Page 18 of Fastlander Fallen

“Oh.” Her eyebrows arched so high they were probably in her hairline. “How many did you fight?”

“All of them. Are you on your way?”

Well, that was hot, and she didn’t care what that said about her. She cleared her throat and tried for nonchalance. “I still have to pay out. Would you like anything from the grocery store? I’m currently in the cheese aisle.”

“I could use a drink, and I’m starving. I didn’t know this was an all-day interview.”

“What kind of beer do you like?”

“I was talking about water, but I guess just surprise me. I’ll have cash to pay you back when you get here.”

“I’ll think about it—”

“Corey!”

“Fine! I’m on my way, don’t get your panties in a twist.” She moved to hang up, but then she pulled the phone back up to her mouth and muttered, “And don’t tell me what to do.”

She hung up on him, but then took a screenshot of their text thread so he could see the name she’d saved into her phone for him. She sent it, and he replied with a laughing-face emoji.

At least he was fun.

Bantering back and forth with him had completely alleviated the sting of Hallie standing her up this morning. Her day certainly wasn’t boring.

She grabbed a couple of things she hoped he would like to eat, a six-pack of her favorite beer, a first-aid kit, and a couple of bottled waters at the front, then paid out.

By the time she arrived back at Hallie’s mobile home, the crowd had thinned out by a lot. There were perhaps a dozen shifters left, and they were milling loosely around a pile of stones that looked like the unbuilt materials for a firepit.

Off to the side of the house, Ace was chopping wood. Like a lumberjack. He didn’t have a shirt on, and what in the ever-loving Sasquatch pubes was he doing?

He was grace and power with each swing, and the axe blade split the logs in two with only one swing each. It would take her forty-five swings.

Why was he doing sexy-man stuff for no reason? No one was even taking video of him.

She glanced around, held up her phone, and pushed the video button.

Someone had to do it.

He glanced over and frowned, wiped his forehead with his forearm, and then twitched his head in a come here gesture.

Now, the feminist in her was not about to go trotting over to a hot, perspiring man just because he gave her a head twitch, but the hornball in her told the feminist side to hush. So here she was, hobbling clumsily over to him with a sack of groceries dangling from one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.

The other shifters watched her walk awkwardly past them. She smiled at them. “Hi boys, doing great, carry on.”

“I want a beer delivery,” one of them called.

She huffed a breath and gave in to her giving nature. She set it down, ripped into the top, grabbed a beer, and tossed it to him.

He caught it and read the brightly-colored label. “What’s a Ratsquatch beer?”

“It’s an IPA, you swine. Have some culture, it’s delicious.”

One of the other shifters laughed loudly. When she turned to continue on to Lumberjack Longdong, Ace was standing right next to her. She yelped, startled, but when she looked up at him, he wore a hot-boy grin.

“It’s funny because you called a boar shifter a swine.”

She grinned. “I’m good at guessing. Here are your snacks, hippo shifter.” She held up a package of celery.

Ace pursed his lips, but she could still see the laugh in his eyes. “I’m not a hippo shifter.”

---