Page 55 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

She gestured towards my dress pants, shirt, and loafers. “You clearly came to Jack and Shirley’s from work. I am just curious about what you did. Do.”

I glanced down at my clothing for a moment. I had forgotten that I was still dressed for the office.

“I work with my dad, running our various businesses,” I told her. “Lots of paperwork. We rotate locations throughout the week to make sure each business gets the same amount of attention from us.”

“What businesses?”

“We own a lot of the hotels near the national park entrance, as well as various camping supply stores and things of that nature. Some restaurants and bars. The club.”

She nodded and looked back out the window.

“I’d ask you where you work, but I think that’s been established,” I teased, and she chuckled.

“Where did you go to school?” she asked.

“Stanford,” I replied, and she rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong with Stanford?” She shook her head again, pressing her lips closed. “Well, where’d you go?”

“Ballerinas don’t go to college,” she told me. “Or at least they don’t usually. I went straight into an apprenticeship at seventeen after I graduated a year early from high school. I joined the corps de ballet a year later. Then Peter offered me a soloist position here earlier this year after he saw me in the company’s self-directed showcase.”

“Can we pretend I have no idea what any of that means so you can explain it all again in English?”

She let out a genuine laugh at that. Her head leaned back against the seat, and I smiled. Progress. That was progress. I would take any small moment I could and keep them to myself like the selfish ass I was when it came to her.

“Apprentice would be like an intern,” she told me. “The corps is the group of dancers that dance together all the time. They’d be like… um… what sport do you like?”

“Football?” I suggested.

She nodded. “Ok, so, the principals are like the quarterback. The soloists would be the wide receiver or running back. The corps would be the offensive and defensive lines.”

I stared at her as I paused at a stoplight. “Did you just—“

“The game would suck if the corps was shit, or the soloists weren’t good at their jobs, but the principal is the one most likely to be named MVP.”

I blinked and drove through the stoplight, impressed and, honestly, slightly turned on that she knew so much about football. I readjusted my position on the seat, trying to hide the semi I was sporting from the combination of her scent and her sports knowledge.

“What about the self-directed showcase thing?” I asked, trying to move forward and distract myself from the dirty thoughts forming in my mind.

“Oh, that’s just something the principals started doing a few years back. We get to perform pieces we wouldn’t normally do or self-choreograph some dances or whatever we want, really. The company director gives us one night in the theater to perform. Sometimes directors from other companies will come and watch, and that’s how Peter found me.”

I parked the car and nodded. Goddess bless Peter for bringing Haven here. I’d have to remember to thank him the next time I saw him.

“Don’t get out!” I exclaimed as I saw her reaching for the door handle.

She frowned at me and kept her hand on it, pulling it towards herself to pop it open.

“Haven,” I warned.

“But—“

“Damn it, would you just let me be a gentleman and open it for you?” I said, holding back a growl, my eyes flashing with a gentle warning.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. Then she gave me a mischievous little wink and a smile, pushed the door open with surprising speed and strength, and hopped out onto the curb.

I growled for real after that. She had no clue what she just incited, no idea about the beast she just invited out to play. I chuckled darkly, my lycan mimicking me in my head, and then jumped out of the truck after her, slamming the door and rounding the hood in long strides to find her already almost at the door of the coffee shop.

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