by Dakota West
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. “But I really didn’t recognize you.”
It was true. The last time she’d seen Elliott Whiting had probably been their high school graduation, when he’d been a tall, skinny, glasses-wearing, bad-haircut-having certified dork.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “I don’t think I was anything to write home about when I was eighteen.”
If I wrote home about you now, it would just be erotica, Greta thought.
“Anyway, this is Shane, my mate.”
Shane held out one hand, and Greta shook it. He had hard callouses over the whole surface of his palm, his grip was firm-yet-gentle, and he looked straight into her eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I can’t wait to hear about what a nerd Elliott used to be.”
Greta glanced away, taking in about six different people who wanted drinks.
“If you stick around for a while, it ought to clear out again,” she said. “Then I can fill you in.”
Elliott pretended to make a face, but Shane smiled for the first time.
“I’d love that,” he said.
He had dimples.
Tongue-tied for once in her life, Greta turned away to get drinks for all the people demanding her attention, barely noticing that Zeke wasn’t there anymore. Elliott and Shane disappeared into the crowd of people, pulling away from the mobbed bar, and for a few minutes, Greta let her body go on autopilot, taking orders and pouring drinks.
She was the last one to notice the fight.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” shouted a voice.
Zeke’s voice.
“Come on, it was a misunderstanding,” said Elliott’s voice.
By now, everyone in the bar turned toward the center, where Zeke and Shane stood, facing each other, Elliott to one side.
“You gonna let your mate handle this for you, Whiting?” asked Zeke, his tone utterly nasty. “Maybe nothing’s changed since high school. Still won’t fight for yourself.”
Zeke shoved Shane right in the chest, pushing the other man back a foot or so.
Shane looked down at the spot where Zeke had shoved him, then looked up at his face.
“Oh fuck no,” he said, and lunged at Zeke.
“Hey!” shouted Greta. She ran to the end of the bar and ducked through the gap in the counter. “Take it outside!”
No one was listening to her.
Now Zeke and Shane were on the ground, rolling around, Shane trying his best to land some blows and Zeke trying to get the slightly larger man in a headlock. Elliott tried to separate the two of them, but Zeke landed an elbow in his face, and Elliott’s nose spurted blood
“Quit it!” she hollered at the top of her voice, running toward them.
Then they shifted.
The crowd had been standing around them, mildly interested, but now it was pandemonium. The humans all rushed to the door as the two wolves rolled around the floor of the bar, biting and growling and snapping. The other wolves, still in human form, took a couple steps back, but they weren’t nearly as concerned as the humans.
In the back, by the pool tables, Greta could see the three sorority girls, half-interested and half-terrified, huddled behind the shifters they’d been flirting with.
Then she reached Shane and Zeke, pushing her way through the wall of people surrounding them. Without a second thought, she grabbed each wolf by the scruff of its neck and squeezed as hard as she could.
One of the wolves yelped, and the other was so surprised that it let her pull it away.
“Not in my bar!” she shouted, right into their faces. “Get out. NOW.”
The two wolves growled and snapped at each other, even though Greta had them both half-lying on the floor.
“You’re both about two seconds from being blacklisted from the only wolf bar in Rustvale,” she said, tightening her grip. “If you don’t fucking cut it out, I swear to God you’re both banned.”
A low growl emanated from deep in Shane’s chest, and Zeke bared his teeth, but neither of them moved again.
Greta shoved them away from her and stood, surrounded by the tattered piles of their clothing. Both wolves bared their teeth again and stayed a good four feet apart, but they made for the door slowly, growling the whole way.
Sure, thought Greta. Now they don’t want to be seen naked. Where was that forethought earlier?
Zeke was the first one through the door, his tail finally disappearing into the night. Shane looked back at the bar, his yellow eyes seeking out Greta.
She folded her arms in front of herself, glowering at him.
He disappeared too, and right away, the bar was humming again.
Everyone was talking about the fight — who’d won, who’d gotten the upper hand, and who the hell that new wolf was. Greta ignored it and bent down to pick up their shredded clothing. The sorority girls looked at Greta, either afraid of her or in awe, and Greta felt herself puffing up with pride.
As she reached for Shane’s shredded shirt, her hands brushed Elliott’s, and she realized that he was also trying to clean up after the fight.
“Sorry,” she said, looking up at his face. He held the tattered t-shirt that Shane had been wearing to his face, soaking up the blood.
Elliott just shook his head. “I’m sorry about Shane. He can be... hotheaded.”
Greta blew a strand of curly hair out of her face.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “I do run a wolf bar. It’s kind of what we’re known for.”
He half-smiled. “We don’t have to be complete animals, though.”
She eyed his face. His nose was swelling quickly, and it didn’t look good.
“You want some ice or something?” she asked.
“I’ll just do it when we get home,” he said. “We’re close enough.”
Greta stood up straight and held out a hand for the clothes that Elliott had collected.
“I can go toss ‘em in the dumpster,” she said.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I should go collect him anyway. I’m not sure he knows the way home yet.”
Greta handed them over and looked at the bar that no one was tending.
“So you moved back?”
Elliott nodded. “Bought a house and everything. I got offered a job at...”
He trailed off and swallowed for a moment.
“At a ranch the next county up. I’m managing their thoroughbred program.”
Something just went weird in his face, Greta thought.
Maybe not. I don’t know him that well, after all. It’s been a long, long time.
“Well, welcome back,” she said. “And tell Shane welcome, if he can control himself in polite society.”
“Will do,” he said, then raised the handful of clothes in a goodbye wave. “Thanks for not blacklisting us just yet. I swear we’ll be better behaved next time.”
Then he turned and walked through the rear exit of the bar.
Next time, Greta thought. A shiver of excitement worked its way through her body.
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About the Author
Dakota West is the paranormal romance writing alter-ego of contemporary romance author Roxie Noir.
Roxie lives in California with one husband, two cats, and several bookshelves crammed completely full of stories.
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