The Matchstick Grill (The Feminine Mesquite Book 4)

by Sable Sylvan

  However, Fate had more in store for the Quincy Sisters and the Scoville Brothers…and so did Alice and Herb. Herb had bought a manor on the outskirts of town, revamped it and renamed it the Mesquite Manor, and Alice had renamed the hot sauce company The Feminine Mesquite. She retained full ownership of it but promised each of the Quincy Sisters their share if they helped the company become a success, and Herb had promised his brothers their shares of their inheritance if they put in the hard work to help his fated mate’s company become a success.

  That winter, Cayenne’s second eldest sister, Abigail, had come home for winter break to work on her thesis, which meant that while Cayenne and her younger sister, Savina, as well as the middle sibling, Addison, had been put to work in The Feminine Mesquite’s store on Fallowedirt’s Main Street, Abby got to hang out with none other than Clove Scoville, the future beta of the Scoville Clan, the second eldest brother. Of course, Fate had made a match of them as well, and the beauty had managed to soothe the savage beast. They were also engaged to be married, but Fate wasn’t satisfied quite yet.

  Addison had gone abroad, to England, to study at the prestigious Bonimolean University, where she had kept company with Clove and Sage Scoville. Mace had done something to be kept home that semester, and Basil had been studying abroad in Brazil, so Addison took Herb’s old room, as Mace had taken his things home to Oslo for the semester. Addison was the quiet, bookish sister, who was always daydreaming about something, but Sage, the gamma of the Scoville Clan, the middle sibling and the one with a bad boy rock star vibe, had awoken an inner fire in the sleeping beauty that Cayenne had to admit was refreshing. She had never seen her sister so happy and so full of life. If Sage was responsible for her happiness and willing to put away his alternative clothes for an evening and wear a tailored suit just to make her happy, then he had Cayenne’s approval.

  Of course, each sister was a fated mate for their polar bear match, and they had all gotten engaged. There was to be a grand triple wedding at the end of the summer, and Cayenne knew that the eldest siblings were gunning to add a fourth and fifth couple to the wedding. Cayenne scoffed as she thought about their intention. Addison had more than hinted that she thought that Cayenne would be hooked up with Basil by the end of the summer, but Cayenne had told her no way, no how. After all, Cayenne might look cute and girly, but she was the hardest working of the Scoville Sisters. The only reason she even wore ‘fancy’ business casual clothes daily was that she had internships during the school year that she had to run to after class. Basil was different. He was carefree and had probably never done a frikkin’ day of hard work in his life.

  Cayenne looked over to Basil. Who the heck wore a fancy suit to a strip club, especially a male strip club? Herb was dressed casually, as was Clove, and Cayenne would give Sage a pass for wearing a suit because it wasn’t his usual style and she knew he was wearing it because Addison thought he looked absolutely ‘ravishing’ (her words, not Cayenne’s) in a suit. Cayenne rolled her eyes, but Basil had spotted her out of the corner of his eye…and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him making his way over to her.

  Cayenne resisted the urge to sigh. After all, she wasn’t just a hospitality major. She was a Southern girl with manners, like her maternal grandma Barbara. It wouldn’t do to be rude, even to a gentleman she didn’t fancy. Cayenne pretended to be examining one of the gaudy posters that lined the walkway to Bear Buns.

  “Hey, Kai,” said Basil, using Cayenne’s nickname.

  “Hello, Basil,” said Cayenne. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Believe it or not, yes,” said Basil. “I haven’t seen a male strip show before. I heard they’re good dancers. It’s not just going to be a meat market…or I guess, a mate market.”

  “Ha-ha,” said Cayenne, forcing herself to laugh at the corny joke. “You know, I’m sure that Abigail wouldn’t mind if you went back to the hotel.”

  “And miss her graduation party? I wouldn’t miss that for all the world,” said Basil. “Isn’t it funny to think that Addison will be graduating next year? So will Sage. Do you think that you’ll fly over to England to make the graduation?”

