I don’t know what this reaction is, but I want no part of it. Those guys don’t do anything with girls like me except chew us up and spit us out, and Alisa McKinley is no one’s half-digested meal, thank you.
6
Howard
It wasn’t just the blue hair that grabbed my attention. It was that far away look in her matching eyes, the wistful smile as she laughed to herself. I really wanted to know what she was thinking. Despite her edgy appearance I caught a look at what she keeps hidden from people. She must have looked like that when she was a little girl, before she grew up and forgot how to dream.
Xavier smacks the back of my head. “Hey!”
He didn’t mean to do it hard, but the guy’s no slouch. Reflexively I grab where he hit me. “What? Jesus!”
“Where the fuck is your mind at.” His questions are usually more statements than anything. “Get back here.”
I look to find Draik far ahead. With my mind on her I’d left them both behind, walking trancelike through the dense, undulating clubbers. Xavier came back for me when he’d realized I wasn’t with them. “Right. Sorry.”
We sidle up to Draik as he glances over to me and points ahead. “What about that blonde right there with the ass that won’t quit?”
We follow his jutting jawbone to a woman gyrating on the floor between two equally scantily dressed girlfriends. She’s Draik’s type—the kind who’d be riding, or driving, a Harley. She feels us looking at her and throws over a saucy smile as she moves to the steady beat in a way only a stripper should. I get sick just thinking about her being my first. She’d laugh. Or do weird shit I wouldn’t say no to, but wouldn’t want as a memory. No fucking way. At. All.
“She looks nice, but not for me,” I shout over the music.
Xavier and Draik give me funny looks as the former mutters, “You think we can’t hear you? Keep your voice down.”
Flushing hot, I glance away while running my fingers through my hair. These heightened wolf senses are new to me. Since I was stifled and stunted my whole life, more human than not, I hadn’t experienced them, so I forget they exist in others.
“Right,” I mumble, then add in a lower volume only they can hear, “She’s not my type, okay? She looks like you could ride her, Draik, so why don’t you?” They cock eyebrows at my uncharacteristically crass comment. Fuck me for trying to fit in. I just don’t want to sound lame when I turn down a woman because she looks too wild for me.
As we stand side by side searching for my perfect de-virginizer, intoxicated humans sidestep us like we’re part of the club’s structure, three pillars no one bumps into. I’m starting to settle into my own skin a little. It feels like the three of us have an unquestionable power when we’re together. I understand better why packs are important now that my wolf and I have merged. Stronger together, weaker apart. My chest expands and I shove my hands in the pockets of my suit pants, unaware Xavier and Draik are standing in exactly the same way. The suits are the ones Curragh and Xavier stole from Kruglov’s immense closet that clothed the Russian mafia’s minions. They don’t need them, not anymore. And since for the most part, the minions had been on steroids, these fit us as though the skilled tailor had been personally dressing us since birth.
Draik shrugs. “You’re missing out. That chick would ride you all the way to Pluto and back. You wouldn’t need a space shuttle. Your cock would be the explosion.”
Xavier laughs through his teeth at the image. “Draik, you’re such an idiot.”
Grinning, Draik turns back to an unsuspecting crowd for another candidate. “How about her?” He juts his chin once.
I follow his eye-line to a cute African American girl in a hip, yellow jumpsuit, her hair wild and necklace bouncing with her moves. Xavier glances over for my answer. I can see from his expression he thinks she’d eat me alive. He catches me frowning and glances back to the floor to discover what’s got me back peddling. A saucy brunette in a skin-tight Kimono dress has joined her, and they’re heavily making out, hands on each other’s breasts and asses.
Shaking his head, he grins to Draik, “Threesome for a first time?”
“Why not?”
They both look at me. I don’t have to voice my answer. It’s all over my face.
“We’re kidding,” Xavier chuckles. “We know you better than that. You’re going to want it gentle.”
