“Well, did you say anything?” Christ, this guy needs to go back and have the talk with his father again. Or buy a fucking sex book for dummies.
“No, I got up and went in the bathroom to wash the stuff off my face and blow my nose. I took the toilet paper into the living room to offer him some so he could clean up and he was snoring.”
“He fell asleep?”
“Don’t sound so shocked; you told me men sleep after sex.”
“Yes I did, but not within two seconds and not without at least giving a few kisses first.”
“Well, he didn’t give me a kiss, he just went to sleep. I told you it was bad.”
“So what did you do?”
“I put my blouse back on and walked home.”
“You what?” This is too much.
“I locked the door on my way out and walked home. I figured after making such a mess of things, he wouldn’t want to see me again anyway.”
“Tami, honey, you didn’t make a mess of things. What you told me is not so bad. I think you did okay and I bet he will call you sometime this afternoon and ask you to go out again.” Please, if there is a Supreme Being in heaven, let him forget her name and number.
“Do you really think so?”
“Yep, I think you can bet on it. After all, he got what most men want.”
“What?”
“He came honey, and you did all the work. He’s most likely a happy camper.” Pig that he is.
“I hope you’re right.”
“You can bet on it!”
“Oh Nicole, thank you, I feel much better. I have to get back to work. I’ll call you if he calls.”
“Okay, darling.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Of course, same time, same booth.” Nicole smiled to herself as Tami left the diner. Oh my God, after all the times she had explained blowjobs to Tami, it was now apparent she’d either completely forgotten, or she never actually listened. Thinking back on their conversation and Tami’s description of cum, Nicole found herself laughing aloud. The waitress looked at her, and she waved her off. Getting control of her funny bone, she left the diner and walked home.
Chapter 3
The Bride
As Tami stepped into view, the organist began playing the wedding march. All eyes turned toward the back of the church, awestruck by the beauty of the bride. The wedding dress draped on Tami was ivory satin. Pearl beads and lace adorned the low cut bodice, the tight waist and sweeping skirt fit Tami’s body to perfection. Sheer sleeves of a wispy material shimmered as she moved. A tiara, nestled in her blonde hair, sparkled under the warm lights of the church as her father led her slowly up the aisle to her waiting groom. The assembled wedding guests rose to honor the bride as she made her way toward the altar.
Jerry stood a little taller, his black tuxedo making him look more handsome than ever. His brother, the best man standing at his side, was shuffling from foot to foot with nervous anticipation. His sole purpose for being at the ceremony would be passing over the rings without dropping them.
Tami looked toward Nicole as they approached the steps leading up to the raised platform. A silent message of thanks mouthed from one best friend to another. Nicole smiled back, nodding her head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.
The minister stepped forward, his first duty about to begin. “Who here gives this woman in marriage?” Okay, his voice is going to drive me nuts before this is over.
Tami’s father straightened a little more, pulling his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. “Her mother and I do.” After completely his one and only line of the day, Tami’s dad placed her hand on Jerry’s waiting arm and took his seat by Mrs. White. Tami’s mom already had several tissues in her hand and a tear or two rolling down her cheeks.
As Tami took her place beside Jerry, the minister lifted his hands in the air, then slowly lowered them to indicate the guests should take their seats once more. His voice rang out. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today in sight of God and this company to witness the marriage of Jerry Edward Miller to Tami Lynne White.”
Nicole listened to the words of joining, spoken in reverence to the importance of the day. “Two rings of gold, endless circles without seams, bind Jerry and Tami together…” the minister’s voice continued. Once again, Nicole’s mind wandered to the past.
Note from Michelle
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About Michelle
Author Michelle Hoppe first discovered a love for writing in a high school creative writing class, and has been creating romantic comedy, chic lit, paranormal, and contemporary stories even since. Michelle writes sexy stories with an edge, and humorous stories about life as a mother and grandmother. Michelle lives in a quiet little town in WA State, USA. With beautiful beaches, stately mountains, an active volcano, and an abundance of nature, it is an ideal location to write her novels, poetry, and stories.
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eBooks by Michelle Hoppe
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Belle Tori, a Contemporary Erotic Romance series
1. Club Belle Tori
2. Return to Belle Tori
This Author's Life, a comedy series about everyday family life
1. The jOYs of Life
2. bOYs, tOYs, and jOYs
Stand Alone Titles
Hart's Heart
Forever Caspia
The Diner
Tipping the Scales
Poetry
1. Hues of Dark and Light (Illustrated)
Michelle Recommends … Dakota Cassidy
“If you enjoy paranormal romance with hot alpha males and kick-ass heroines, along with a healthy dose of laugh-out-loud comedy, you’re going to love Dakota Cassidy.”
