What a Werewolf Wants (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (9 page)

“I just want to check something,” he said, dodging her as she leaped for it. “I have a feeling—“

“This is private.” She went toe-to-toe with him, reaching for the paper. He was too tall, damn it, holding it out of reach. “Would you give it back? Please?”

Maybe if she asked politely he would do it.

Keeping it high, he read, “Anne Brown of Simi Valley…”

“Give it back,” she blurted, bumping into his chest to reach the paper. Heat from his body radiated through their clothes and bloomed through her. “Ryder!”

He read on. “First-grade teacher…”

Stop, stop, stop.

“…no kids.”

“Damn it, Ryder, look at me.”

He did as he was told, ripping the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t until that moment she noticed how close she was standing. Hip to hip. Chest to chest. If he moved his head an inch lower, she could lift up on tiptoe and catch his mouth. Chills scattered over her skin at the thought.

He wanted to say something. Would he kiss her again? Damn it, why did she want him to? She should’ve been angry or hurt by what he’d said last night. Instead, she was more turned on by their playful banter than she’d been with all of her exes combined.

“I have five words for you,” he whispered, dangerously close to her mouth.

As he breathed, his chest moved hers. “Yeah?”

Hadn’t she been the one in control a few seconds ago? Hadn’t she been composed and ready to prove a point?

He held up his hand, spread his fingers, and counted down. “Formerly married to David Ransfield.”

Those were
not
the words she’d wanted him to say.

He grinned with that effing delicious mouth.

“You almost hooked up a man with his ex-wife.” And then he laughed. “You have to admit it now…there are certain people who don’t belong together. Sometimes it’s not meant to be, even when there seems to be a connection there.”

Doubt trickled in. Had she messed up when she matched her sister with Mitch? Ryder was certainly pushing for it. If only he would open up, and tell her what she was missing…

Feigning indifference, Josie snatched the application out of his hand. “What if he was meant to be with his ex-wife, but he was too much of a pompous asshole to realize what was in front of him the whole time?”

“You’re right.” Ryder nodded. Just once. “Of course you’re right.”

And then he let himself out.

Smart move, considering he’d gotten her all fired up.

When Josie closed up shop at five o’clock and headed home to get ready for Carrie’s bachelorette party, she was determined to put the day, and the horrible mismatch, behind her.

Tonight, she’d get glammed up and watch Ryder drool over what he couldn’t have.

Chapter Ten

The woman wouldn’t even listen.

They’d had the perfect opportunity to talk in her office earlier. He could’ve explained everything. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in her—it was the soul-maddening opposite—but marriage, true love, and a forever romance weren’t in the cards for him. And that’s
exactly
what she was looking for.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, as much as he knew he shouldn’t have her. If she’d swallowed her pride earlier and let him explain that, things might’ve been smoothed over before the bachelor party tonight.

“So,” Mitch said as he stumbled out of their cab onto Gough Street, “where are we headed next?”

Being that Mitch only had Ryder in the wedding party, his two cousins—both non-shifters and annoying as hell—had begged to come along tonight. Probably had something to do with the prospect of seeing the scantily clad women who usually popped up at bachelor parties. But Mitch had made his intentions perfectly clear: he didn’t want to be dragged to a strip club.

“Too many people,” he’d said. “Keep it low key. Barhopping, a few drinks, a relaxing night out.”

If Mitch had been honest with himself, and with Carrie, the wedding would’ve been in the same tune.

Happy to oblige, Ryder had planned a tour of Mitch’s favorite werewolf-owned bars in the city.

By midnight, he and the cousins were down a few drinks each. The groom-to-be, on the other hand, had taken four shots at Brady’s Irish tavern and another three at the infamous speakeasy Whispering Whiskey. It was amazing he was still able to formulate coherent sentences. As his cousins tumbled onto the sidewalk, cursing and laughing, Ryder pointed to the sign overhead.

“We’re here. Jolly Roger’s.”

Mitch threw his arms up as if he wanted to hug the pirate on the sign. “I don’t remember this place. I thought you said we were touring my favorites?”

“You don’t remember it because you’ve never been here before,” Ryder said, swinging open the door, “but the guy who owns this place is a two-hundred-year-old werewolf. He hasn’t found his Luminary yet, but he dated some dame for almost a decade and suspected her of cheating. He hired me, and we’ve been in touch since. I’ve never been here before, but I hear he’s got four hundred rare rums stocked behind the bar. And I know how much—”

“I love rum,” Mitch finished. “You know me so well.” He tripped over the threshold and then laughed into a burp. Once inside the pirate-themed bar, he threw his hands up and hollered, “I’m getting married tomorrow. A round for the house!”

And just like that, Mitch was the favorite drunkard of the night. All eyes turned their way as a roar of cheers and congratulations filled the room. The crowd was a mix of shifters and non-shifters—a loud, lively blend. Ryder took the seat next to his friend as the cousins made the rounds.

