Forever Caspia Page 12

  His big pink tongue swiped her nose in response, making her gag. “God, that breath of yours could peel my skin off. Good thing we got that toothbrush, huh?”

  He reared his head back and turned away from her as though insulted.

  JC scratched his ear again, smiling when he couldn’t resist the pleasure and gave in by leaning closer. “Don’t get defensive. I’m sure in all your stray-ness, toothbrushes were hard to come by.”

  She reached for the blue toothbrush, squirting a liberal amount of paste on it. Holding it up, she grinned at him when he tried to make himself small by backing away. JC cupped his muzzle. “Say ‘ah’,” she teased, pressing the bristles to his mouth.

  He bucked a bit, shifting his stance before giving in.

  “Good boy. So, of course you want to know all about me, right?”

  He gagged.

  JC barked a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, I’m thirty-two, single, and I’m part owner of a salon here in Hoboken—born and raised here, by the way. Also, an only child. I work a lot because my salon is really busy, but also because my personal life is pretty uninteresting. Not much of a partier, mostly a homebody. I love to read, I crotchet a helluva doily and I love anything DIY. Was addicted to Candy Crush, but I think I’ve finally kicked the habit. Broke up with my douchenozzle of a boyfriend, Jess, about two months ago because he cheated on me. Caught him and his Jersey Shore/Snookie knock-off in bed together red-handed. The search for my knight in shining armor is on hiatus right now. That means, until further notice, it’s just you and me, Prince of Hair.” Maybe forever, the way things are looking on the romance horizon.

  JC looked at him for any kind of reaction to find even he looked depressed after hearing the description of her life. “I know, I know. I’m not exactly a total scream. But listen, I’m loyal, hardworking, and though my place is small, it has to beat the smelly shelter, right?”

  His nose twitched.

  She raised her fist to the ceiling with a grin. “I’m going to take that as a ‘hell yeah’. Time to rinse, buddy.”

  Six bath towels later, he was like a brand-new dog. She worked diligently to untangle the mats in his hair as she toweled him, and then dug around under the bathroom sink for her blow dryer.

  “Now don’t get all freaked out on me, it’s noisy, and I know you’ve suffered your fair share of indignities today, but with all this hair, we need to dry you. It’s too cold out to let you air dry. So sit, okay?” That was probably the wrong way to address him. The Dog Whisperer said she had to be the alpha of her pack. But he appeared to respond best when she took a friendlier approach.

  Again, he didn’t budge, patiently waiting while she plugged the dryer in and got the new dog brush from her bag of purchases. While she attacked the task of drying him, JC chatted at the dog as if he were a new girlfriend. Not that he seemed to care much. In fact, he had all the haughty disdain she’d attributed to a cat covered.

  There were no happy belly rubs or sighs of contentment.

  Just him and his completely unfazed, eerily quiet resolve.

  And the stare. He did a lot of the stare.

  Clean and dry, though, he was quite impressive. His dark gray fur lightened considerably with a good cleaning and some softer threads of black were now visible down the length of his back. The fur around his face was full and springy and he smelled a hundred times better than he had two hours ago.

  Her beautician’s hands primped and scrunched, running her fingers affectionately along his body as she went. “You’ve got an impressive coat there, buddy. Very fluffy.”

  Fluffy.

  “That’s it! How do you feel about the name Fluffy?” She cupped his jaw, staring into his deep-brown eyes as though she expected him to answer.

  More staring back at her—hard, in fact. Rather unnerving.

  “What? Why the face? You don’t like it? Look, you’re one scary mothereffer. I can’t keep calling you Cujo. It only adds to your already freaky-deaky outward appearance. Maybe the name Fluffy will take some of that edge off when we go to the dog park. It implies cuddly and sweet, don’t you think? Sort of your bark is worse than your bite…don’t judge a book by its cover?”

  He huffed at her when she slung her arms around his broad neck and gave him a squeeze, choosing to ignore the odd rumble he made low in his throat.

  She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up, drawing him close to her. “Selfie time, Fluff,” she said on a laugh when he twitched.