An American Werewolf in Hoboken
Wolf Mates, Book 1
Dakota Cassidy
Prologue
Max Adams ran as though the hounds of hell chased him, pounding the pavement with swift, measured strides. The click of his nails echoed in the rain-soaked, empty streets. Flashes of buildings passed in a blur, his nose frantically seeking food. His long tongue slipped out the side of his mouth, draping over the clumps of hair covering his chin—er, muzzle.
Panting, he eyed each alleyway from his peripheral vision, desperately searching.
The smells of the city assaulted his ultra-sensitive senses. Max sniffed the air, picking up the aroma of broiled steak; pork chops with thick brown gravy; veal medallions in a creamy white sauce with sliced onions, and a sprig of parsley for garnish; and scalloped potatoes…no wait, they were au gratin. Definitely au gratin.
His stomach roared its discontent. Good hell, he was hungry.
But could he afford to indulge in morsels of succulent calf seared to perfection right now? They’d be easy enough to snatch from some unsuspecting diner’s table.
No. There was no time to waste because he was too damn busy playing this ridiculous game of “here, doggy, doggy.” Which he wouldn’t be doing if it weren’t for the alleged vision.
A sharp whistl
e stopped him in his tracks and again his ears twitched to the tune of two men yelling, “Here, boy! C’mon, puppy!”
That’s Mr. Werewolf to you.
Max flared his nostrils and huffed in distaste. Puppy. He was no damn puppy.
As he sought shelter, he had to wonder, did it get any worse than this? Hoofing the streets like some desolate stray, searching for what his Aunt Eva claimed was his prophecy?
In Hoboken, New Jersey?
Yet, here he was, prophecy hunting. Because that’s what everyone in his pack did. When the call came, they all had a destiny to fulfill. No one ignored the call.
Especially not Max. Because he liked living.
He held an intense disdain for all the mumbo-jumbo folklore bullshit beaten into his psyche since he was a child, but there was no proof he wouldn’t die if he didn’t mate by the first full moon after meeting his destiny.
So mate he would.
However, unless his memory failed him, no one had ever fulfilled the journey to their soul mate while being hunted like wild boar.
The Prophecy has spoken, Eva had said. A prophecy she’d found, like usual, in a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
To say chicken noodle night was a nightmare for his family was putting it lightly.
But his family members claimed Eva knew all, so his divination lay in some murky broth and noodles.
The curse cast upon his family declared if he didn’t follow his path to his providence, he was essentially toast. He’d have to face the mojo of all mojos. So, rather than take the risk this destiny of his was flat-out bullshit, and the possibility of a bloody, ugly demise, he ran.
Fast.
Besides, who’d want to miss a two-hundred-mile trek and starvation just to get to their destiny, only to be hunted like game? This was what all those stories told around campfires were made of. It put hair on your chest, made you stronger—a real man.
Racing down a deserted, dimly lit street, he spied a chain-link fence that looked like his ticket out of this.
Except he had four paws and not a pair of legs to climb said fence.
Well, shit.
The thunderous sound of feet on blacktop diminished behind him. Maybe they’d given up? But his ears picked up mumbling as the men who pursued him continued their search.
No such luck.
A bright light cornered him as he swept past a Dumpster, only to find a dead end.
Fuck.
“Holy cow! Look at him. He’s goddamn huge, Al!” one of his potential jailors hollered from behind the glare of the flashlight. Bent at the knee, one of the men squinted at his from the darkness.
Damn right he was huge, and he was going to take a big bite out of poor Al’s ass if he came any closer.
Al followed up with a long whistle, readjusting his baseball cap. “Jesus! I’ve never seen anything that big, Len. German shepherd, ya think?”
Len’s eyes were wide in the darkened alley. He rocked back on his heels and gave his obviously professional opinion. “Mutant German shepherd, maybe.”
Fear not, good citizens of Hoboken. Animal Control’s finest are hard at work. German shepherd. Hah.
“Wait,” Al said, “I’ve got something for him.” He began to dig around in his pocket, pulling out a plastic bag. He probably had a stash of Milk Bones at the ready to entice strays.
Hardly worthy of him, when he was used to dining on filet, but Max figured he’d give Al a nod in the noble effort category.
As he watched Al skeptically from the corner he was backed into, he caught his first whiff of Al’s magic stray-catcher stash.
No. No. Not that. Anything but that. His stomach howled in violent response to the contents of the plastic bag.
Jesus, Al. That’s so unfair.
“Look, puppy…look what I have.” Al held meat—red meat—between his fingers, shaking it around to entice him.
Max liberally sniffed the air surrounding the meat. Oh, the hell. How insulting. It was going to take a helluva lot more than some cheap round steak to get him to bite. It was filet or nothing.
But his stomach growled again in another protest—meaning round steak was better than no steak.
Well, okay, he’d bite. He could easily knock this guy out while snatching the meat from him.
