hurt slashed across Willa’s face, and she hesitated.

  Fury blasted through Matt as he leveled the obnoxious woman with an unamused look. He nodded his chin toward the door. “Why don’t you leave?”

  “Whoa, whoa, man,” Clinton said from beside her. “Because we’re having fun.”

  “Long island ice tea,” Willa said to the bartender.

  “Thata girl,” he said, proud she hadn’t backed down from her friend. He was well-versed in dominance battles, and anyone with any sense could tell Blondie was the ruler of her little human crew. He understood the need for putting less dominant animals in their place. He didn’t, however, see the need for Blondie to send Willa off for no reason. These were supposed to be her friends, after all.

  “Oh my goodness, there’s a jukebox!” the brunette cried. She slurped down the rest of her drink and headed for the music maker in the corner, quarter held in the air tightly between her painted pink claws.

  Willa introduced him to her friends, Brittney the alpha, Kara, and Gia was the brunette poking buttons on the jukebox.