  Planting a kiss on his clean muzzle, she winked at him. “Wait until I show the girls at work how gorgeous you are.”

  * * * *

  A selfie? Look, guys, Fluffy has a selfie.

  And Fluffy? F-L-U-F-F-Y? Max ticked the letters off mentally.

  Christ. Who named a “dog” of his size and stature Fluffy? A poodle made complete sense, even a Chihuahua. I got your fluffy.

  Full, with a thick, luxurious coat that happened to be worn and a little travel weary? Yes.

  But fluffy? No.

  Catching a glimpse of himself in her full-length mirror, Max shuddered, watching the ripples of his fur shimmer on his hindquarters. Jesus, she’d made him look like some mutant Chia Pet.

  Wasn’t it enough she’d shoved dog treats under his nose and tied a leash around his neck? Taken him to PetSmart and paraded him up and down the aisles with all those pampered, condescending pooches lifting their noses as he passed?

  To degrade him this way, by giving him a name better suited to a bunny rabbit, was almost more than he was willing to suffer for his life mate.

  Max could almost hear his pack, laughing and laughing.

  Damn this woman. If she weren’t so good looking, if her scent wasn’t driving him out of his ever-loving mind, he’d pick up and go the hell home.

  But he couldn’t. Whatever she had—whatever mystifying pull that drew him to her like a mesmerizing Mata Hari—just wasn’t gonna let him go.

  JC was his prophecy. He’d known it ten seconds after she’d appeared in front of his cage at the shelter, even as groggy as he was from the tranquilizer.

  He’d. Known.

  He didn’t feel the emotional ties he was sure most felt when they found the person they’d share their lives with just yet, but he knew if he let her go, he’d suffer not just the curse, but something he hadn’t quite defined.

  That as-yet-undefined emotion was what had led him to play along at the shelter.

  He’d awakened too late to shift into his human form, and he had no clothes anyway. But something told him to stay put. Something invisible.

  And if scent really had anything to do with finding your life mate, JC definitely smelled like his mate. Her scent was different than any other he’d ever encountered. A unique blend of female and flowers and pheromones that made his blood pump hard and his head light.

  Not to mention, she was beautiful. She had the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen, plump and round. Her firm, lush breasts, full hips and glossy pink lips were nothing to scoff at either. And her hair…Hair a man could wrap around his fist as he came. Just touching her shoulders, it fell in raven waves around her heart-shaped face.

  But it was her eyes that intrigued him the most. A light brown beneath full, dark lashes that swept her cheeks when she looked down at him.

  Everyone in the pack always said he’d know when he found the one. Threats of curses, his long journey here, and his hellish shelter stay aside, he had to admit, they were right.

  And she’d shown up in the nick of time. As prophecies went, his was a pretty close call. While in shift, he still understood every word spoken amongst humans. He’d heard through groggy ears the sympathetic conversation shared between Manny and Dan at the start of the day—his last day. He knew he was on the chopping block.

  Yet, all day long, while he waited for the unknown, in and out of his drug-induced sleep, he hadn’t experienced an ounce of fear. Because somewhere, in some unknown region of his brain, deeply embedded in his gut, he knew he
wasn’t going to die.

  Not today, anyway.

  Though wasn’t bearing the name Fluffy much like death?

  How long could a guy keep this cloak and dagger shtick up? Did the other men in his pack have to suffer this kind of humiliation while on the hunt for their life mates or was it just the curse that was making everything so hard?

  How was it he’d never heard tales involving blow dryers and flea dip while they all sat around the table, playing poker and drinking beer?

  Because their life mates were all fellow werewolves. JC was human. He’d like to see the explanation for that cosmic fuckup in his aunt’s chicken noodle soup.

  A human. He said the words in his mind again to remind himself just how difficult the elders had made this curse.

  He couldn’t think of a single human who wouldn’t curl up in a ball of terror-filled rocking when he shifted. Because it wasn’t pretty.

  In fact, it was quite noisy and uncomfortable. So not only did he have to tell her she was his life mate, but that he was a bona fide werewolf.

