Page 3 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

They’re all going to get kicked out, and I don’t have my phone to text Violet and let her know I’m stuck outside. Plus, claws and magic would down me in a heartbeat. I escape by pretending like the fight doesn’t exist at all and I’m just trying to get to the billiard area.

Squaring my shoulders and settling my unease, I smooth down any fly-aways and straighten the dress. With my balance sure, I sway my hips and saunter towardDaniel S., 28, software engineer.

The evenly spaced array of pool tables give my brain some nice scratchies and make it easier to maneuver to the rear half of the bar. People gather around the tables, and the play breaks up the mass.

My target leans against the wall, nursing his illici-beer and watching a group of guys I assume to be his friends break at the table. When I approach, it becomes clear that his nondescript t-shirt is rumpled, his khakis are too short for him, and he eyes me like I’m not wearing a dress at all.

Yes, this will work out swimmingly.One would think my closest friend would know my taste better than this.

Maybe that’s her point. Maybe she’s picking shitty guys intentionally. I wish she’d pick shitty guys who were good in bed. If I’m going to be reckless, it has to be worth it.

“Daniel?” I ask the guy Violet pointed out.

“Graceis the perfect name for you,” he replies.

Wow, that’s only the third time I’ve heard that.People actually named Grace must hate it.

“You’re too sweet,” I reply and flash him a sunny smile. Maybe I can swing a free drink out of this guy before I escape. Would that satisfy my alleged best friend?

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

Too easy.“I’d be delighted.”

Wickham

“I can’t keep letting you in, Wick,” Jimmy, the owner of Stan’s on Fifth, grumbles. I eye the slightly ajar back door of the bar.

The cool night soaks into my pores and calms part of the agitation sparking under my skin. If I shift right now, my instincts will immediately take control, and there’s no stopping then.

Jimmy will let me in; he just needs the right incentive.

And I need to findher.

Eyes wait expectantly in my thoughts, so brightly blue, it’s like they see right through me.

“How much was the orthodontist’s bill again?” I ask.

Stan’s is the one place I can go where I’m left the fuck alone. Upscale lounges and bourbon bars are full of people who want to brown-nose a guy in a bespoke suit with a Ferrari key fob. Here, at a dive full of horny drunks seeking easy choices, most ignore me entirely.

There’s something oddly soothing about standing quiet inside the tumult. It satisfies my baser, more acerbic instincts without indulging in them.

Much.

“It ain’t about the money tonight,” Stan replies. “I’m over capacity, and they’re gonna shut me down. This is the best Saturday I’ve had in months, and I’m not jeopardizing it because you’ve got a chip on your shoulder.”

A figment beyond the door with thick, wavy hair as black as my mood begs for my return.

“That’s not it.”

“No? Every time you come in, you pick a fight, and every time, you bribe me to let you nurse your bruises at the bar. Ain’t you tired of it?”

I’m not the one who ends up bruised.

“Not tonight. I wasn’t looking for a fight. He pushed a woman. I don’t tolerate disrespect.”

Jimmy grunts his agreement.

That’s true to a point. I don’t tolerate disrespect, but I was ready to castrate the guy for laying hands onher.

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