Chapter 11
Three Years Later
Skye’s POV
Yes, the town was actually called Boring.
I hadn’t made that up. This was probably some Texan’s idea of humor.
Here, I encountered people who were both traditional and freely passionate. My little red car looked like a shy schoolgirl next to their massive pickup trucks. I suspected they viewed me the same way.
I walked into a bar called ‘The Watering Hole” to apply for a bartending position. The owner, a barrel–chested man with a salt–and–pepper beard and weathered skin that told stories of decades under the Texas sun, looked me up and down skeptically.
His name tag read “Buck“.
“I reckon you ain’t even old enough to drink, are ya?” Buck drawled, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s the matter? Got into a fight with your folks and ran away? This line of work ain’t suitable for a little lady like yourself.”
I couldn’t blame him for his assumption. Standing at barely five–foot–four, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed my frame, I looked neither mature nor sexy. Without waiting for permission, I pulled out my ID, slid behind the bar, and efficiently mixed several strong cocktails. I handed one to Buck, then downed mine in a single gulp.
Ever since I’d caught the scent of my mate at eighteen, my sense of smell had become extraordinarily acute, despite not having my wolf. And compared to regular humans, alcohol barely affected werewolves. Our metabolism and healing abilities were many times stronger than those of ordinary people.
Buck’s eyes widened as he sipped the drink I’d handed him.
“Well, damn,” he muttered. “Where’d you learn to mix like that?”
“Here and there,” I replied with a shrug. “Want to make a bet? If I can outdrink your strongest regular, I g the job with a fifteen percent salary bump. If I lose, I’ll walk out right now.”
Buck’s booming laugh filled the bar. “You’re on, little lady.”
The strongest regular turned out to be a burly rancher named Dale who prided himself on his ability to drink anyone under the table. Three hours later, Dale was face–down on the bar while I nursed what must have been my fifteenth shot, showing no signs of intoxication.
“How in tarnation did you do that? You ain’t cheating somehow, are you?“Buck stared at me.
I laughed and shrugged, spinning a quick lie. “My grandfather used to own a small brewery back home. If growing up sampling his products counts as cheating, then yeah, I guess I cheated. Of course, minors shouldn’t drink alcohol, I added with a wink.
“You start tomorrow,” Buck said, shaking his head in disbelief. “And you get your fifteen percent.”
Life in Boring, Texas wasn’t actually boring at all.
Within my first few weeks at The Watering Hole, I’d made a friend in Jessie, a waitress with fire–engine red hair and a laugh that could cut through the noisiest Friday night crowd..
“That one there,” she’d whisper, nodding toward the door as various patrons entered, “cheats on his taxes. And him? Third divorce this year. Oh, and stay away from Randy–handsy after his fourth beer.“/
Jessie’s running commentary made the shifts fly by, and for the first time in three years, I found myself looking forward to going to work.
Then there was Caleb, a young, handsome cowboy who started coming in almost every night. He always ordered the same thing, a whiskey sour, and always found a reason to sit at the bar rather than at a table, even when the place was nearly empty.
1/3
Chapter 11
“He’s sweet on you, Buck would tease whenever Caleb left, his face flushed red, words stumbling over each other as he bid me goodnight.
t always shook my head in response. “Love isn’t in the cards for me,” I’d say, “especially not with a human.”
Buck raised an eyebrow.
“Human? As opposed to what–an alien?‘ He laughed.
Just a figure of speech. You know what I mean.”
If Buck suspected anything, he never mentioned it again. Perhaps he chalked it up to the eccentricities of youth. Whatever the case, he seemed content to have me around, especially after discovering that my reputation as an unbeatable drinking partner was good for business.
Cowboys and ranch hands came in to challenge me to drinking contests. They walked in with confident swagger. They walked out with humbled, stumbling steps. Most left much poorer than when they came.
“Girl, you’re better than a mechanical bull for bringing in customers, Buck declared one night, sliding an envelope across the bar to me. Inside was an extra $500 bonus with my month–end pay. “Keep it up.”
I’d been in Boring for two months when spring arrived.
I rented a tiny studio apartment above the town’s only laundromat, bought a few pieces of secondhand furniture, and even hung curtains.
During my time here, I hadn’t encountered a single werewolf. Perhaps it was because the environment wasn’t conducive to werewolf habitation–we typically preferred forests with their abundant game and natural cover.
This place felt safe. If luck was on my side, I might even stay through the entire summer before moving on.
That night, Caleb sat quietly at the bar for nearly half an hour, his whiskey sour long gone and the glass empty. I wiped down the counter absently, then glanced over and asked, “Want to try something else? You’ve never ordered a cocktail before.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… yeah, sure.”
I started mixing a drink without looking up, but his voice came out shaky, almost like he was trying to gathe rage. “Skye… there’s something I want to tell you.”
I kept my eyes on the bottles, my mind only half on him. “What is it?”
Before Caleb could answer, the bar door suddenly slammed open with a heavy thud.
Heads snapped toward the entrance.
In the doorway stood a man easily six–foot–three. The dim light caught his sharp features – high cheekbones, a strong jaw softened by just the right amount of stubble, and eyes the deep amber of whiskey, glowing faintly under the bar’s muted glow. His dark hair was slightly tousled, curling naturally at the nape of his neck, as if he’d just run his fingers through it.
He looked like he had stepped straight out of a Hollywood action movie.
Jessie grabbed my arm, eyes wide with excitement.
‘Oh my god! Please tell me he’s single. I’d climb him like a tree.”
But my heart sank.
Because I knew.
He was a werewolf. Or more precisely, an Alpha.
