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“Yeah, that’s accurate,” Tim replied. “So, what is your plan, big bro? How you gonna woo her?”
“Woo her? Did we time warp back to the seventeenth century or some shit? I ain’t wooing anyone.”
“Yeah, I mean you must have a plan,” Tim said, staring at me like I had any fucking idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t know. I was thinking I’d just swing by and ask her if she wanted to grab a slice or something in town?—”
The sound of Tim’s sharp hiss almost brought me to my knees. How the fuck a Werewolf could make such a noise was beyond me. I shook out my eardrum and glared at the little pissant clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.
Drama king much?
We’d just finished giving an estimate for a remodeling project on one of the abandoned strip malls on the edge of town. Cat Maccon-Nighthawk, the sister of our Pack Alpha and one of his Wolf Guard, had just purchased it. She was turning it into one of the several Macconwood-Nighthawk Teen Outreach facility centers that were now found across the country.
I was one of the many Shifters she’d helped in town when she had opened her first center. You see, Werewolves used to be cursed to only connect with our animals during the full moon. The rest of the month was pure agony. We were cut off and weak from wanting our Wolves. Think of it as being starving and staring through a window where a buffet of all your favorite things were spread out. So close, but so far. In other words, it was fucking torture.
Then the curse was ended by a spunky she-Wolf, who was now a major contender for High Alpha—that was like the Alpha badass of all badass Alpha Wolves—but it left a major gap in our Wolfy education. Suddenly, a whole bunch of us were hit hard with bonds to our animal we’d only ever felt at their weakest level. It was rough, learning control all over again, trying to curb our animalistic tendencies. If not for the Cat’s program, I don’t know what I would have done.
But back to the present and the reason for my recent turmoil. Last night, I’d met my mate. But Tim was right. I needed a plan. I wondered why Martina’s Wolf wasn’t pushing her towards me the way mine was insisting I go to her right this minute. Shit. Maybe I was wrong.
No. Mine. Mate.
Well, that answered that. I ran a hand over my face, scratching through my beard. It was getting out of control again, but it was only going to get colder over the next few weeks. The beard was a buffer between my face and the wind.
“Ohmygawd, Mitchell!” Timothy snapped. “Look, I love you. You are my brother. But if you are going to land a sophisticated she-Wolf like Martina Harbor, then you are going to have to step it up.”
“Step what up?” I asked.
“Hello! I am talking about your style. I mean really, Mitchell, you need help.”
My brother walked around me in a circle and shook his head. He was wearing the same damn thing I was. Jeans and a work sweatshirt. Only, well, his outfit looked sort of better. Like it had been tailored to his lithe body. And his hair was styled perfectly, blond waves falling just so across his forehead, emphasizing those brilliant baby blues.
Fucker.
“Is this one of those cockamamie schemes you and Peter get up to when you binge watch those damn DIY remodeling shows?” I growled, hands on my hips.
“Um, no, this is more like blue collar meets project runway. Ohmygawd, Mitchell, that would be an awesome show! I am putting this down on myTimothy’s Awesome Ideasboard on Pinterest.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, really worried now.
“Hush. I told you about Pinterest. Anyway, now I am texting Peter. Yay! He had a cancellation this afternoon. Come on.”
“Come on, what, Tim? I don’t want to go see Peter?—”
“You need this, Mithcell. Please. let us help you,” he said, and I sighed.
My brother could sell clothes to a nudist colony if he put his mind to it. Resistance was futile. I knew. He knew it. So, eventually, I nodded. Thoughts of Martina and her sexy little ass crept up in my mind, and I grinned. I was ass struck by the woman.
“What did you say? Ass struck? HA! That is fucking awesome, bro,” Timothy said, and fuck, I realized I’d said all that aloud.
“Well, she’s a ten, Tim. I mean that. A perfect fucking ten, and I want her. Badly.”
“And you will have her. Well, with a little work.”
“The fuck?—”
“Don’t be such a bore. Let’s see what my Petey can do to improve this blue-collar chic look you’ve got going on.”
I rolled my eyes. There were some things I was not willing to change about myself for anyone. But Peter, my brother-in-law, was a damn good barber, and I could do with a cut and shave. Even if it was cold.
