by Godiva Glenn
“With?” He studied the woman who’d spoken. With her short pure-white hair, she seemed a bit mature compared to the rest of the crowd.
She directed a piercing blue gaze his way and gave him a quick but noticeable once over. She smiled wryly and slid her fingertips along the stem of the empty martini glass before her. “I haven’t gotten his attention in a while. New guy. He’s still taking in the sights.”
Troy peered down the length of the bar and watched a party of four women dressed to impress flirting with the bartender. Rows of shots were lined up and there was no hint that the bartender saw anyone else in the room.
He and this stranger were screwed.
“Well fuck.” Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I’ll go home. Drink alone.” He looked at the woman. “I hear that’s healthy behavior.”
She glanced behind him, at the room he’d hastily exited. “Speed dating?” Amusement glittered in her eyes. “You don’t strike me as the desperate type.”
He shifted on his feet. Maybe he wasn’t desperate, maybe others were, but what did it matter? “There are nice people in there, just not for me.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” She slid her glass away, apparently giving up on the dream of a refill. “People seek love, companionship, a bond, for various reasons. But breaking it down, speed dating is usually for a certain type.”
“Oh really.”
“There’s always a blend but you’ll always find two in particular. Those with busy lives most commonly, and those who otherwise shy away from social activities.”
“Dating is social.”
“Seven minutes, seven speed dates. It’s less than an hour of interaction. It’s an efficient, rational way to date.” She lifted her hand and motioned up and down in front of him. “But you don’t have the body language of some over-time addicted business professional. You’re speaking to me, so you do well with casual talk. You’re handsome. I wouldn’t think you’d be here if not for desperation, yet as I said, you don’t appear desperate.”
He glanced around. “You seem to have given this a lot of thought.”
“It’s my profession.”
He took a step back. Everything made sense now, sort of. He didn’t realize that working women came in all ages, but it explained her confidence and ease at making small talk in a crowd that wasn’t her type. Between the silver hair, the drink, and the fitted dress that he now realized screamed high-class hooker, the pieces came together perfectly. She was attractive, but she could have been his mom.
“Ah. That’s my cue. Sorry, but I won’t be taking any more of your time tonight. I don’t need that sort of… companionship.”
“Excuse me?” Her nostrils flared.
“I’d rather be alone,” he said.
She slid from her stool and for a split-second, it seemed her blue eyes had turned golden. He towered over her, but she stared him down as she crossed her arms.
“Who do you think I am, young man?” she asked. Gone was the carefree and charming air between them.
His hands twitched at his sides, equally as uncertain what to do as his brain. What do hands do when not actively in use? He fumbled. “An escort? And you’re lovely—”
Her hand came up, motioning for silence, and oddly enough, he obeyed without question. His mouth froze, and he didn’t completely understand it, but it felt like a survival instinct. Survival instincts against a woman who barely met his chest.
Her stare continued, a fine laser boring through him. The loud music, previously white-noise, now jarred him as he wondered if he was about to be slapped or something else equally awkward.
Her pursed lips dissipated into a wide grin then laughter. “You thought I was offering my services?”
“Ah… you aren’t?”
She brushed her fingertips through her hair, beaming. “What an imagination.” She shook her head. “I’m a relationship consultant. A matchmaker.”
“Fuck me,” he said under his breath. “I’m so sorry, and jeez, embarrassed.”
“I won’t,” she said. “And you should be,” she agreed. “I’m amused, a bit offended, and I’m not sure if you were attempting to be flattering. I must say… Escort? That’s a first for me.”
He groaned and looked at the bartender, needing that drink more now than ever, but the shots party was still going strong. He glanced at the woman. “I really am sorry. It was a stupid thing to think, I just… couldn’t figure out what you could be here for. You stand out.”
She scanned the room. “I’m here to meet a different sort of client. She’s got a wild schedule, so I agreed to skip my usual preference for a chat at my office or my favorite bakery.” She looked back at Troy, brow arched. “Though tonight, it seems I’m here for you too.”
“What, to hook me up with your client?”
She chuckled. “No, dear. I already know you aren’t the man for her. But something tells me you’re the man for someone who’s looking for you.”
The cryptic undertone made him skeptical. “That sounds new-agey. Are you… like a psychic matchmaker?”
“Simply a matter of intuition,” she said. “So, what do you say? I have a satisfaction guaranteed policy.”
“I don’t think I have that type of money,” he admitted. The job, as much as he loved it, wasn’t a ticket to posh living.
She waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t charge, and after our previous exchange, it would feel strange taking your money,” she joked. “You’re interested, though, or you would’ve said ‘no’ instead of saying you couldn’t afford it.”
Damn, she’s good. “Okay, what do I need to do?”
“Step one is getting me out of here. I’ll meet Annika another night. She’s busy and running late anyhow, so she’ll understand.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple and cringed. “This music is a crime against humanity.”
He held out his hand. “Troy.”
She took it, and though she didn’t squeeze it hard, he got a sense that she was more than she appeared. “Gerri.”
