Page 38 of The Mating Game
“Please donotask him to do that for you,” I groan.
Kyle shoots me a look. “Wait, how do you know this?”
I feel my neck heat. “It came up in conversation when we were talking about accommodations.”
“Ah.” Chase bobs his head. “Makes sense.”
“Anyway.” Thomas waves two sample cards at me, fluttering his lashes. “You’re the boss, right? Go do boss things.”
“Fine.”
I snatch the cards from him, grumbling under my breath as I dust off my jeans. The last thing I need is to talk aboutwood stainwith the guy I tried to not quite dry hump. I catch a glimpse of myself in an old mirror hanging outside the great room, frowning when I notice the state of my hair. My bangs are sticking straight up again; I tell myself at least once a day to stop running my fingers through them, but it’s a futile effort. I do my best to straighten them before catching myself, realizing that it’s silly to try to make myselfpresentablefor Hunter. Especially after I gave him that whole speech about keeping things professional.
Hunter isn’t in the entryway, dining room, or kitchen—although Jeannie is in the latter and informs me that a little while earlier she saw him through the window that looks out onto the back deck. I shrug into my new coat before I step outside; Hunter was definitely right, my old one was not up to the task of Colorado air in October.
I don’t see Hunter at first. A quick scan of the grounds beyond the deck shows that the place is entirely empty, and I frown at the undisturbed snow, wondering where he might have gone off to. There’s an empty hot tub back here and a few deck chairs, but it’s the lump of cloth a few feet away that catches my attention.
I know that plaid.
I step over to the bundle and toe it gently, noting a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and some boots.
Are these Hunter’sclothes? What the hell?
I turn my head this way and that again to try to spot him, but just like before, there’s no sign of him. Did he really run off into the woods without his clothes? Why on earth would he do that? Could he be—
A rustling in the tree line catches my eye, and I squint at the blinding layer of white that sparkles under the sun. The bushes shake like something might be moving through them—a rabbit maybe? But no, this seems bigger.
And it seems like it’s coming this way.
I take two steps back with the intention of scuttling inside; I’m not equipped to meet the local wildlife, and I’ve heard too many horror stories about bears to take any chances.
Before I can get even halfway to the door, the bushes part in a flurry, something large and gray hurtling over the snow with purpose. I squint as it gets closer, and it takes a few seconds to make out what exactly is currently barreling toward the deck I’m occupying, but when I do, a gasp escapes me.
Because it’s a very large, veryfastwolf that’s bounding in my direction.
My first instinct is to scream, to run maybe, but then I remember where I am and who I’m currently staying with. Surely that isn’t…Itcan’tbe—
I’m so busy ruminating that I completely forget to try to escape, and by the time the thought occurs to me, the wolf is trotting up the steps to the deck like he owns the place, casting me a glance that feels too human, tooaware.
He sits on his haunches and tilts his head as he looks at me, and I can imagine for just a second that there’s a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. He gives a short yip before bending to nose the pile of clothes on the deck, then straightens to look at me again pointedly.
My brow furrows. “Hunter?”
He yips again, placing his paw on the pile of clothes to draw attention to it once more.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” I tell him.
A low rumble sounds in the wolf’s chest, and he does something with his eyes that looks suspiciously like a roll, and then, before my very eyes, the wolf starts to change, his fur receding and his bones twisting until, in a flash, Hunter stands before me.
And he’s utterly naked.
I stare with an open mouth for a total of three seconds before I realize what I’m doing—carefully avoiding anything below the belt—finally spinning on my heel as quickly as possible while my cheeks flush with heat.
“You could have warned me,” I squeak.
I hear his low chuckle followed by the rustling of clothes. “I tried.”
“You could have triedharder.”