Pounding the bar to get the bartender’s attention, Mitch said, “I’ll start with two Captain Morgans.”

As the bartender nodded and started pouring, Ryder stared his friend down. “I can’t believe you’re getting married day after tomorrow.”

“Well, get used to it, my friend.” Mitch patted him on the back, but with the force of his drunkenness, it was more of a shove. “I’m going to be the happiest married man on the planet.”

Ryder suppressed his sigh. “Still charging full steam ahead?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” His movements were jerky, his head taking longer to swing from person to person. If he made it out without hurling, it’d be a miracle. “You think I’m going to let something small like my hairy other half come between us?”

Ryder shushed him as the bartender slid their drinks over. Although he knew what they were—could sense it from the second they walked in—the non-shifters passing by didn’t know a thing. And the San Francisco Wolf Pack wanted to keep it that way.

“Who knows? She might like me as a wolf.” Mitch snorted into his drink. “We’ll be able to shift for another two days, you know. Maybe I’ll show her my wolf form on our wedding night.”

Oh yeah, that’d go over well.

I vow to love and cherish you, and keep my howling to a minimum so it doesn’t wake the neighbors.

Not happening.

Tossing back his rum, Ryder checked the door. Carrie had called earlier asking to meet up on one of their stops. He’d given this place as a possible meeting point, but he hadn’t heard back on whether Josie—and the rest of the ladies, of course—would be coming.

“I admire the fact that you’re willing to take such a huge leap,” Ryder said as the rum warmed his middle. “Not everyone can do it.”

“Pssh.” As Mitch smacked his lips together to make the noise, he spit onto the bar. “It’s not leaping off a bridge, stupid. I’m leaping into Carrie’s arms. As long as she’s the one catching me, I’ll gladly fall.”

“Wow, Mitch. Didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

“Takes a lot of liquor.” He winked and then pointed to his nose. “You might be one of the only people who truly knows me.”

Reason number 636 why he and Carrie shouldn’t get married.

“Carrie should know you better than anyone,” Ryder said and then ordered another drink. “The bedrock of your marriage shouldn’t be laid with deception. Take it from someone who knows.”

“Now who’s sentimental?” Mitch tossed back the second glass of rum when it slid over. “I’ll tell Carrie tonight. Scout’s honor.” As he saluted, he misjudged the distance to his head and poked himself in the eye. “Don’t need that eye anyway,” he said. “I’ve got another one right here.” And then he poked that one, too.

Chuckling to himself, Ryder patted Mitch on the back. “That’s all right, buddy. I get the picture. You’re going to tell Carrie tonight.”

“Yeah, for sure. Tonight.” Mitch raised his hand in triumph. “Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Either way, it’ll be soon, or I’m not an Eagle Scout.”

“You’re not—you’ve never been…never mind. Doesn’t matter.” Ryder sighed. “Sooner the better, Mitch. Remember that.”

Another few drinks, and Mitch would be swearing he was the president. Hell, another few rounds, and he wouldn’t even know what he was saying.

Wait…if Mitch was hammered by the time Carrie showed up with Josie, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. All Ryder would have to do is mention canines, or the full moon, and Mitch would probably tell Carrie everything.

There was still time to do what was right.

Carrie deserved to know she was marrying a werewolf before she walked down the aisle and vowed to love him her whole life. If Sober Mitch didn’t have the balls to tell her, he’d make sure Drunk Mitch let the cat—or the dog, as it were—out of the bag.

The hard part was keeping it private. A moment between Mitch and Carrie. The last thing he needed was Josie sticking her nose into their business and finding out about werewolves with her sister. If Carrie decided to marry Mitch, bond with him, and turn into a werewolf herself, her sister would probably find out.

But that would come way later.

For now, the werewolf revelations were on a need-to-know basis.

…

“Are you sure they’re going to be here?” Carrie dragged her feet exiting the limo. “Mitch doesn’t like pirate movies.”

“It’s not a movie, Carrie. It’s a bar called Jolly Roger’s.”

Taking care of drunk people was the
worst.

Especially when the inebriated one was her sister. Carrie thought everything was funny and danced whenever she heard the hint of a song. At the last bar, they’d passed a homeless man on the sidewalk who gave a catcall whistle as they walked by. Clueless, Carrie started shaking her hips and cozied up to the guy, who smiled as if he’d just won the lottery. Thanks to the arm he’d draped over her shoulder, Carrie now smelled like a gagging mixture of city grime and cat pee.

“I know a pirate joke,” Carrie said, grinning. “Wanna hear it?”

Josie opened the door to the bar and pushed her sister inside. “Sure.”

Carrie blinked slowly, as if trying to remember. “Why’d the pirate’s son keep failing his match test?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“No, no, not his match test.
You’re
the one who matches.” Carrie hiccuped so hard it threw her backward. She stumbled, right into Josie’s arms. “I meant math test. Why’d the pirate’s son fail his— nope, not math either. Oh—his alphabet. Yup. That was it. His alphabet test. Why’d he fail?”