Chapter Six
Gabe
Gabe stared at the contents of the fridge while he battled the hunger that had snuck up on him. He was in the middle of binging a zombie drama he’d never had time to watch before, and he’d realized he hadn’t had breakfast or lunch, or much of anything but beer and soda.
Nothing looked appealing and he closed the door in disappointment.
“Hey! Where are you going to again?” he called down to Troy’s room.
A few seconds later, Troy hung out his doorway. “Zen Tree. It’s sushi.”
“Damn.” Gabe rubbed his stomach. “I was hoping I could eat a few pieces of bread and just wait for you to bring home something for me, but I’m not going to starve myself for fish.”
“How about a crab roll and some soft-shelled crab?”
Gabe considered this. “Only if they do it without cream cheese. I don’t like globs of cold white stuff in my meals.”
Troy grinned. “Fine.” He switched off the light in his room and came into the kitchen. Smoothing over his jawline with his thumb and forefinger, he commented, “I can’t believe how long I went without shaving.”
Gabe ran this thumb over his own chin scruff. “I like it. Though, you were getting a weird patchy blonde thing going. I just look hotter.”
Troy glared. “Whatever. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“I know.” They couldn’t have any facial hair, except for a mustache—and who kept a mustache these days? Sam Elliott?
Troy picked at his black t-shirt. “Is this okay? I don’t want to dress up too much, but I don’t want to look like a slob.”
“You’re asking me?” Gabe picked up the bag of bread he’d been eyeing and tossed it hand to hand. “Will it matter? You’re meeting your soul mate.”
Troy leaned against the counter. “It matters. Gerri said as much.”
Gabe pulled out what he thought would be enough bread to tide him over for the next few hours. �
�Right. And then you’ll get married and get a dog and a house then fill it to the brim with children.”
“Jealous?”
“About as jealous as I am of your speed dating adventure.”
“I’m sure Gerri could help you too, you know. It’s not like we have anything to lose.”
As if he’d ever rely on some crackpot in a bar to lead him to his ‘soul-mate.’ “No thanks. Though if I were you, I would’ve asked for a red-headed wonder woman.”
“I can’t even picture that.”
“It’s a sexy image, trust me.” He grinned, imagining it himself. “The thing is, you have to see your situation from both sides. You saw what kind of woman speed dates.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Seriously? Who do you think goes to Gerri? I’m sure your date will be sweet, but I bet she’s also…” Was there a polite word for boring? He shook the food in his hand. “White bread.”
Troy shook his head. “For your information, I asked Gerri for someone adventurous in the bedroom.”
“You asked an old woman for a sex fiend?” Gabe clicked his tongue. “Ballsy.”
“Actually, she was a bit pushy about it. Asking what I liked, I mean. You kind of came up.”
“And she didn’t run screaming, or slap you? Maybe she’s not so bad. But that doesn’t mean she’ll deliver.”
Shrugging, Troy went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. “First of all, you have this image of a knitting granny in your head, and that’s not Gerri. Second, maybe you should get out tonight, too.”
“And do what?”
“Anything. You’re leaving a dent in the couch. And when was the last time you showered? It’s disgusting.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Whatever.” Troy checked his phone. “Gotta go. Wish me luck.”
“Break a leg.”
Troy held up his middle finger as he left the room.
Munching on his bread, Gabe returned to the living room and flopped down on the sofa. If this Gerri chick was all she claimed to be, according to Troy, it would be the end on an era.
He was happy for Troy, and it would definitely make Sandra happy to have grandkids. She was like a mom to Gabe, too, so he wanted to see her happy. It’s not like his own parents gave a flying fuck about what he was up to.
Not like Sandra. She’d found the magic of online messaging and used it to keep up with him. She’d wanted him to tag along with Troy to the speed date massacre, even. Anything to keep him social and healthy. She thought that surely, a guy like him would make some girl the luckiest in the world.
It was sweet.
Fuck. The thought of letting her down slid into his brain and took up residence. If she saw him now, eating plain white bread and vegging out to seven predictable seasons of zombies shambling through a city, he could imagine the disappointment on her face.
That didn’t mean he planned on finding a wife anytime soon, but he could at least stop wasting away and mourning his current situation. Five more fucking weeks of suspension. Everyone knew the job was his life, Sandra included. Except she was convinced that he was more than that.
He wasn’t. He didn’t need to be. Just like he didn’t need to be a pussy and act as if the world had ended. A month and a few days he’d be back at 42, and in that time, he couldn’t slack and fall apart.
He got up and threw the bread away then fixed himself a protein shake with the last of the milk in the fridge. It had been forever since he’d gone for a run. What he really wanted was to hit the weights, but the station had been his gym. Just another reason he’d practically lived at 42.
He chugged down the shake while he pulled on his shoes then ransacked the apartment, finally finding his headphones next to Troy’s computer. Tonight seemed the night for heavy bass, so he found a playlist of random dub-step and stepped out the door.
