Page 13 of Cursed Wolf

I pondered for a moment. “I’ll take an Irish red, just a half-pour.” The nerves had returned and a small drink would definitely help take the edge off without impairing me.

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks, Joey.”

He had just set my beer in front of me when the deep growl of a rumbling engine approached the restaurant. It grew close enough to vibrate the floor and bartop before cutting off abruptly.

“That’s a sweet bike,” Joey murmured appreciatively.

I wasn’t a motorcycle aficionado by any means, so didn’t bother turning to look. We got bikers rolling through town pretty regularly and they often stopped at Buck’s Peak. In my experience, motorcycle clubs were in one of two camps. Either they kept to themselves or they intended to start trouble. When you were a waitress or bartender, you always hoped for the former.

I wasn’t even on duty and I was crossing my fingers that this guy wouldn’t cause problems for my coworkers.

“How’s it going?” Joey greeted the biker who came in and headed for the bar on heavy, lumbering footsteps.

“I’m alright. How ‘bout yourself?”

Whoa. I did not expect a voice like that. Deep, silky and rich, with just a touch of roughness to it.

When the biker reached the bar, his presence loomed huge and imposing to my right side. I glanced over and saw huge hands gripping the back of a barstool. Those hands led up to thick, muscled forearms, and then even bigger biceps and shoulders.

“Ah, I’m good. Thanks.” Joey seemed equally flustered by this biker. “What can I get you?”

“Hmm. What’s good here?”

One those huge hands lifted up, and my gaze followed the movement. He stroked a short beard neatly trimmed around his jaw and full lips. The lines of his jaw and nose were sharp. What surprised me the most was his hair. It was a rich, dark brown falling in careless waves to his shoulders, and it looked so soft.

Joey was rattling on about our drink menu, none of which registered until he said my name.

“And Emmaline here’s got our local Irish red.”

“Really?” the biker rumbled in casual but sincere interest. “That sounds great.”

All of a sudden that face turned towards me, and I was met with the most beautiful golden-brown eyes I’d ever seen.

“Uh, yeah!” I smiled too wide and bobbed my head like an idiot, probably. “It’s really good. Highly recommend it.”

I gulped down a breath and, just as I thought this man couldn’t get any more stunning, he smiled. “Alright, then. I’ll have what she’s having.”

“Full pour?”

“Please.”

Please? This beast of a man was actually polite and knew his manners too? I had to be hallucinating because this could not be real.

“Is anyone sitting here?” His gaze flicked down the barstool he still gripped with one hand. That one subtle movement showed that he had long, full eyelashes as well.

“Uh, nope. Well, you are now.”

Oh my God, kill me right this second.

He flashed a crooked smile as he slid smoothly into the seat. For some reason, he seemed even bigger when sitting down. “Thanks. Emmaline, was it?”

“Uh, yep. That’s me.” I really needed to stop saying “uh” like an idiot. Or even better, stop talking to him altogether.

“I’m Tryn.” Joey placed the beer in front of him and he lifted the glass, still smiling. “Thanks for the beer recommendation.”

“Uh—sure. Hope you like it.”

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