The Baby Shift: Washington
Shifter Babies Of America 21
Becca Fanning
Copyright © 2019 by Becca Fanning
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Also by Becca Fanning
Chapter 1
Today was his first day at his new job, and Tanner White wasn’t looking forward to it. He was busy pushing the hash browns on his plate from left to right; his mind was lost in a swirl of anxiety. He barely heard what his best friend Logan Samuels was saying.
* * *
“It’ll be fine, Tanner, don’t worry.” Tanner didn’t look up, so Logan reached across the table and swiped the fork out of Tanner’s hand. “Come on, Tan, look at me,” Logan implored.
* * *
“Leave those hash browns alone. What have they ever done to you?” Logan slid the plate over to himself. He took the old-fashioned ketchup bottle from its place in the metal rack to his left, upended it, and waited patiently while globs of the sweet, red sauce oozed onto the plate.
.
* * *
“Gross. How can you eat that stuff?” Tanner looked at the puddle of red Logan had made on the plate. He watched as his friend swirled the ketchup into the hash browns and forked an enormous serving of them into his mouth.
* * *
“’Ow can yu no’?” Logan said through his mouthful, and Tanner shrugged. Normally, the hash browns at Donna’s Diner were capable of curing all manner of ills, from hangovers to heartbreaks and everything in between, but during that morning, they just weren’t doing it for him. He was glad that Logan was able to appreciate them, even if he did sully them with ungodly amounts of ketchup.
* * *
“What if I drop something on my toe and get angry and shift? Or what if someone interrupts me while I’m painting, and I get freaked and shift? Or what if…”
* * *
Logan interrupted him. “What if, what if, what if. Tan, we could spend all morning going through all the possibilities of what this morning might look like for you. But the truth is that you’ll be fine no matter what. Trust yourself. You’ve put in the work; now you have to let it show.”
* * *
Tanner knew Logan was right. He knew that the months he’d spent going to weekly anger management classes had worked their magic. The other night, he’d dropped the weight he was lifting onto his foot and hadn’t even uttered a “fuck me!” He was better, so much better than he had been a few months ago, but a part of him still worried that his anger was just waiting for the perfect time to rear its ugly head and ruin his life all over again.
* * *
As though he could read his mind, Logan put his fork down, swallowed his mouthful, and leveled Tanner with a glare. “Stop thinking what you’re thinking.”
* * *
“I can’t,” Tanner muttered, crossing his arms on the table and plunking his head down on top of them. In this position, he could feel the knots in his shoulders from too much lifting and too little stretching; he’d been going extra hard at the weights over the last few days, trying to work off his excess energy. It had worked for the most part, up until now, but the extra sets and reps had done a number on him. He could feel the muscle ache blooming in his lower back and knew it would only get worse after a long day of painting.
* * *
“Yes, you can. I believe in you, and so does Eli, Amelia, Harvey, and Tucker. Hell, if I can get my act together, so can you. I was a fucking mess before we came out here and look at me now!” Logan said, gesturing to his t-shirt, which bore the signature Starbucks logo on it. Logan had worked his way up to manager of the branch in Freemont, just down the road from the apartment he and Tanner were sharing. Starbucks was paying for him to go back to school and get his business degree, which he was hoping would give him the know-how necessary to start his own Tae Kwon Do school. “I went from being the biggest asshole on the planet to a functioning member of society who pays his taxes and his rent on time and even calls his mom. If I can change my colors, so can you.”
* * *
Tanner looked up with a slight grin; he was truly proud of how far Logan had come. His best friend had been the one leading their gang of werewolves who wreaked havoc on the small town in Montana where they hailed from. But thanks to Eli Kingston, a man they had spent their whole lives thinking was their enemy, things were looking up. Logan and their friend Tucker were on the straight and narrow, and Harvey, he had to admit, was just about there, too. He needed to keep reminding himself of how far they’d all come.
* * *
“Yeah, yeah I see your point. I know I can do it. I just…”
* * *
“No,” Logan said. “No qualifiers. You can do it, and you’re going to because it’s 8:30 and you have to be at work by 9:00. Come on, I’ll get the check, and you go start the car.”
* * *
Tanner nodded and got up, stretching his arms over his head and letting his shirt ride up his stomach for a moment before walking out of the diner. He stopped at the door and took a look back. He and Logan had eaten at Donna’s at least once a week for the past year and a half, and Tanner loved how familiar the place looked to him. Old cracked red vinyl seats, the smell of frying potatoes in the air, Mr. Harrison in the seat by the window, a beautiful brunette reading the paper by the door… Wait a minute. One of these things was not like the other.
