Page 22 of Moonlighting with the Werewolf

And in spite of all that, here I am trying to justify fucking you out of my system. Last night I’d taken the edge off by indulging in a steamy session with my vibrator that’d included that line, the memory of Conall’s large hand around my neck, and a daydream that involved him peeling off my clothes inthe living room and fucking me in front of the window, where anyone could drive by and see.

But no one ever drove by, and that wasn’t an option, and that was precisely why I was headed to the carnival to meet up with the mayor. Not that I thought this was a date or I’d decided if I would be interested in one with him, but I did need clients in order to continue providing for Sir Pounce and myself.

Besides, while that sort of volatile passion worked great for fantasy sessions between the sheets, in real life, I wanted a reliable guy I could be myself around. One who made me feel safe and didn’t tell me to stay out of his business and avoid me to the point that he sent another person to pay his bills.

I turned toward the mirror and twisted a red, white, and navy scarf into a headband, wishing my stomach would stop twisting itself into complicated pretzel shapes.

I’d given a presentation on a new surgical procedure in front of an auditorium of first-year students. How silly to be so nervous over a small-town event. The summer dress I’d originally slipped on made me feel like I was trying too hard, and the checkered red and white shirt and ripped jeans ended up tipping too far toward the hoedown side of the scale.

“This ho’s not going down like that,” I’d told Sir Pounce before selecting this top from my closet.

To finish off my outfit, I slipped into some simple white Keds. Paired with the ripped jeans, I hoped I appeared casual and approachable.

And like the type of person you’d entrust your pets to.

“Wish me good skill.” I kissed Sir Pounce goodbye, climbed into my car, and drove the handful of miles to the heart of town. Even if Guadalupe Falls wasn’t so teeny tiny, it would’ve been hard to miss the whirring carnival rides peeking over the tops of trees, the cloudless blue-sky backdrop painting the picture-perfect image of summer fun.

After I parked my car, I sent a text to the mayor as promised, and then entered the melee and searched for friendly faces among the crowd. The aromas of fried foods, grass, gas from the machines, and cotton candy mingled with the excited screams and laughter of the people soaring through the air, delighting over or regretting their decision to climb aboard.

Grams’s gravelly, affectionate voice drifted through my mind, from the one other carnival I’d attended during my senior year of high school. It’d been a fundraiser, with the help of the student body’s parents, so naturally Grams had not only attended but ridden every ride. “Don’t spoil my fun with your logical brain,” she’d replied to my quip about not trusting machines that were put together and taken down within hours. “Either you learn to take a risk, or the risk takes you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Grams,” I’d countered.

“Neither does your face, yet I love it like crazy.”

I snickered aloud at the memory, drawing a few stares. Hopefully, the townsfolk found muttering and giggling to themselves endearing. Throughout the years, several medical professionals had declared Grams’s lifestyle problematic. She smoked, drank, and raked men half her age over the coals during poker games. Whenever a doctor told her she needed to slow down, eat better, exercise more, and act her age, Grams would simply find a new one.

During her final year on earth, after she was diagnosed with lung cancer and I expressed my concerns over her health, she hadn’t kicked me to the curb. Instead, she declared that life was to be lived, and while we hadn’t always agreed about how, she’d lived a full, happy life, with no regrets.

“You made it,” a male voice said at my side, and I turned, a smile already spreading across my face. Mayor Sullivan had cotton candy in one hand and a book of tickets in the other.

“Yeah, I heard it was the place to be today.” I racked my brain for something else to say, preferably a clever joke or anything that would make my attendance seem more natural. Nothing like that came to me, so I resorted to my default. “How’s Jasper?”

“Good. He’s very well-behaved, but not so much so that I dared to bring him along. He’d be sneaking off toward the hot dog stand in no time.”

“I don’t blame him. I’m about to attack it myself, they smell so good.”

Mayor Sullivan chuckled, and my heart rate returned to a nice steady pace. This was fine. I could do this.

It wasn’t until after he’d insisted I call him Craig and bought me a hot dog that I contemplated whether a steady pulse went in the pro or con column. Why did we women always associate tachycardia with passion?

Mayor—er, Craig—didn’t incite a riot of emotions like a certain werewolf, but sometimes evolution required an accelerating push. Perhaps big and brawny helped our ancestors survive, but these days, sensible and reliable equaled less inconsistent and easier to maintain and sustain.

“That’s not how you buy a car,” Grams had said when I’d described a sedan I was considering buying in a similar manner. “Fast, fun, and unforgettable. That’s how you want your ride, whether it’s a man or a car. Well, maybe more like fast to notice you, not too fast in the bedr?—”

“Okay, we get it,” I had cut in, since the salesman mentioned he’d had a heart attack the previous month and I hadn’t wanted him to have his second there in the car lot.

“Ah, here’s the row of tents where local vendors sell their goods,” Craig said. “Why don’t I introduce you around?” See? He was intelligent and reliable, and a pragmatic option I promisedmyself I’d be open to if it turned out he was interested in more than showing around the town’s newest resident.

We headed down the line, and I complimented the townsfolk’s merchandise and skills before mentioning my line of work. The couple who owned the local grocery store had six kids and joked they had their hands too full to add pets to the mix. That offended the three-year-old, who wanted a hamster and began wailing about it. Considering I’d triggered the meltdown, I was fairly certain that if they ever did get said pet, the mother wouldn’t be bringing business my way.

Oops.

Right as I was about to call off the mini-introduction parade, I met a couple of farmers and assured them I could handle big animals. Evidently, the other vet in town made a big ordeal about it, so with any luck, I’d just secured a new client.

My luck ran out about two seconds later, when I spotted a face I wouldn’t exactly call friendly but was familiar, and stumbled over my own feet.Conall.

The mere sight of him lit a sparkler within me, one that burned fast and hot. My breath hitched, and there went my heart, beating as fast as a woodpecker on a mission.

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