Unlove Me

by T. S. Joyce

  “I lied. On the paperwork.”

  Brock gave her a sympathetic smile. “You super-lied.”

  “It’s just…it’s just…I wanted to come to the UnValentine’s Day party. If I tell anyone I’m a shifter, they deny my applications, and I didn’t want to be denied. I wanted an escape…from…”

  “Valentine’s Day?”

  Eyes still on the ground, she nodded stiffly once.

  Aw, shit. They’d had the hotel torn up by shifters before, and even though the weretiger couple had paid for all the damage, Gran still felt burned. And this one had already caused property damage minute one at the inn.

  His sigh steamed in front of his face. “I’m Brock,” he introduced himself, jogging down the stairs. They were slick, but he wore boots with heavy rubber soles etched with thick tread. The snow crunched through the three inches that had fallen already, and he yanked open the back door and hauled out a bright pink suitcase. “Let me guess. Favorite color?”

  Her cheeks turned even brighter pink, and he could see the appeal of the color. Damn, she was cute. Shifter eyes and all.

  “Pink is number one,” she muttered. “Then purple, green, blue, yellow…orange…teal…”

  When he chuckled, she twitched her gaze to him then back down at her weed. “I’m sorry for lying.”

  Brock closed the back door and hoisted her suitcase to his hip so he didn’t drag it through the snow. “It wasn’t my choice to put that question on the reservation paperwork. So long as you don’t Change on the property, makes no difference to me.”

  “Right. No Changing.”

  Brock turned to find her looking worriedly at the woods beside the inn. “Please tell me you Changed recently,” he muttered.

  “What’s recent to you might not be recent to me. It’s really a vague word that—”

  “When?”

  Her voice dipped to almost nothing, and she canted her head and looked at him directly with those unsettling eyes. “That’s personal.”

  “Oh.” He felt awful. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much about your kind.”

  Her empty smile was automatic. “My kind,” she repeated. How many times had she given that same hollow smile to idiots like him who didn’t know how to say the right words?

  She studied him, her long, dark lashes brushing her cheeks when she looked at his boots. She walked around the car and showed him her snow boots, holding one leg out and pointing her toe. They were fur-lined and made of dark brown leather. “We’re wearing the same brand. We kind of match.”

  There it was—the out. She was offering him a way to ease the tension he’d caused. That was nice of her. Okay, he was paying attention. She was short but curvy. Gorgeous curves actually. Fuck, her hips were stretching her leggings just right, and she wasn’t a flat-chested woman by any means. Most weretigers were built lean. Maybe a wolf? Or a small brown bear. Those were dangerous, especially the females. But…she didn’t look dangerous now. She let her boot fall back to the snow and held the potted weed right in front of her like a little shield. “I won’t cause any trouble. If you saw me Changed, you would probably laugh, and I wouldn’t even blame you. Everyone does. Just trust me when I say everyone here is perfectly safe.” She frowned at the sign she’d rammed into. “Unless I’m driving, apparently.”

  He huffed a surprised laugh and set the suitcase gently in the snow, took a few steps toward her and closed the gap between them. Then he offered his hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Brock.”

  “Nice to meet you, cute guy drinking beer on the picture,” she said with a shake of his hand. Her palm was so warm. Felt feverish. A shifter trait? He held it a couple seconds too long, staring into her unnaturally green eyes. They were so vibrant, like moss.

  She released his hand and laughed a nervous sound. “Don’t worry.” She waved her hands at her eyes and looked down again. “They change color when I’m afraid. And I definitely didn’t mean to come barreling into an icy parking lot or expose myself as a mother-freaking liar first thing here. They’ll go back to normal soon.”

  “Normal? You mean to a normal human color?”

  The woman shrugged and didn’t answer.

  “Right. This way, Mrs. Dennis.”

  “Oh, it’s Miss. Or just Ava. I’m not married.”

  “Oh?” Brock asked innocently as he picked up her suitcase. “And you’re avoiding Valentine’s Day, so let me guess…”

  “I’m single and really bad at the mingle…part…of dating.” Under her breath, she whispered, “Worst poet in the universe, just shoot me.”