  The good times just kept rollin’ in.

  “Flufffyyy! C’mon, baby boy—yum-yum time!”

  He cringed. Yum-yums. All this cutesy talk, as if he were an utter imbecile, was demeaning.

  She thinks you’re a dog, pal. This is the avenue you chose to take, isn’t it? All covert and sort of Teen Wolf-ish. You could’ve just shown up and rented an apartment instead of road trippin’ your way to Hoboken. It was you who said you wanted to be free to roam the woods in shift while you were still single, wasn’t it? Free and easy down the road you go—or some such country song.

  You could’ve taken a bus, a train, a car, but nah. You spent your last days as a single man chasing deer and rolling in the mud amongst the pines of New Jersey’s forests. Your journey, your choice how you made that journey. That you managed to get caught by animal control is on you, brother. It was careless and your drawn-out road trip was self-indulgent.

  In fact, you could just come clean right now and tell her the truth about who you are—what you are.

  Right. I’m not really Fluffy your dog, pretty lady. I’m really Fluffy-slash-Max, your forever hook-up. I stayed disguised this way because if I knocked on your door, flowers in hand, and demanded you be my werewolf woman so I won’t die, I had the distinct impression you might have hesitations.

  So Fluffy he’d stay, until he could call his pack or figure out how to reveal himself without putting JC into a mental institution. He could only imagine what that phone call would be like.

  Ring-ring. Hey, pack members, this is Fluffy calling home base. So I found her, or she found me. In the pound. Awesome, right? Oh, and FYI, she adopted me. She thinks I’m a dog.

  Max’s ears, finely tuned, listened to the sound of JC’s voice again, high and falsely sweet for his benefit. Dinner call. Shit. More kibble. He’d suffered enough inferior dog food in that shelter to last him a lifetime.

  But his stomach growled, churning and twisting. He needed to feed, and if dog food was all there was on the table…

  So kibble it was. At least until he could make himself known to her, unleash the man in him. Jesus, he sounded like a commercial for Viagra.

  With resignation, Max shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to eat his yum-yums and answer to the most ludicrous name in all of Hoboken.

  Fluffy.

  Fuck. He was going to have to eat a whole cow raw just to regain a tenth of his manhood.

  JC was scooping kibble into a bowl and cooking something that smelled distinctly like Nirvana when he squeezed himself between her and the table.

  She grinned at him. A grin he liked a lot. One that was sometimes wide and generous, sometimes soft and flirty. “Hey handsome, you hungry?”

  He sniffed her hand in response. Steak. She was making a steak. Instantly, his mouth watered.

  This was a test. Yep. This was some sort of cosmic test to see how strong his fortitude was.

  She rubbed the top of his head with the heel of her hand. “Dinner for two, isn’t it romantic? Pretty soon we’ll be picking out a china pattern together.” As JC set a place for herself at the small table, Max stood beside his bowl, nosing the rim.

  This was god-awful. What had she called it at the pet store? Cheesy lamb something? He didn’t care how many tender, bite-sized nuggets they included, it was inhumane to expect anyone to eat it.

  The aroma of the steak under the broiler wafted to his sensitive nose again, breaking him. His stomach rumbled with discontent over his bowlful of kibble, but he nudged a piece or two with his nose because JC looked on, hope written all over her pretty face.

  “See? It’s good, isn’t it? The saleslady said it’ll keep you at a healthy weight, and it’s got all the nutrients you need.”

  Max wasn’t hearing her words; his eyes were too busy devouring the steak as she pulled it out of the oven and set it on the counter.

  Look away, Fluffy. Don’t do it. If you look, you’ll crack. If you crack, you could end up back in the shelter in a ménage of death with Manny and Dan and the gas chamber. Worse, do you want to become one of those stories they tell around the table back at home?

  Picture everyone at the annual barbeque, referring to you as Fluffy.

  Damn. Of all the things she could have made. A hot dog, one of those Lean Cuisine boil-in-a-bag things his mother sometimes made…anything but a steak.

  The doorbell rang just as JC was putting the finishing touches on her plate, and he was forcing himself to look at something other than the juicy meat.