  “Of course, I will,” said Cayenne. “She’s my sister.” Her inner Southern belle was reading Basil like a library book. What the heck did he mean, ‘do you think you’ll fly over to make the graduation’? Of course, she would. Why was Basil asking such stupid questions?

  “I just didn’t know if you’d be busy or get out of school on time,” said Basil. “But of course you’d go. How do you like the menus?”

  “The menus?” asked Cayenne.

  “The menus,” said Basil, motioning over the posters. Each poster had a pair of shirtless men on it, and underneath, their shifts. The mate marks on the men had been removed with some photo editing software to keep things mysterious.

  “Oh, I guess they are sort of like a menu, aren’t they,” admitted Cayenne. “I didn’t think of them that way.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be specializing in restaurant management?” teased Basil.

  “Whatever,” said Cayenne. “I think the ‘menus’ are a little cheesy, don’t you?”

  “Hey, go big or go home, right?” asked Basil. “It’s like peacocking.”

  “Peacocking?” asked Cayenne.

  “Peacocking is when a guy does something that’s visually outstanding to attract a mate,” said Basil. “Shifters do it a lot. After all, all the dancers at Bear Buns are looking for mates.”

  “They are?” asked Cayenne.

  “Yeah, it’s a huge thing,” said Basil. “Bear Buns started as a club in Seattle that had a touring show called ‘The Twelve Dancing Bears.’ There were six sets of two bears each. Each set of bears knew they were looking to share a fated mate. What better way to find a fated mate than to show off your mate mark every night to hundreds of women, hoping one of them might be the one? I don’t think I could ever do that, share my fated mate, but Fate works in mysterious ways.”

  “That sounds crazy,” said Cayenne.

  “It does,” agreed Basil. “But humans and shifters both do crazy things for love.”

  “Basil, Kai, come on,” called Abigail. “We need to get our seats!”

  “Thanks for filling me in,” said Cayenne, before she walked toward her sister. She’d let herself get roped into another talk with Basil. Of course, know-it-all Basil knew all about a frikkin’ male strip club. ‘Well-traveled,’ her butt. More like ‘has lots of free time and free money to do whatever he wants’.

  Cayenne took in the splendor of Bear Buns as she entered the club with her sister. Strip clubs weren’t her thing because they were usually seedy and kinda sad…but it seemed like it must be impossible to be sad at a place like Bear Buns. It was like a theme park for horny women. There were cardboard cutouts of the dancers that people could take pictures with, as well as actual dancers putting on shows in the halls. The entire club was very well-lit, but it wasn’t bright enough to be glaringly bright, uncomfortable to the patrons and unflattering for the dancers. There was even a merch store where one could buy totes, chocolates, shirts, and other goodies with Bear Buns logos, as well as posters of the dancers.

  They walked into the main hall, a performance hall, and were led to a special VIP section behind forest green velvet ropes. Their table was large, made of hardwood, and had a pole in the center of it. There was a private bar in the VIP section, and after they had been seated, fresh mimosas were brought to the table. The table had a special chair for Abigail that was graduation themed, and she was given a black rhinestone graduation cap and sash. The VIP treatment was truly VIP, and not just a metaphor for illicit activity. Cayenne had studied luxury hotels, and this rivaled even the best of luxury hotels. It was obvious that the shifters that ran Bear Buns spared no expense in pampering their future fated mates.

  “Do you think you’ll get called on stage?” asked Addison. She was seated next to Cayenne. The Quincys and Scovilles were ordered by gender and age from house
left to house right. The youngest Quincy Sister, Savina, was to Cayenne’s right. Cayenne was between Savina and Addison, who was next to Abigail. Next came Alice and Herb, then the rest of the Scovilles by rank. There was Clove, the beta, then Sage, the gamma. Finally, there was Basil, looking smug as ever even as a delta, and Mace, the wildcard omega of the clan.

  “No frikkin’ way,” said Cayenne. “Why would I? Why not Abigail?”

  “Oh, Alice and I got stamps on our hands,” said Addison, showing Cayenne her hands stamp. “Abigail did, too.”

  “Stamps? For what?” asked Cayenne.