I grumble, “I will not,” my jaw tightening on instinct. Truth is, I’d kinda given up long ago on the whole prospect. It didn’t seem feasible for the runt of the pack, who no she-wolf ever smiled at except in mockery, to attract anyone for sex of any kind. I’m glad we’re here tonight, and that they’re optimistic, but the notion that this might actually happen still isn’t feeling real. Under my breath, I confess, “Look, I don’t know what I want. But two to one? Nah. Not tonight. Thanks anyway.”
“Oh, you’ll thank us alright. Just as soon as we—” Draik’s smirk vanishes as he glances over to continue the search, and instead spots someone he didn’t expect to see. “Oh shit,” he mutters, standing taller. “Sandra.” His chest broadens on a deep inhale.
My eyes dart over to discover a redhead heading straight for us in a black mini-dress so short I can almost see the tip of the crotch of her panties. Oh, yep! There they are—hot pink. She’s a beauty, the naughty kind of woman Draik goes for. Just as the yellow strobe lights turn blue, she sneers and comes to claim a piece of landscape right in front of our Nordic friend. “Look who’s alive,” she snaps.
Does she know he almost died? My mouth drops. “Wait, what?” I blurt before I realized I’ve spoken. Xavier bumps me with his arm. “Oh,” I mumble and shut my trap before I give away anything.
But Sandra doesn’t even notice I’m here. Her death-ray laser beams for green eyes are locked on her target as she pushes him in the chest. “Where the fuck did you go? Huh? One minute we’ve got a date for MOCA, and the next you’re standing me up. Do you know how hard it is to look at Picassos when you’ve been stood up? At his spikey-ass portraits all by yourself? It’s like they’re mocking you! I knew exactly how those women felt!”
Both of us surprised these two had plans to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art, Xavier and I exchange a look. Our eyes flash back, curious to witness our packmate’s reaction. He’s towering over her, even with those five-inch heels she’s wearing. His face is relaxed and even a little amused. She is the exact opposite, her body tense, jaw ticking, lips tight. With a very quick and fluid motion, he pulls her to him. She gasps in surprise, their eyes still locked. My mouth goes lax because he used his wolf speed, the electric energy of the club, the music and the forever-changing lights hiding it. But she felt the rush of air, the shift in her cells, and her hair blew back a little. He whispers something to her in a very intimate way, and it hits me that I can hear him. This wouldn’t have been possible before. Not with Pitbull blasting out the speakers and into my eardrums this loud. As clear as if he were saying it in my ear, I hear him tell her, “Baby, I’ve been sick. Really sick. Ask these guys.”
She glances over, and Xavier nods.
I hesitate, but only because I’m distracted by my improved hearing capacity. Stammering quickly to set her mind at ease, I assure her, “He almost died. No joke.”
She frowns at us and her eyes narrow more. Xavier jogs his chin my way. “Does this look like a liar to you?”
Green eyes glitter with sarcasm as Sandra’s glance flits away from me. “I’m glad he didn’t ask about you, Xavier.” He chuckles, but loses the smile at her un-amused glare. She again fixates on me and after a moment decides, “No, he looks sweet.” To Draik she asks with a touch of concern, “You almost died?”
He doesn’t want to admit that it was that serious, not even to himself. I can see it on his face, and I know him well enough to predict he’d rather make light of a situation than acknowledge its severity. He did almost die. It was a very close call for him, twice. Once when the Russians tortured him, the second time when he sacrificed him
self to help his packmates. The inner wound hasn’t healed yet for any of us. We go through our days as if we’re fine, but I know the vibrations of what we went through will settle to a calm only after a great deal more time.
He licks his lips and blinks a couple times, knowing he has to be honest or lose her. “Yeah. I did.” Close as two beings can get with their clothes on, they stare at each other for a long and charged moment. “But now that I see you, I’m feeling better by the second.” And there goes that smirk he’s known for. She softens instantly, and leans in to kiss him. This isn’t just a peck we’re talking about, but a going-at-it deep kiss where their hands grip each other’s butts.
Envious goosebumps shoot down my side, and an image of the blue-haired girl flashes before me.
Without warning Sandra knees Draik in the nuts. “Don’t play me, fucker,” she snaps, swings around and walks away.