  Wiping her hands on a towel, she gave him the same look she’d given him back at the shelter. The “don’t even” look.

  She put her adorable hands on her sexy, full hips and warned, “Now hear this, Fluff, don’t go getting all territorial on me here. I know you don’t like people very much, but you’re going to have to suck it up and learn to deal. It’s probably just Viv anyway, and she’s an animal lover. Believe me when I tell you, men have not been beating down the door to my sexuality as of late. So just relax and eat your dinner. Got it?” She scratched his ears and went to answer the door.

  Thank God. Now all he had to do was resist the temptation to stand on his hind legs and firmly sink his teeth into that tender steak. Hell, it smelled so good. Maybe if he just smelled it…A little whiff to help satisfy his deep need for real food.

  Paws firmly planted on either side of the flowered plate, he levered himself upward and took a whiff.

  A T-bone? Damn. You. Universe. He let his head fall back, clamping his muzzle tight to keep from howling his grief and instead, whimpered. A T-bone. His favorite cut of steak.

  Did you just whine, Fluffy? Have your man-parts left the building?

  But it’s a T-bone.

  Maybe he could just lick it. She’d never know, and his teeth were clean, after all. She’d scrubbed them until his gums were raw.

  One last glance and his decision was made.

  Max raked his tongue over the salted surface, drawing it with a slow pass until he thought his eyeballs would roll to the back of his head.

  Hell. His instinctive nature to devour it was threatening to overwhelm him. What if he took just one little bite? Just a tiny piece off the edge?

  Worst case scenario? She’d scold him and they could go on about their business. She wouldn’t take him back to the shelter. If he was sure of anything, he was sure of that.

  Maybe, Fluffster. Or maybe JC will take one of your privileges away. Sucks to be you.

  He shook his head. No, no. She was too easy. She wouldn’t do that.

  But what if she takes away those yummy, all-natural doggie treats? Or worse, she won’t buy you that T-shirt she couldn’t find in your size. You know the one. It was powder blue and read, “Mama’s Big Boy.” You don’t want that, do you?

  How would he ever go on living?

  Mind made up, he decided one bite and no more.

  Max clamped down on the meat, holding it with one paw, tearin
g just a small bite off the edge. Savoring the texture on his tongue, he let it sit there for a moment. One glorious moment while his stomach rejoiced—even though it was a little overcooked for his liking.

  As angels sang hallelujah in the distance, he pondered just how long it had been since he last had a decent meal.

  You’d better stop now, Fluff-o-nator.

  Dropping down off the counter in guilt and shame, he attempted to fend off the temptation to gorge.

  The bowl of kibble stared back at him, its chunky bits of goodness and protein taunting. He sniffed the bowl again.

  Nope. No damn way.

  But you’ll hurt her feelings, you insensitive jerk. She went to so much trouble to pick out just the right variety of food for you.

  It was true. She’d read all the ingredients on almost every package, scoured the aisles for the proper balance of all the things necessary for a healthy, happy dog.

  How could you, Fluffy? Is this the way you want to start a relationship? With deceit and treachery?

  He looked down at the bowl again. He couldn’t do it. He would not eat dog food and he was nobody’s pet.

  He grabbed the bowl between his teeth and tipped it over behind the fridge, pushing it to the back with his paw. It was the best compromise for now.

  His stomach rumbled noisily again. The steak sat on the plate, mocking him. Fluffy! Eat me, Fluffy!

  Shaking it off, Max licked his chops and swallowed hard.

  Must resist. Will resist.

  His nose twitched.

  T-bone. It’s a T-bone.

  Shit. Cannot resist.

  Half, that’s all he’d eat. Just half—it was too big for her anyway, he reasoned.

  Finding a comfortable spot, he rested his lower body against the cabinets and dug in. Half, only half, Max reminded his overactive stomach.

  A screech laced with horror invaded his love-affair with the steak. “Fluffy! What are you doing?” JC stomped toward him, her pretty eyes flashing all sorts of angry, her finger waving in the air.