  “The stamps are for people who don’t want to be called on stage,” explained Savina, who was sitting on cayenne’s other side. “I got one, too.” Savina turned her other cheek and showed Cayenne the big stamp on her cheek.

  “I didn’t think to get one,” said Cayenne. “You think I’ll get called up?”

  “Who knows? You might, and you might find your fated mate,” said Savina.

  “Wait, why the heck did you get one?” asked Cayenne.

  “I thought it was just a normal stamp!” said Savina. “Trust me, if I could turn back time and undo it, I would…and yes, I tried to rub it off with soap. Looks like I’ll be sporting this badge for a while.”

  “Oh no, Sav,” said Cayenne. “It’ll be like doing a walk of shame every day.”

  “Walk of shame?” asked Savina. “Kai, girl, no way. It’s a stride of pride. Stride. Of. Pride.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about to begin,” said a DJ as the lights went down. “Tonight, we have a very special show in store for you…”

  The DJ described the schedule of the show in brief, along with some simple club rules, and the first act came out. They were fully clothed, but when they shifted into their bear forms and then left their shifts, they were stark raving naked. After all, when a shifter shifted, their clothes would burst if their animal was bigger than their human form. It was a problem that small shifters, like cat and frog shifters, didn’t have, but bigger shifters had this problem…but at Bear Buns, it wasn’t a problem. It was an asset because by shifting into an animal and then going back into their human form, they could show off their shift and their nude bodies…along with their mate marks.

  Three sets of men came out, and Cayenne thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t been called on stage…but then, the house lights came up a bit.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our intermission,” said the DJ. “While we get things ready backstage, let’s make things wild out in the audience. We’ll pick a random participant from each table. If you have a stamp, now’s the time to show it.

  A random participant? No, no, no! Waiters went to each table to clear them off. Their table was one of the first to be cleared off. Cayenne looked at Savina and then dipped her napkin in her water and put it on her hand.

  “What the heck are you doing?” asked Savina.

  “Let me copy your stamp to my hand,” said Cayenne.

  “Water won’t take it off, remember?” asked Savina. “Face it, girl. You’re the only one here without a stamp.”

  “Shiz,” cursed Cayenne under her breath. “Frik, frik, shiz, bullshizz, frik.”

  One of the wait staff, a tiger shifter wearing a pair of tiger print hotpants that had glitter stripes, tapped Cayenne on the shoulder.

  “Hey, you’ve been selected to represent your table,” said the tiger.

  “I really don’t want to,” said Cayenne.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” said the tiger. “You’re in the VIP section, so your job is to dance on the table.”

  “Dance on the table? No frikkin’ way,” said Cayenne. “I’m here to watch strippers, not be a stripper.”

  “Knock it off,” said a voice.

  Cayenne turned. Was Basil really getting out of his chair?

  “I’ll dance,” said Basil. “No stamp, see?” He offered out his hands. His bear roared. Finally, Basil was taking his advice regarding what to do about Cayenne. Of course, the bear would’ve preferred Basil had gone in for ‘the kill’ and kissed her, but defending her honor from an overly pushy tiger shifter was a start. Basil might be the delta, but he was all alpha when it came to protecting his woman…even if she wasn’t his woman yet.

  “You think you can compete with the dancers at Bear Buns?” asked the tiger.

  “You scared of a little competition?” asked Basil, taking off his jacket. His bear roared. Were they going to get in a fight with a frikkin’ tiger? America really was a melting pot and a strange place for a shifter with Viking blood. Basil hushed the bear. There were ways to settle this without a fight. After all, it wasn’t as if the tiger had attacked Kai. He’d only made her feel a little uncomfortable, which the polar considered a grave crime, but which the man assured the polar was not something worth shifting over. Polar bears might look cold, but they ran hot and were hot-headed. Basil’s inner bear was no exception.

  “By all means…if you think you’ve got the stuff, show it off,” said the tiger. “We just need one dancer per table.”

  “You’ve got your dancer,” said Basil, getting up onto the table. Around the club, various women were getting on tables, and every table except for their table had a woman on it.

