Page 33 of Something Unavoidable

His gaze met unblinking golden-brown eyes. His breath caught, and his blood ran cold. What the fuck?

It was a wolf.

A fuckingwolfwas watching him. It was massive—easily twice the size of a normal dog. The dim light spilling from the hallway cast shadows against its thick gray-and-tan coat. It had long legs, pointed ears, and eyes that Izzy could swear were staring into his soul.

It was between the bed and the door, blocking the escape route, though Izzy was sure it could be anywhere and still catch him before he made it out.

Out ofwherewas also an issue he needed to deal with sooner rather than later. The man behind him was still sound asleep. Izzy took stock. He was hungover, mostly naked, and a little bit sticky. But his ass was unfucked, and his bed partner was wearing boxers over his soft-but-generously-proportioned cock.

So he didn’t get laid. Unfortunate.

He tried to think past the cotton filling his head. He knew it would all come back to him—it almost always did. He just needed a minute to… Fuck.

KeeganfuckingReid.

Izzy shut his eyes, his focus flying to the hand that was suddenly burning-hot against his hip as his hangover-brain begrudgingly supplied him with memories of the day before.

Fuuuuuck.

Maybe he should let the wolf eat him after all.

Someone heaved a sigh, but it wasn’t Keegan. Izzy lifted his head and met sleepy eyes. Apparently, the weight across his legs wasn’t Keegan either. It belonged to a large, blue-eyed white dog.

She let out a yawn that flashed her fangs and ended in a whine, then smacked her lips. She was deaf, Izzy remembered.

He pressed a finger to his lips, surprised when she quieted down, her alert eyes fixed on him. She must know some hand signals. Useful.

Izzy moved his legs, nudging her until she shifted over, freeing him. Then he inched his way out from under Keegan’s hand, replacing his body with a pillow. His boxers were around his thighs, so he pulled them back into place and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The wolf watched him, statue-still and eerily silent. Was it even real? Or just an elaborate prank? Izzy glanced back at Keegan, but he didn’t look like he was faking sleep. He eyed the wolf again. Now that he was slightly more coherent, maybe it was a dog after all? It was still massive. The white shepherd—Riley, his sobering brain supplied—had to be seventy pounds, and she looked small next to it.

What had Keegan called his dogs? Riley and… Riley, Lucky, and… Chance. His name was Chance.

Izzy eased his feet onto the floor and stood, not taking his eyes off Chance and getting the same laser focus in return. He tried to keep his breathing deep and even, hoping his heart rate wouldn’t give his nerves away. You weren’t supposed to show a wild animal fear, right?

“Hey there, buddy,” he said under his breath. He took a step toward the door, some of his tension loosening when Chance didn’t so much as twitch. “Let’s not wake up your dad, okay?” He kept his voice low and even as he picked his way across theroom, swinging wide around the wolf-dog as unblinking golden eyes tracked him.

When he reached the hallway, his breath left him in a whoosh. He spotted the open door to the bathroom and hurried across, shutting it behind him and collapsing back against the wood, a hand pressed to his pounding heart.

He wasn’t usually afraid of animals, but that had been freaking nerve-racking. When Keegan woke up, they were going to have words.

Or not. Because he had no intention of still being there when Keegan woke.

The adrenaline had cleared up his lingering headache, but it also, unfortunately, cleared up his memories of the previous night. What the hell had he been thinking, coming here and throwing himself at Keegan? His stomach rolled, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. Some of the shit he’d said—accusing Keegan of ruining his night, calling him a kidnapper, and then begging for sex that Keegan had already declined. Where was some convenient drunken amnesia when he needed it?

Oh god. Had he actually jerked himself off in Keegan’s bed like a desperate slut? Izzy wanted to rip the memory from his brain and stomp it into the floorboards. Where had all of his resolve gone? He was supposed to find someone to fuck Keegan Reid out of his system, not throw himself at the man himself and beg for scraps of attention.

Izzy turned on the shower and cranked it as hot as he could stand before stripping off his boxers and stepping under the spray. He hissed at the scalding temperature but didn’t adjust it. He needed to burn away the last twenty-four hours.

When he got back out after stealing Keegan’s shampoo and body wash, he located a towel on the back of the door and was relieved to see his discarded clothes still in a pile on the floor. He wrinkled his nose at wearing day-old socks and boxers, but itwas better than nothing. Commando, he could handle, but boots with no socks? Fuck off.

He wasn’t sure what had happened to his tee, but he still had jeans and a flannel button-up. It was more than he could say for some morning-afters.

Not that this was a morning-after—god, no—he told his racing heart. He’d crashed at Keegan’s, and it had just happened to be in his bed. Nothing more. Anything he said or did while he was there could be blamed on alcohol and—if he needed to—the weather.

Izzy opened the bathroom door, letting out a cloud of steam, and came face-to-face with the wolf-dog again. He racked his brain for anything he knew about wolves and only came up with keeping his posture nonthreatening and maintaining eye contact. Or was it avoiding eye contact? Awesome. That was going to be super helpful. With “nonthreatening” firm in his mind, he headed for the front of the house, where he would hopefully find his boots and his coat.

His coat was easy enough. It was in a damp pile next to the front door. His boots were harder. As he searched the living room, he dug out his phone and powered it on. He remembered sitting on the floor to take them off, but not where.

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