Page 23 of Just a Friend for the Lion
It has absolutely nothing to do with the gorgeous, brown-eyed woman behind the counter at Pizza Girls. Nothing at all.
Except, yeah, it does.
Because ever since I walked into that place last week and caught a whiff of her scent—warm dough,brown sugar, and something rich and womanly and hers—I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
Her smile.
That sassy mouth.
The way she moved behind the counter like she ruled the world.
And now I’m back.
Like a damn fool.
The worst part? I still haven’t opened the damn app.
Date to Mate.
I know what it’ll say. I know who it’ll show me. I felt it the second I looked into her eyes.
But I don’t want a mate.
I don’t want forever.
Not when I’ve worked so damn hard to build a life free of strings, obligations, and other people’s expectations.
Not when settling down sounds a hell of a lot like settling, period.
Pride life is hard.
Always has been. Always will be.
It’s why I left.
The Blue Valley Pride?
Sure, they’ve modernized some—got an Instagram account now, and my mom still signs me up forthe seasonal newsletter no matter how many times I unsubscribe.
So, yeah, I see the want ads.
Seeking mature Lion male with good genetics to sire spring cubs. Inquiring emails accepted.
Like I’m some kind of walking donation center with a pulse and a penis.
I hate that part of Shifter culture.
The side that treats unmated males like ticking time bombs full of virile responsibility.
Like we owe the world cubs because we were born with claws and a Y chromosome.
No.
No fucking thank you.
If I have cubs someday, it'll be because I choose to.
Because I want them.