  To ease her embarrassment, he said, “Well, I’m also single and eat all the pringles. Because I don’t have a lady. So I can eat them all, and no one will complain about me not sharing.”

  She let off the most adorable giggle in the entire world. Like…it was so cute, he stopped on the stairs and nearly went off balance with her giant suitcase just so he could look at her smile while she made that sound. It was like a bell.

  “You’re just as bad a poet as me,” she said through that heart-stopping smile. She had a nose piercing. Two of them. Two tiny hoops were in the left side of her nose, and she had multiple jeweled studs in her ears, too.

  “Are my eyes still crazy?” she asked, the smile slipping from her face.

  Oh shit, he was staring. “No. They’re brown again.” He gestured to her nose with his free hand. “I like those. The piercings. I’ve never seen two on one side before.”

  Her cheeks went all pink again. She was a blusher and probably showed every emotion on her face. He liked that.

  “Um, thank you. It’s a small town feel here. There’s probably not a lot of people who look like me.”

  “No, not many. None, actually.” He cleared his throat. God, she was pretty. “Are there lots of…you…in Texas?”

  “How do you know I’m from Texas?”

  “I just wrote down your reservation information.” He winced and offered a self-deprecating smile. “That’s probably creepy.”

  “Little bit.” She swiped snow off the stair she was standing on with the toe of her boot. “I moved from Aurora, Colorado to Texas, thinking I would find more people like me a few years ago. Or maybe fit in a little better? My animal isn’t exactly snow-friendly.”

  “And did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Did you fit in?”

  She scrunched up her nose and shook her head slightly. “I just showed up to an UnValentine’s Day weekend with my pet plant. I think you can guess how the move went.”

  He laughed again. She was funny. But cute funny. The kind where she didn’t take herself too seriously. That’s the type of humor that he liked.

  Wait, no liking anything about her. Danger, man. Back away slowly from this one. She’s an animal. A shifter. She dates her own kind. Brock cleared his throat and made his way up the rest of the stairs and into the inn, making sure not to look back at her. He had a job to do.

  She was here at his inn to escape Valentine’s Day, and that was what he was going to do—give her an escape.

  Chapter Three

  The bellboy was a magnificent human specimen.

  Ava puffed air out of her cheeks as she followed him. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, trim in the waist. He wore a textured dark gray sweater with the top two buttons undone and a white shirt under it. His dark-wash jeans hung just right off his waist and rode low enough that she could see his leather belt underneath. The bottom of his jeans rested half in and half out of his heavy boots, like he’d spent time making them look just right.

  The way his body filled out the clothes and how he dressed weren’t even the best parts. His face belonged on a demigod. He had dark hair that was gelled back slightly, but not with the shiny stuff. It just looked like it had dried that way, but she could smell the product he’d used. His eyes were a piercing blue that danced easily, like he was naturally happy. She’d never seen a more chiseled jawline or a better combo of mostly pepper but a little bi
t of salt in his short beard. He smelled like good aftershave. That had to be the best part of being a shifter, the heightened sense of smell around a man like Brock. He was yummy.

  But he’d called shifters ‘your kind’ though, so she had to stay detached. He seemed to be doing the same. He’d been friendly with his conversation, but then his eyes had gone dead and he’d taken on a professional tone.

  Brock set her suitcase in front of the check-in counter and made his way to the other side, began typing away on the computer. “You already paid online, and I have your card information for incidentals.” Aka if she went shifter and wrecked the room.

  “Got it,” she murmured. “If I raid the mini-bar, I’m definitely getting charged.”

  The human pursed his lips against a smile and turned, grabbed a set of keys off a hook labeled Lodge 10.

  “How many cabins do you have here?” she asked curiously as she leaned her forearms against the tall check-in counter. She almost couldn’t see over it. Being short was the pits sometimes. She probably looked like a nine-year-old begging treats at the candy store counter.

