Page 18 of The Good Boys Club

Mash Cassidy was about as agile and light-footed as you’d expect a six-foot-nine, built-as-fuck werewolf with size twenty-two feet to be. He crashed through my bedroom window, collided with my dresser, and knocked my lamp and artfully arranged coffee-table books to the carpet.

“Fucking hell, you moved your armchair. I was expecting a much softer landing,” he said, getting to his feet.

I pulled my eye mask and headphones off. The podcast had finished over thirty minutes ago, not that I remembered a word uttered. It wasn’t like I’d fallen asleep and missed it either, my mind had just wandered off on its own, churning over James Bradshaw and Dylan West and Howl Ya Doing and Byte Tech.

“Let me guess, there’s a woman in your bed and you need to camp out here until she fucks off?” Usually, Mash waited until the morning to ditch his dates. He must particularly disagree with this one.

“What? No, I haven’t had sex in like two m—days.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I need your help.”

I sat up and pushed the covers off myself. Might as well get up and put the kettle on. Not as though I’d be getting sleep any time soon.

Mash threw the pair of jeans I’d laid over the back of the armchair towards me. “Get dressed, Bangers. I have a plan.Operation Save Mash’s Fucking Tail.You in?”

“What if I say no?” I tossed the jeans aside and stood up. “You want a cup of tea?”

“Bro, no. Well, maybe in a to-go cup. Coffee might be better, actually.”

“What’s going on?” I padded into the kitchen area, Mash following behind me. The kettle was still half full, so I flicked the switch, took two mugs from the cupboard, chucked a teabag into each, and heaped three sugars into Mash’s.

“I can’t get out of the Harvest Fest this year,” he said, leaning against the counter next to me.

This again. Every year it came up, and every year Mash wriggled free. Though he’d still return home for Winter Fest. ButWinter Fest was three days max, Harvest Fest was like two and a half months.

“Can’t you just say—”

“No.” Mash closed his eyes. Shook his head. “Nana said she would come to Remy and . . . demand the dean give me the time off.”

“Fuck.”

“Mate, if I go, they’re gonna set me up with Dee-Dee. They’re always‘Mash, don’t you like Dee? Mash, don’t you think she’s pretty? Mash, couldn’t you just see yourself with the perfect little family? Mash, don’t you want cubs some day? Mash, your babies would be so beautiful. You owe it to werekind to continue spreading these genes. Mash, don’t leave it too late, mind, Dee-Dee won’t be single forever. Mash, you’ve got to pin her down now.’

“First of all, she’s not a fucking sticky note that I can—” He made a pinning gesture, like pushing a tack into a corkboard. “And second of all, no. No. Fuck no. She’s practically my cousin.”

He’d spoken about Dee-Dee before and how he was sort of but not quite related to her, and how each time he saw his pack they became more and more insistent on arranging a mating between the pair. And I knew Mash. I knew he didn’t want to disappoint his pack, his family, but settling down for life with the same person wasn’t his bag.

“But if you got mated, you’d never remain faithful. Why can’t they understand that?” To any normal person, this question might’ve been offensive.

Mash wasn’t bothered in the slightest. “Right? But Nana and the betas say it’s different once you’re mated. Like, you literally don’t care about anyone else. She said once we swap mate bites, Lucy Stirling could walk past me naked and I wouldn’t give two shits.”

Were and shifters had different traditions when it came to mating. Shifters often chose a more human-centred approach—i.e., no mate biting—but werewolves still largely preferred the bite. It was kind of old-fashioned, because it was super permanent. I had heard of werewolves reversing the bite, but it was a difficult and arduous process, and because a warlock was needed to reverse the ancient lycan magic, it was often very expensive. Not totally unlike human divorce.

But even still, I couldn’t quite accept Mash succumbing to the shackles of matehood. His pack might’ve known him longer than I had, but I knew him better.

“I can’t keep saying no. They’re getting to the point where soon they won’t accept no, and the choice won’t be mine any more. Arranged matings are very common amongst werefolk.” Mash flopped onto the bar stool. “Dee’s forty-five. Her pack is also just as keen to see her mated.” He sighed. “She’s a good person. She doesn’t deserve me. She deserves someone who would stand beside her and lea—no, no, it’s not me. I can’t be that for her. For anyone.”

“You said you had a plan?” I asked, trying to navigate Mash out of his funk.

“I do. I have a great . . . ish plan. But we need to break into the Howl offices.”

My face found my palm. After a few moments of semi-collecting my thoughts, I spoke. “So, okay. First off, I have a key card, we wouldn’t be breaking in. Secondly, I don’t wanna. Can’t we just stay here and drink tea? Come on, I’ll putRuff Actuallyon and we can talk this through like grownups.”

“No. As much as I love Alf Stickman, no, we are doing this.”

“Mash, pl—”

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