* * *
Tanner stole another glance at the woman and felt his breath catch in his throat. Holy shit! This woman was beautiful. Long, glossy chocolate brown hair cascading down her back, ending just past her waist. Her profile was perfect, smooth freckled forehead transitioning to a freckled aquiline nose and light brown lips that were twisted in concentration. Her white t-shirt accentuated the golden bronze of her skin, and Tanner’s eyes were just lowering to the breasts peeking out the V-neck when she suddenly looked at him.
* * *
“Look, man, I’m trying to finish the crossword before I have to go to work and I have two clues left. Can you take your horniness somewhere else, stop distracting me and go?”
* * *
Her voice was raspy and low like she’d spent a lifetime singing in smoky bars. The scowl on her face sent Tanner’s heart into overdrive, beating so fast he could feel his underarms start to sweat.
* * *
“Oh! Uh, sorry. Good luck,” he mumbled, then stepped back right into the door and stumbled outside. He thought he heard a snort of laughter as the door swung shut in front of him, but he couldn’t be sure.
* * *
The walk to his car at the far end of the parking lot did little to calm his nerves, and by the time Logan slid into the driver’s seat, Tanner looked full-on shook.
* * *
“Jesus, what happened to you?! You’re white as a sheet!” Logan said. He shifted the car in reverse and backed out of their spot.
* * *
“That girl in there—did you see her?” Tanner asked.
* * *
Logan chuckled. “Of course, it’s a girl. The one by the door?”
* * *
“Yes! Her! Fuck, wasn’t she beautiful? Just…breath-taking.”
* * *
Logan shrugged. �
��Objectively speaking she was attractive, but you know I can’t really comment accurately on the ability of the female form to take one’s breath away. Now the guy at the counter, on the other hand…” and for the twenty minutes it took for Logan to drive Tanner to work, his friend prattled on about how he’d gotten the guy’s number, and they’d already made plans to see the new Lars Von Trier movie. Tanner was barely paying attention, though, his mind still focused on the mystery woman. If he went back tomorrow, would she be there? What was her name, what did she do? The need to know every minute detail about her was so strong he could taste it, but then Logan was pulling up to the Murals&More building, and it was time for Tanner to get his head out of his ass and focus on the job.
* * *
“You’ll do great, and I’ll make us a nice celebratory dinner tonight, and we can Skype in Harvey and Eli and Tucker. I’ll even make my mom’s apple pie,” Logan said, which brightened Tanner up slightly. Logan’s mom’s pie recipe was the best thing he’d ever tasted, and Logan would make it only for special occasions, saying that if they had it too often, it would lose its appeal. Tanner privately thought that was bullshit; they should have it every damn day of the year, diabetes be damned. But Logan liked rules, and Tanner had long since stopped trying to change him. Logan was Logan, and other than his abstemious ways with pie, he was a good friend. Tanner’s best friend.
* * *
“Thanks, man. Have a good day,” Tanner said, giving Logan his best smile and hopping out of the car. He grabbed his backpack and shut the door, giving Logan a wave as he watched his friend drive off. His stomach was full of first-day-of-school nerves, and his erection from earlier had, sadly, not had the grace to disappear, which made walking a bit difficult.
* * *
“You Tanner White?” a voice called from somewhere off to his left, and Tanner turned, unable to see in the sunlight shaded his eyes. He stepped toward the voice and came face to face with the woman from the diner. She wore a name tag that read “Susanna Able, Director.”
* * *
“Yes,” he said, desperately hoping she wouldn’t recognize him.
* * *
The woman peered at him for a moment, her brows quirking until a shit-eating grin spread across her face. “Wait, are you the guy from Donna’s?”
* * *
Fuck.
Chapter 2
When Tanner finished his job at the sip and paint studio that had hired him right after he moved to Seattle, he figured he was at least qualified for a job teaching art afterschool or perhaps working at one of the specialty arts and crafts stores that littered the city. He’d never expected to get a gig like the one at Murals&More.
Murals&More was a non-profit organization that painted murals all around the city focusing mainly on the rougher areas where there tended to be a dearth of open green spaces or communal areas. “Our mission is to brighten up Seattle with murals that tell the story of the diverse people who make our city great. We want Seattle residents to walk by one of our pieces and feel inspired by their city and its inhabitants,” was the mission statement on the website, which Tanner had long ago memorized. Murals&More was his dream job, and he’d been keeping tabs on them since he first learned of their existence.
Eli’s fiancé, Amelia, had heard about Murals&More through one of her writers at the Portland arts newspaper she wrote for. She’d sent Tanner the link with the words “they’re looking for painters” attached, and Tanner had clicked through. The art they were creating was exactly the kind of thing he wanted to do, but one look at the “Jobs” section of the website, which mentioned portfolios and previous exhibitions, and Tanner clicked out of the website. There was no way he was skilled enough for something like that. While it was true that his own work was mostly portraits done in a very realistic but whimsical style, which was what many of the murals also went for, Tanner painted on 12x14 inch canvases, and his portraits took him weeks, sometimes months, to finish. He had never painted anything on a large scale, had no idea how to even begin to plan something like that, and more to the point, he knew that non-profits like Murals&More would do rigorous background checks for prospective employees. He knew a thorough background check on him would flag his previous arrests.