Draik bends over, grabs his package and groans, “FUCK!”
I crack up, but Xavier laughs louder. Draik looks over and joins us, but his chortles are pain-tinged. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He smacks Xavier on the back and rises up with a wince. “She wants me to follow her. I’ll catch ya guys later.”
Xavier calls after him, “Have fun with that!”
Again I hear something I’d normally not be able to, and from a good distance, too, as Draik mutters to himself, “Oh, I will.” He shakes his head before the crowd devours him.
Searching for women for me to go home with has lost its momentum. Xavier exhales and throws his arm over my shoulders. “Let’s get a drink. You need to loosen up if this is ever gonna happen.”
Where there is a line for drinks four people deep, he manages to get to the front with ease. The crowd moves over for him as soon as they see his size. Resting his hand on the black bar-top, my bearded packmate leans in to tell the pixie-haired, nose-pierced bartender that he wants, “Two shots of Woodford Reserve Whiskey.” She nods with a look that says she wants him, leaving me once again marveling at their way with human females.
New body and wolf-senses aside, I just don’t have that kind of swagger.
Pushing my scruffy hair out of my eyes I replay the compelling moment I had with the coat-check girl. If I had been Xavier, Draik or Curragh, I would have just signaled the search was over with a confident wave, as I took her home announcing with one of their cocky smirks, “I’ll catch ya guys later!”
The search was over.
The search was over?
Huh.
Without warning, my feet are walking toward the exit. My hands are pushing people out of the way. “Hey!” “What the fuck, bro?” “Excuse you!”
I don’t even register them.
I am racing forward, silent and with purpose. The door gets shoved open and makes a loud crack as it hits someone on the other side. I keep moving as they grunt, because I can’t hear them. I am going to go get that girl. My heart pounds in my ears as I near the coat-check window, a black hole that hides a beauty in it, one waiting to be freed. I have the key. The skin on my hand tingles as I ready myself to grab her and pull her out through that window, throw her over my shoulder and leave with her—without explanation or request for permission. I can see it playing out as though it’s a given, like it’s already happened in a parallel universe and I was late to the party. My eyes feel funny, but I don’t notice. They’re locked on that little room. It comes into view more and more with each step. Finally I’m standing in front of it. I stare at the rows of coats, mostly black, in varying lengths and materials. An empty stool sits lonely next to a tucked away shelf that holds unused claim checks, some pens and one book of matches. The tip jar is empty save for one-dollar bill. She is nowhere to be found. I listen for her heartbeat, but there is only silence. Then a skittering of a cockroach as it travels the wall.
“HEY!” a male voice calls from the distance, the sound muffled and gurgley like I’m under water. “HOWARD!” The shouting of my name was so intense that with a frown etched into my forehead, I turn. Xavier is coming at me, a funny look in his eyes. I blink at him like I’m remembering who I am.
“Xavier,” I say, low and distracted.
“What are you doing.” As usual his question is a statement, like he already knows the answer. He just wants me asking the question of myself.
I stutter incoherent things I cannot hear and will never remember.
The look on his face is like he just saw me shift into my wolf right here in the open. He clamps a firm hand on my shoulder and comes in close to my face to make me focus on him. “What the fuck is up with your eyes. Cover that shit now.”
“I…I…” I can’t remember what words even are. I do not know my eyes are glowing.
“HOWARD!” He slaps me across the face, and he is strong. I blink and shake my head against the sting on my cheek. He does it again and his eyes narrow in inspection. “That’s better. Come on.” He picks up the two shots he’d set down by the tip jar, downs them both, staring off in worried thought.
I mutter, “What’s going on?” and find the sentence comes out as it should. I am once again able to understand and converse using the English language.
Under his breath he grumbles, “I don’t know,” and leads me out of the club.
7
Alisa
The sounds of sexual enjoyment coming from Lynnie’s bedroom are so loud that I know she’s faking it. Not that people aren’t loud during sex. D. Hipster is nothing like her last boyfriend, Leo, a drop-dead hunk. I know these sounds aren’t real, because the last one’s were. Leo’s face wasn’t all that handsome, but there was something about his energy and confidence that said, panties? What panties? Why am I wearing these? Here, let me take them off for you. Ahh…that’s better. Hell, that’s fucking great!