  She was utterly Ava, and he was a total babe. They were not in the same league.

  “You are in Lodge 10 of 10. I’m putting you the farthest away from the house and the closest to the woods.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t mean to infuse the disappointed tone into the word, but it slipped out.

  “If you haven’t Changed in a while, I want you to have privacy and space,” he explained in a murmur.

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  He shrugged up a shoulder and twitched his head toward the other room. “And I’m protecting you from Gran. She’s not a huge fan of…”

  “My kind,” she finished for him.

  Lifting his chin, he gave her a cocky boy grin and said, “Not everyone is as openminded as me.”

  “Oh, geez,” she muttered.

  He was chuckling, and she liked the sound of it. His voice had a deep tenor that she could just listen to like rain on a tin roof. Not that she would tell him that. Because he was a human. He didn’t fit with her. Couldn’t fit. He typed a few more things onto the computer and frowned thoughtfully at the screen. “Hell, yeah,” he murmured. “I mean, heck yeah. We got a few more reservations for the UnValentine’s Day celebration. Just while I was out there with you. They’re coming in tomorrow. Two singles, and a trio of ladies it looks like. I should probably plan the celebration then.”

  “Wait, you don’t have it planned?”

  Brock locked his arms against the counter and glanced at the doorway to what looked like a dining room. “I have an admission.”

  “I’m ready. Admit away.”

  “I feel like I can tell you my secrets because I know your secret.”

  “What I am isn’t really a secret, but okay.”

  “Besides the point. I drank too much with one of my old high school friends last night, and my dumb ass decided this UnValentine’s Day party was a great idea for marketing.”

  Ava’s laugh echoed through the room. “Are you serious? I came all the way from Texas for a party that’s not even planned?”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll get it together. I just have to figure out what to do for it.”

  “Oh, I’m good at this. Ready?”

  He angled his face to the side and narrowed his eyes. “I think I’m ready. Don’t let it be weird stuff.”

  “Sacrifice on the full moon tomorrow night. We all drink a cup of each other’s blood—” When his face went pale as a sheet, she exclaimed, “I’m kidding!”

  He clutched his chest dramatically, pulling the sweater material away from his solid chest as he huffed a breath of relief.

  She cracked up and shook her head. “S’mores in that firepit outside. Beer like the advertisement said. Wine probably for the trio of ladies, but I’m only guessing what they like. No flowers, cards, or chocolates anywhere in the vicinity. No pinks, reds, or whites. No romantic candles or rose petals. Replace that stuff with drinking games. Do you have any excursions available around here?”

  “Snowmobiling, skiing a few towns over…” He pulled up a few pamphlets from under the counter. “Horseback riding, ice skating…”

  The ice-skating pamphlet had a picture of a couple holding hands. “Not that one.” She slid it to the side of the others—the beginnings of a trash pile.

  He nodded. “Very wise. No hand-holding, ugh. Hand-holding is the worst.”

  “Yep, anything that makes you think ‘yuck’ is a no-go until February fifteenth.”

  “Okay, I’m listening. What do you think we should do for meals on the actual day?”

  “I meeeean, I’m not watching my figure this week. Who is going to appreciate me fitting into my threadbare yoga pants just right?” she asked.

  “Riiiight. So, something with gravy then.”

  Snickering, she nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I’ve got this.” He stood there grinning at her, locking her in his bright blue gaze for a few seconds more, and then he broke the connection and made his way around the counter. Grabbing her suitcase, he enlightened her, “You can get to your cabin through here.” When he hefted her suitcase, she hid her smile.

  “What?” he asked.

  With a shrug, she walked beside him and enlightened him that, “I could carry that much easier than you.”

  “Yeah? Miss buff bodybuilder shifter, can you? Well, maybe I need the workout. Or maybe I’m much stronger than you realize and this weighs nothing to me. Less than air. It feels like a marshmallow.” His stomach growled, and he patted it with his free hand. It made a solid sound against his abs. “I need to put marshmallows on the list. S’mores sound so good now. So, if you’re strong, you must be a bear shifter.”