Yes, arrests, plural. Before Tanner and the other guys had met and made peace with Eli, Tanner had had anger issues. Major anger issues. Anger issues so bad that he had an assault charge against him from a guy he’d beat up at a bar after he saw the guy smack his girlfriend. This incident had landed him in jail for a night. He had also been arrested while yelling at a driver who had nearly crashed into him while he was running. If Tanner had managed to keep his mouth shut, he would have gotten off. He was a pedestrian and therefore had the right of way, but the “aggressive nature” with which he spoke to the driver led to neighbors calling the police, who arrested Tanner for disturbing the peace, resulting in him spending another night in jail.
And Tanner was sure those arrests would preclude him from employment with any sort of good-works programs like Murals&More. Employers didn’t want guys like him around volunteers, especially young volunteers, lest they present a bad influence, and Murals&More made a point of hiring kids from inner city schools to volunteer at the program’s summer art camps and afterschool workshops.
Tanner understood the aversion to people like himself. After all, if he were a parent, he wouldn’t want some ragehead werewolf wielding a paintbrush, ready to shift at any moment, around his kids. Which was why he’d put Murals&More firmly in the “never gonna happen” folder of his mind and spent his energy sending out applications to craft stores, where there was no one he could possibly harm with his claws and his temper. A few had called him back for interviews, but Stamp, Paint, Create had offered him the best package, with paid vacation and sick leave. So, he’d taken the job at their Capitol Hill branch. He was three weeks into his job as a “customer service agent,” aka glorified cashier, when he came home to find Amelia sitting on his and Logan’s couch, a glass of wine in her hand and a scowl on her face.
“What the hell are you doing, Tanner White?” she’d asked, giving him a glare so fierce it shook him up. Amelia might look like the classic American girl-next-door with her blonde curls and blue eyes, but she was tough as nails. With the way she was looking at him, Tanner was fairly certain he was about to get reamed out so good he’d feel it for days.
“Why, hello Amelia, how are you doing? What brings you to the fine city of Seattle?” Tanner had said, hoping false bravado would buy him a little time to escape. He was slowly backing toward the door as he spoke, but Amelia was quick for a human, already getting up off the couch and putting her wine glass on the kitchen island before walking to the door and blocking the exit. Her arms crossed as she stood in wonder-woman pose, feet hip-width apart and a frown on her face so fierce she could send lesser men home crying to their mamas.
“Why. Aren’t. You. Working. At. Murals. And. More!” she had asked, walking forward until she stood in front of Tanner, punctuating each word with a poke to his chest. Her pokes were vicious; he was fairly certain he’d have bruises there the next day.
And then there had ensued a half-hour conversation during which Amelia told Tanner that he was selling himself short just working at a crafts store, and if he wanted to make a career doing what he loved, he needed to take risks, which included applying for things he felt he wasn’t qualified enough for. Tanner had tried to explain how he didn’t feel comfortable working somewhere like Murals&More so soon after he’d gotten his anger in check, and his background check would surely disqualify him from any rounds of interviews. He also mentioned that he wasn’t nearly skilled enough to work for Murals&More. But to these objections, Amelia had simply waved her hand and told him that places like that made a point of hiring people like him, people who deserved second chances. She also tried to emphasize that Tanner was a reformed angry wolf, one who hadn’t had an angry outburst in over a year.
At the time, Tanner hadn�
��t believed he was worthy of a second chance or the trust where organizations like Murals&More would place in him. But over the course of weeks, Amelia, Eli, and Logan had worn him down until it was actually easier to just apply for the job rather than listen to another Tuesday night Skype call where everyone gushed over his worthiness and what a good guy and wolf he was and look how far he’d come. All the compliments made him uncomfortable, mostly because, even after all this time, he still didn’t feel he deserved them.
But the moral of the story was that apparently he’d done something right because Tanner was now sitting in front of Susanna Able, a brand spanking new employee badge looping around his neck, and his W-9 form sitting in front of him, the ink barely dry on the page.
Tanner looked around the room and noticed that Susanna’s office was the exact opposite of every other superior’s office he’d ever stepped foot in. The walls were painted a cheery yellow, her desk was littered with cups of pencils and paintbrushes, and incense burned in the window next to what looked like a jar of sun tea. It was bright and unintimidating, a contrast to the cool, calm and collected offices he’d seen.
The Baby Shift- Washington Page 1