Not like Trevor—aka D. Hipster. The too-loud-to-be-real screams are making up for what isn’t happening, probably because she wants him to cum and have it be over with.
So I help her out, and walk over to her bedroom door. Shouting through it, “Alright, we get it! You’re enjoying yourself!” I bang on it three times. It goes silent inside her room. “You’re welcome,” I mutter, turning back for the kitchen that separates our bedrooms. We have essentially three rooms if you don’t count the shoebox bathroom. The kitchen and living room are connected, rectangular and with only one window street-side. Both our bedrooms have one as well, all looking down onto busy North Orleans St. next to the Gino D. Franco Salon.
Her voice muffled, Lynnie shouts, “Alisa, you’re such a bitch!”
Chuckling, I grab some cereal. “A bitch who just saved you from another hour of boring jack-rabbit sex,” I whisper to myself. In a couple minutes I hear her door open, and with a spoonful of Captain Crunch shoved in my mouth, I nod to her, “Hey.”
She tightens her peach robe’s tie, bringing the soft silk closer around her curvy body as she shakes her head at me with an impatient look. Her medium length brown hair is tousled as is the ‘do of the skinny hipster, whose legs as he walks out of the bedroom behind her, look like they couldn’t hold him up if someone pushed him with their middle finger. His plaid shirt is open and he thinks he’s the shit. Probably because she fakes her orgasms.
Dryly, I ask, “Did I interrupt something?” leaning my backside against the counter. “And must I look at your nipples, Trevor?”
Lynnie purses her lips, glaring at me from under smeared mascara-caked eyelashes. “He lost his erection.”
Trevor explodes, “What the fuck!?!” with his head whipping toward her and his eyes wide. His fingers were on the buttons of his shirt, but they’re quite frozen now.
“Keep going,” I tell him, spooning another delicious bite of crunchy goodness into my mouth.
He scowls at me, leaves the shirt flying freely as he heads to the door. Pulling his keys from a back pocket, Trevor glances back to see if Lynnie is following. She isn’t. She and I both watch as he scoffs and mumbles, “Maybe Drew is up and I can still get drunk.”
“Ho
w romantic,” I tell her, and she hits me.
I’m sure D. Hipster would have preferred to exit tout suite, but instead he has to bend over and pull his trying-too-hard shoes on. One gives him trouble, and Lynnie and I share an amused glance. We mask it when he looks over to see if we’re laughing at him. Lynnie’s face is like glass, and I’m casually shoving more cereal into my troublesome trap.
“See ya,” he mutters without emotion. There’s a pause at the door, and then he’s gone.
Padding over, the bowl cradled in one hand, I lock the deadbolt. “He expected you to stop him.”
“Meh.” Lynnie says with a shrug. I tug down the hem of my tight dress and lean on the kitchen island, so I can watch her follow my lead in the late-night snack choice. Grabbing a clean bowl for herself, she confirms my suspicions. “Why do they think moving like a jackhammer is the only way to fuck?”
“Did Leo do that?”
“Hell no!”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But he ‘didn’t do that’ with a lot of girls…at the same time,” she sighs, remembering his inability to commit. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“Yeah.” Holding out my bowl, I shake it, “Top me off.”
She pours fresh Captain Crunch on top of the squishy ones, and goes back to making her own. “Then why are you here?” Grabbing Almond milk from the fridge, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me you got fired again.”
I cock my head, irritated. “Rude. No. I didn’t get fired.”
We both eat in silence for a few moments while she watches me. I stare right back. Finally she shakes her head. “You walked out.”
“I had to.” Suddenly my stomach turns over, remembering the urge to chase cute Mophead into the club, and I set the bowl down by the sink. “Met a guy tonight.”
Her eyes go wide. “You did?”
“Don’t be so surprised! You told me I would! Was that just—”
Werewolves of Chicago: Howard: The Underdog Page 3