Sucking in a deep breath of the cooling afternoon air, he realized this was exactly what he needed to get his shit right.
Chapter Seven
Chell
The restaurant that Chell’s blind date had chosen was an interesting experience. Small, dimly lit, but comfortable all the same. And so far, the food—which she had yet to see—smelled fresh.
Nova Solara didn’t have such things as paid dining, though she knew much about the modern world. Indeed, Nova Aurora had developed far past Earth, and their society was no secret to that of their sister planet.
Solara had made a choice to slow development in many fields. Technology was far ahead, while culture remained focused on the individual clans and steady but mindful growth. There was something to be said for either life, but Chell personally would not choose to move to a society that didn’t embrace the more humble and primal side of her nature. Solara was meant to be a civilization built into the natural beauty of the planet, not on top of it.
Still, she enjoyed the novelty of embracing a strange world for a short period of time. Rigid she may have been in many things, but never to trying new things.
She sipped her water and stared at the empty space across from her. Her date, Troy, had offered to pick her up and bring her, but she’d declined. Even though it was standard Earth protocol to arrive together, she preferred to arrive early and survey her surroundings.
She wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
The young woman who had seated Chell earlier now walked toward her table, followed by a male. She held her breath but sure enough, they stopped before her. The hostess left, leaving her to assume that this was Troy. He smiled brightly at her and held out his hand, but she was too flustered to react.
Troy was tall, handsome, and of an impressive build. And without even touching his hand, she knew he was human.
“There must be some mistake,” she said.
He held his hand aloft, though confusion broached his expression. “I was told that you were waiting for me…” He glanced back toward the front of the restaurant. “The hostess—”
“I meant on the behalf of our mutual third-party acquaintance,” Chell explained.
“Gerri?”
Chell fumbled through her borrowed purse and found the crude communication device used on Earth. She tapped the screen and managed to find Gerri’s picture, then clicked it. Troy stood rather awkwardly by the table while she stared him down.
“Chell? Shouldn’t you be with Troy?” Gerri asked from the other end of the line.
“I believe I had specific—”
“I know what I’m doing. Put aside your assumptions and expectations and enjoy your date,” Gerri scolded.
“Why… hello?” Nothing but pure emptiness met her. Gerri had hung up. Chell took a deep breath and looked at the human. Really looked at him. He was not a bad specimen. He didn’t even smell bad for a human.
She lifted her chin at the empty chair across the table. “You may sit.”
He chuckled and sat. “I feel like we’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot, but I can’t imagine why. I’m not even late.”
She pursed her lips. When she’d hired Gerri, she’d made the decision to trust her. So be it.
“My apologies. You just weren’t quite what I expected.” But now it made sense why Gerri would arrange a date on Earth, instead of waiting for Chell’s return to Solara. “But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”
“Ah. Who did you expect?” His blue eyes showed no sign of being upset.
On the contrary, he appeared and sounded genuinely concerned. This softened her disposition some, and she forced herself to relax.
“I suppose I should start by introducing myself properly.” She reached across the table. “Chell. Of the Blue Mountain clan.”
He took her hand and shook it. “Clan. As in. Oh.” Realization dawned over him. “You thought I was a shifter.”
“I had assumed, yes.”
“Is that a deal-breaker for you?” he asked carefully.
She bit off a ‘yes’ and instead shook her
head. “I merely reacted poorly to the revelation. It is my own fault. I hadn’t considered the possibility.”
He seemed to study her face, then chuckled softly under his breath. “To be fair, I hadn’t expected a shifter. Though I’m pleasantly surprised.”
Chell held off a reply, as a young man came to their table and handed them menus. He spoke, giving his name and saying something about specials, but she didn’t retain a word. Troy distracted her, though she didn’t understand how. All she knew was that she wanted the waiter to leave. Now. Thankfully, he vanished before she told him to.
“As I was saying,” Troy said. “I didn’t think my date would be a shifter, or as lovely as you are.”
Chell smiled without thinking twice. “Do you know anything about shifters?”
“Is that a trick question? I worked with a panther shifter once, for a few years. Nice guy.”
“But you know we usually prefer other shifters?”
“Usually isn’t a finite conditional.” His demeanor changed to be more serious. “If you want me to walk away, I can. But if I were you, I wouldn’t brush me aside. You’ve just given me a direct challenge, and I’m great with challenges.”
She scoffed. “I issued no challenge.”
“You think I’m not good enough for you. But you don’t even know me. This is our first date, even. Or are you psychic?” She shook her head and he continued, “I bet you’ll have a great time with me, even if I don’t sprout fur or feathers at command.”
“I rather like your assessment of the situation,” she admitted.
“Then may I ask, what type of shifter are you?”
“Bear.”
His brows lifted. “I know shifters don’t always look their type, but you do. In a good way.”
She rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the flattery, but not when it reaches.”
He leaned forward. “Strong. Confident. Straightforward. I would say those are bear qualities. The beauty is a plus, too.”
She considered this. “In that case, I must admit that you are quite pleasant to look at as well.”