  “It looks like we’re witnessing Bear Buns history in the making,” said the DJ as the lights went down and spotlights hit each table. “Someone better call the zoo, because there’s a wild bear on the loose. We’ve got what looks like a polar dancing for the VIP section. Anyone tell this guy it’s not Amateur Night? Every dancer gets a bag of Bear Buns goodies, but I have a feeling that this polar isn’t about to be satisfied with a participation trophy. I think he’s trying to go home with a trophy wife. That’s not my problem, though. Let’s see if he has what it takes to win tonight’s trophy. That’s right. We’ve got a trophy for the winner of tonight’s dance competition, and the winner gets a one thousand-dollar gift card to the Bear Buns merchandise store…so let’s see you shake those bare buns!”

  The DJ put on a standard electronic music track that was slow and suited for stripping. A few ladies chickened out before the contest had even started and had sat back down, so their tables were bare. Nobody really noticed that. All eyes were on the polar gone rogue, the one wearing a black shirt, rolled up to his arms, and a pair of forest green velvet suit pants along with a gold vest that shimmered under the white spotlight.

  Basil moved to the beat. His bear roared and started to dance inside of him, dancing to the beat and helping Basil move his body. Basil let the bear take over a bit and start moving to the beat in a more primal way, not as stiffly and as poised as Basil was used to. This wasn’t the frikkin’ Scoville Manor. This was Bear Buns: Denver, and there was no way that he was going to do ballroom dance when what the club wanted to see was his balls, cock, and ass.

  Basil used the pole and spun, careful not to kick anyone on accident. It was a simple spin, but he made it spicy by thrusting his pelvis to the beats, moving his hips in a circle that was slow and sensual but ended with a pop of his groin toward the audience. His bear roared and told him to direct his advances toward Cayenne instead, but Basil reminded the bear they’d already tried it and they needed to make Cayenne want them.

  The DJ’s song transitioned into another song. This song was a rock and electronica hybrid. The women in the audience either took a seat, too tired to dance a minute longer, or went even harder than before. When Basil saw one woman take off her shirt, he didn’t gawk. He just knew he had to up his game. He started to unbutton his vest.

  “You know you don’t have to do that,” Mace said to Basil.

  “Dude, you’re one person who should get this,” said Basil. “I’m a frikkin’ Scoville. In for a penny, out for a pound.”

  “Ah, the sunken cost fallacy,” said Herb, touting his MBA.

  “Who cares about the sunken cost fallacy when there’s a hard phallus to see?” said Basil. “Close your eyes, Herb. I’m about to get alpha up i
n this joint.”

  The DJ put on an R&B song, and things got real. Each of the spotlights turned a shade of deeper, darker blue, nearly navy, and Basil started to give the room bedroom eyes. He unbuttoned his gold vest and flung it out into the crowd. Two women at another table fought over it, but everyone else was busy watching Basil tease and tantalize them. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and moved his finger under his collar. Was he going to undo the rest of his buttons, and reveal the mate mark on his chest?

  The mate mark. It seemed so ridiculous to Cayenne. Shifters got marks on their bodies that told them who they were meant to be with. For most bears, including polars and even koalas (hence why some people called them bears), the mark showed up on their chest around age eighteen. Somehow, it was supposed to be a clue from Fate about who their fated mate was…but Cayenne wasn’t sure about all that. To be fair, she was the furthest thing from a tan, tall, toned shifter. She was a little short but made up for it with her curves, which were always flattered demurely in her business casual clothes. She made them look a little sexy, not frumpy, but still looked serious…but right now, she was seriously curious about what Basil’s mark was.

  Maybe it was all bullshizz. Maybe not. But, like people’s downstairs parts, the marks were kept secret, private, for the most part. That’s why it was such a big frikkin’ deal that a club like Bear Buns existed at all, and why the club had spread to Denver. Would Basil, a Scoville, really bare his mark to all the ladies in the audience?

  Basil moved his hands down his shirt, running his fingers over the buttons but not unbuttoning his shirt. The ladies shouted for him to take it off, but he had run his fingers over his designer belt instead. He undid the belt and ladies oohed and aahed. Was he going to flash them his twig and berries, or even…his bare buns?