Max prowled closer, moving in on Al’s beefy hand, exposing his fangs with a low snarl. Teeth. It was all about showing them the teeth. Freaked everybody out.
His next move was intentionally sudden. He made a howling leap of an arc, one an Olympic pole-vaulter would envy, nabbing the meat with his teeth and gobbling until it was halfway down his throat.
That was when he felt the sting of the dart.
Son of a bitch.
If he could, Max would have rolled his eyes at how predictable the tactic had been.
As he fell to the ground with a bone-rattling thud and the world began to go black, his last thought was, two guys named Al and Len had bested him.
Christ, the shit he was gonna get from the guys back home for this.
Chapter 1
“Jesus Christ in a mini skirt,” JC Jensen uttered, skidding to a halt.
The winded animal shelter director she’d lost somewhere back amongst the maze of cages finally caught up with her. Catching the look on her face, he nodded with a sad sigh and rocked back on his heels. His lined eyes were full of emotions he didn’t bother to hide. “Yeah. That’s usually the reaction he gets.”
She clucked her tongue. “He’d make Cujo hang his head in poser shame.”
“The truth.”
JC paused for a moment, still floored by the sheer size of this dog she wasn’t supposed to see, but had somehow found due to a wrong turn into a cordoned-off area.
The dog sat alone in the tight space, his chin high, his gaze piercing hers.
She’d been drawn to his cage—pulled there by some invisible, magnetic force, and she couldn’t look away.
“You know, you aren’t supposed to be back here,” the shelter director reminded, though his tone didn’t scream reprimand. Rather, JC’s ears picked up defeat mingled with some resignation.
“Wrong turn. My supreme bad,” she muttered, mesmerized by the monster sitting in the steel enclosure in front of her.
“He’s not really available for adoption, Miss…?”
“Jensen.”
“Miss Jensen. There are plenty of other far more suitable dogs available. Maybe you’d like to see them?”
JC ignored his suggestion. Nope. For some inexplicable reason, all the other cute, wiggly furballs vanished from her mind’s eye. Whatever had made her take that wrong turn had pulled her here. And she wasn’t leaving until she knew why she couldn’t look away.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked, “He has fleas, doesn’t he?”
“This isn’t the doggie day spa. We house and feed for a limited time only.”
“Behavioral issues?”
“Total disclosure?”
A dog that looked as if he’d just walked out of the vision of some horror novelist’s brain surely had issues. “Wait. Let me brace myself,” she only half-joked.
The director, Dan was his name, let his chin drop to his chest. “Out the wazoo.”
“Like?”
“Well, we tried to discount some of it because he was tranquilized when they brought him in last night. We thought maybe he was just disoriented at first. However, if you ignored the snarling and drooling like he’s rabid every time he tried to wake up, which he isn’t by the way—”
“Isn’t what?”
“Rabid,” Dan replied. “Anyway, his issues. I suppose turning his nose up at the food as if we were offering him something totally beneath him—food we had to lob over the cage at him—and the piercing howl he lets out every so often, and the pacing are sure indications of some sort of behavioral issues.”
JC tucked her purse under her arm. Pacing and howling, she could live with. They were probably just signs of isolation and shelter depression. Fixa
ble, no doubt.
Her friend Viv had taught her everything she needed to know about shelter animals. It probably wasn’t something her downstairs neighbors were going to thank her for, but still workable.
“Okay, so he isn’t eating and he paces. Abuse?” Her stomach knotted tight at the word—knotted so hard she thought she might need to sit down.
Dan scoffed. “I’d like to see the guy who could abuse an animal as big as him without losing a limb. But it wouldn’t surprise me either. Our initial physical showed no signs of dog fighting, no significant scarring, and no microchip. After being out on the streets for who knows how long, he’s not much worse for the wear other than being filthy.”
The dog sent out a low hum from deep within his throat—a hum distinctly full of disapproval.
JC shot him a glance that said, “knock it off.” Though she had to wonder why she even considered it might make an impact on an unruly beast like him. But it did. He settled back with a grunt. Maybe he was just mismanaged? “How old do you think he is?”
The director scrunched up his moon-shaped face. “The vet said maybe five or six, unneutered, by the way. And he weighs in at almost a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Which is part of the reason we can’t seem to classify his breed. We got as far as German shepherd and then we were stumped—because even some of the biggest German shepherds we see aren’t anywhere near a hundred and thirty-five pounds. In all the years I’ve worked with dogs, he’s probably one of the biggest I’ve ever come across. He’s a mix of some kind. We just don’t know what.”
“Wolf, I’m tellin’ you, Dan. He’s a German shepherd, maybe some St. Bernard or malamute, and wolf.” Manny—according to his nametag, one of the volunteers at the shelter—pointed out, giving his broom a push as he shuffled up behind them. “In fact, I’d lay bets he’s part wolf. He howls like a wolf.”
Forever Caspia Page 10