  “Nope.”

  “Rhino,” he guessed as he held the back door open for her and let her pass.

  “There’s no such thing as that kind of shifter.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “What fun is there in that?” she said, stepping down a narrow set of stairs to a walkway that was aimed at a row of small log cabins out behind the check-in office.

  “It’s that one.” Brock pointed to the farthest cabin, and she led the way. “You know, I could just look it up on your shifter registration,” he said from behind her.

  “You could, but that wouldn’t be any fun either. Keep guessing, human.”

  “And if I get it right?”

  She turned and grinned. “Then I’ll get you an UnValentine’s Day present. It will be horrifically unromantic. Think whoopie cushions and gift cards to a sock store.”

  His grin was one of those breathtaking ones that probably had lifted a whole lot of blushes on a whole lot of girls’ cheeks. Ava’s included. She rested her fingertips against her burning face and gave him her back as she made her way toward Lodge 10. He was the cutest bellboy ever.

  “How many guesses do I get?” he asked.

  “Three.”

  “Hmmmm. Wolf?”

  “Nope.” But she was flattered he thought she had the build of a wolf. Those and bears were super strong.

  “Uuuuuh. A big cat shifter?”

  “Cheater. That’s like guessing lions and tigers and snow leopards and cheetahs.” She gave him a sassy look over her shoulder. “But also nope. One last guess.”

  She turned at the door of her cabin because he’d grown quiet. His dark eyebrows were drawn down in concentration. “Are you a gorilla shifter?”

  She canted her head and searched his solemn blue eyes. Was that hope swimming there? Hope that he won this game and she would have to get him a present? A part of her wished he had guessed correctly, but that was impossible. No one ever guessed her animal. Almost none of them existed anymore.

  “Wrong,” she murmured.

  “Okay, I lose. But we never talked about what happens if I didn’t guess. What do you get?”

  “Hmmmm,” she said, wracking her brain.

  “Wait. N
o.” When he set her suitcase beside her, his face came within inches of hers. He straightened back up slowly, and his Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat as he searched her face. “I’ll surprise you.” After a moment of silence, he said, “Dinner will be served at six. My Gran is one helluva cook. It was nice to meet you, Miss Dennis.”

  “Same, Mr.…Brock.”

  He chuckled that warm sound again and turned to leave.

  “Wait! I have a tip!”

  “A life tip?” he asked, turning.

  “No! I mean a tip-tip.”

  “For what?” he asked. He looked so striking here in the snow, long legs locked, hands clasped behind his back, sweater clinging to his fit physique just right, rustic cabin background behind him.

  “Well, I owe you a tip for bringing my suitcase all the way to my room. Err…my cabin. My mom taught me manners. You always tip the bellboy.”

  His slow grin held a hint of wickedness. “Save your money, Mystery Shifter. I’m not a bellboy.”

  He turned and walked away, and she called after him, “Then what are you?”

  “I’m the owner of this inn.”

  Chapter Four

  Brock shouldn’t do this.

  He really shouldn’t.

  Staring at the computer, he contemplated typing in the search for the shifter registration site.

  She’d wanted him to guess what kind of animal was hidden inside of her, but his curiosity about the mystery girl in Lodge 10 had consumed him for the last four hours. What was she doing right now? Showering? Laying on the queen-size bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to music? Thinking of him?

  Her eyes were so pretty, and not just because of the striking colors. She was an animated woman who talked with her eyes. They danced when she looked at him, and how long had it been since he’d noticed that about a woman? And those rosy cheeks. Her short hair. It was the perfect haircut on her, accentuating her high cheekbones. Piercings were sexy. He was a clean-cut guy, no tattoos or anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like them on Ava. It hinted at a rebellious side he wanted to know more about.

  She was very confident, but not cocky, and that was a fine line. The sexiest thing about a woman wasn’t her tit size or perfect makeup. It wasn’t how she fit into a certain size of dress. It was confidence. She’d been easy to talk to and joke with. It was an instant thing, that connection.