Page 391 of Hate Mates

“Absolutely.” She makes a note on a leatherbound pad of paper before stepping out from behind her podium. “Please, follow me.”

Starla stands as we approach, a white blouse over cream pants that was obviously chosen for an engagement photo op. “Oh, Benjamin! Don’t you look….” She gives up finding a way to politely comment on me looking tired or out of sorts. It’s not like she knows I’m a shifter.

“Late night working. You look lovely.” Leaning in, I press a kiss atop her airbrushed cheek, careful to not smear her makeupor damage her perfectly styled hair where it curls around her face. Both our mothers would murder me.

“Thank you. Iwasdressed for brunch at the golf club.” She pouts as she sits while I push in her chair. “Why here?”

I turn to glance at the owner-hostess and am happy to find her gone. Veronique has disappeared in her ephemeral way, always here and gone again.

“The rain would have ruined your hair.” I take my seat, feeling for the ring box as I ease down onto the plush navy cushion. Silver stars swirl through our clear tabletop, seemingly moving in time with our breath or heartbeats. “Besides, this has a nicer view of downtown.”

The grey drizzle sparkles on the pavement and brick from the streetlights and the building signs. It reminds me of riding in the backseat of the car as a child and watching headlights zip by at night.

“Welcome to Café de l’Illusion. I’m Poppy, and I’ll be your server for today. The specials….”

She keeps talking, but all I hear is my blood whooshing in my ears. Poppy. The hair on my arms stands, goosebumps popping up as I try not to otherwise react. It might not be her. It might not— It is.

Cinnamon hair, a shorter, plump body with breasts that spill out of the top of her black dress and white apron despite the corset lacing over them. Her freckles have been doubled with glitter, and her bronze eyes go cold as she drops her chin just slightly. “Would you like a few minutes with the menu?”

Star sniffs. “No. I’ll have the poached duck eggs on avocado toast and a blackberry peach fizz. Ben?”

I don’t want to eat. With how Poppy is looking at me, I just want to leave. I can’t let her out me, can’t create any sort of scene…. Escaping without the engagement, however, is not an option either.

“Double patty melt, the fried potatoes, and coffee, black but extra sugar.”

Poppy looks at me and nods tersely. She has every right to hate me for what my family did to hers, but with how damned delicious she looks in that dress, I fucking hate her too for making what I have to do with Starla that much harder. All I can think of is pinning Poppy to the wall in the servers’ station as I kneel between her spread legs and eatherfor my brunch.

TWO

Poppy

Ifeel him before I see him, before I can smell his cologne, and even before my boss assigns me to the “Devona group, table three. VIP.” Like he or anyone with him would be anything else. There’s a rush of warmth between my thighs, an alertness in my body as it pulls me to him, and an extra sharpness to my teeth when he approaches the queen of my high school nightmares who made my life a living hell by making sure everyone knew I was a shifter.

Starla Celestis and her sister, Lunys, made every shifter’s life that way. Her father ran the anti-shifter legislation and was the one personally responsible for taking away my parents and older siblings. I mean, I know it had to do with Benji’s family. They somehow found out that he and I were—are—mates, and that just wasn’t good enough for them. He’s the reason I grew up with fully human relatives and not my family. I know it wasn’t really his fault, not with how young we were at the time, but it’s not like he’s done anything to help me either other than leave me alone. I’m not sure what I would have done while going to college if he’d been close enough to trigger my heat cycle and been unwilling to be with me.

I didn’t even know a shifter could mate with a human. I just know that despite a handful of long-term relationships, none of them compared to the spark I feel just being near him.

Benji was my best friend when we were little. We both liked going so fast on the merry-go-round we nearly puked, and he liked building elaborate Rube Goldberg machines—elaborate for a four- or five-year-old—to make me laugh when they inevitably took too long to accomplish whatever the original goal had been. That was nineteen years ago, though. All he means to me now is a lusty daydream ruining my chances at ever being truly happy and fulfilled.

I recite the list of specials and take down Starla’s order. With each word, I can feel my customer service smile fading a bit more. Benji, at least, seems to want to escape just as badly as I do. He looks like he bit into a lemon.

“Ben?” She reaches over and pats his hand while smiling at me. Six and half years since graduation, and she’s still the same.

“Double patty melt, the fried potatoes, and coffee, black but extra sugar.” Black as night like his hair and sweet as the sinful curve of his lips.

I spin around on my heel and take carefully counted steps to the kitchen so that it doesn’t look like I’m running. I need away from him, further than the server station. At least I can duck into the kitchen and use the takeout order entry system.

“Got that VIP order?”

“Yes, Chef.” I finish the last of the entry. “One green quacker and a frat boy special.”

She and her sous chef stifle snorted laughter before going back to their tasks. I check the status on another table’s order before heading out to get Benji’s coffee.

“Hey, Pops?” Veronique slips into the coffee bar area as I make a tray with a large dish of sugar: refined, raw, and cubes depending on what he prefers. “Table three is going to havea proposal. Chef’s made a special batch of beignets for you to deliver with the bride-to-be’s drink.” She hands it over, dusting both of us with powdered sugar in the process.

I hope she chokes on them.

Forcing a smile, I load my tray with their drinks and donuts and focus on the rhythmic click of my heels on the cobblestone flooring. The steady drizzle has become a punishing rain, pelting passersby and reducing visibility outside. Occasional lightning adds to the effect, a rumble of thunder become a shimmer of sound that dances around my ears. I’ll be sleeping here tonight at this rate.

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