“Something to do with aaars I bet.”

“No, silly.” Carrie swayed and then fell against her. “Because he kept insisting there were seven
c
’s.”

“Cute.”

If the joke hadn’t been ruined from the get-go.

Josie guided Carrie through the pirate-themed bar. The place was rustic, and vintage, and decorated tastefully with pirate everything. Judging from the impressive lineup of liquor behind the bar, they probably served every brand of rum on the market. From what she remembered about Mitch’s application, Captain Morgan was his drink of choice.

As long as he hadn’t bent the truth about that, too.

Strawberry margaritas were Carrie’s favorite, but she’d already had four of them.

“How about we get you some water?” As Josie reached the end of the bar, she mouthed their order to the bartender who brought them right over. “Here.”

Carrie gulped it down, dribbling water down her white halter top. “You sure passed your math test, didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Emptying half the bottle on her first swig, Josie washed down the Midori sour she’d had at the last bar. “What math test?”

“Not math.” She shook her head, irritated. As if Josie were the one who’d misspoke. “
Match.
You passed with flying colors when you set me and Mitch up on that first date. Thanks to you, I’m going to marry the man of my dreams.”

Where was Liza with the camera crews now?

That’s right—they’d taken the night off. Figured. Liza had said they’d be at the rehearsal and dinner tomorrow night. Anxiety flickered through her as images of her special with Martha Silverstone filled her head. The woman could make anything sound appealing, as if everyone needed it this very instant. If she did a special on a local art gallery, the place stocked up full, and then sold out. If she spoke kindly about an up-and-coming restaurant, reservations had to be booked a year in advance.

If she nailed this spot, Cole Matchmaking would launch into the singles’ stratosphere. That is, if Ryder would chill out for another two days. As the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a knowing flush bloomed over her skin, Josie searched the room.

Ryder was already here.

He and Mitch sat at the opposite end of the bar. Mitch seemed oblivious they’d arrived, his gaze focused far off over the liquor lineup. His mouth was blabbering a mile a minute, though she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the Caribbean music blasting from the speakers. Ryder, on the other hand, stared straight at her. As if he wasn’t listening to his friend. She couldn’t read his mind, but the message in his steely blue eyes resonated through her core.

“I think I’m going to barf.” Carrie clutched her shoulder, digging in her nails. “Right now.”

“No, no, you can’t throw up here. Come on.” Steadying her by the arm, Josie lifted her sister off the stool and guided her step by step to the ladies’ room down the hallway. “Right here, sweetie. The one with the fancy mermaid on the door.”

“Leave me.” Carrie shoved her sister into the hall and backed into the sea-colored bathroom. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

As the door locked shut, Josie spun. Right into Ryder’s chest.

“Oh,” she said, the air ripping from her lungs. “Excuse me.”

But he didn’t move.

“You look mind-numbingly beautiful tonight.” As his gaze raked over her body, from the V-cut glittery tank top emphasizing her breasts, down to her black leather pants, he licked his lips. “I came over here to say something, but now that you’re standing in front of me, the words are gone.”

Mission “Make Ryder Drool” officially accomplished.

“I think you’ve said enough.” She tried to push past him, but he didn’t move. “Can I get by?”

“Can you give me two seconds?”

“I don’t see why I should. You’ve already said enough. Let me see if I can think back to the talking you’ve done the last few days.” She tapped her finger against her chin with dramatic flair. “You said there’s never going to be anything serious between us after you took me in the closet. Then you said I should bring a date to Carrie and Mitch’s wedding, and encouraged me to search through the applications to find my perfect match. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard all I want to hear from you, ever.”

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” He backed against the wall and kicked up his foot. “Not for one second.”

“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you pushed me to date other people.” She took two steps down the hall, but he touched her arm. It was the softest brush, but desire starburst through her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “What do you want, Ryder? You’re so hot and cold, you’re making my head spin.”

On a pained moan, he threw his head back against the wall. “What you overheard the other night—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Her heart beat loud in her ears as she walked away. “It really doesn’t.”

“I know what you want, but I’m not the man who can give it to you,” he blurted, his dark, raspy voice following down the hall. “We don’t want the same things. That’s why there can never be anything serious between us. That’s what I came to your office to tell you.”

Hold up.

She spun on her heel and turned back, standing in front of him with her hands planted on her hips. “That’s why you’ve been putting on the brakes? Because you can’t give me what you
think
I want? I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”

“God, Josie, how could I not want you?” He reached out for her, but when she didn’t move, he dropped his hands. “From the start, you’ve been transparent with what you want and need, and it’s the opposite of what I can give you. Every minute I’m with you makes it harder to pull away, although it’s the right thing to do.”