The Fox and her Bear (Mating Call Dating Agency, #2) (2 page)

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what a beta would do.”

“No, I’m serious, drop the bullshit, Jake. I just got finished answering phone calls about drunk fights, grease fires and squirrels getting chased by pet bats. The last thing I need is to be a pick up artist experiment. If you want to keep trying out your lines and your... whatever this is, then I’ll just have my pancakes and leave. And the beer. God I need that beer.”

“Here you go,” Al plunked the food and drinks down on the table. Jake was still just staring at her, mouth slightly agape, when he stuffed the maple bar into it. “Enjoy. And no murder.”

He winked at Angie again. She gave him a little grin.

“So, wait,” Jake said, finally chewing and swallowing the half maple bar that was crammed in his maw. “You’re not impressed?”

“Oh honey,” she said with a sigh. “I would be more impressed if you picked your nose and told me about what you found. When’s the last time you went on an actual date with an actual woman instead of reading about how to do it on the internet?”

Jake put his maple bar down and chose one of the long johns instead. He took a smaller bite that time, one that was almost reasonable. Then he drank a long slug of milk, and shrugged. “I dunno, high school, I guess?”

He chewed another hunk of donut.

“You’re not bad,” she said. “You don’t need to do the whole creep act to get girls. Just act like yourself. Now, let’s try all this again.”

Angie stood up with a sigh and gathered her stuff. “Come on,” she said, “up, up.”

“You’re leaving?”

“No, honey, we’re trying again. We’re going back to the car, Al’s going to leave our food right where it is, but we’re going to get you some practice at not acting like a mixture between the Fonz and, I dunno, Ted Bundy.”

After he had departed for their date mulligan, Al caught Angie’s sleeve. “How do you put up with this? And now you’re teaching him how to date? What are you, some kind of guardian angel for idiots?”

“Sometimes it feels like it,” she said, pushing a fallen tendril of red curl out of her face and back behind her ear. “But he ain’t that bad. It can’t hurt to teach him a few things about not being a creep, can it?”

Al just laughed and shook his head. “Your puppy is waiting,” he said.

And so he was. Just like an obedient Pomeranian, Jake Lamar was standing right by the front door of Al’s Donut Kingdom, and had taken off his sunglasses. “Well, here goes nothing,” Angie said.

Al patted her on the shoulder as she turned, and when she made her way to the front door, she found it propped open. “Sorry,” Jake said. “I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

She clapped him on both cheeks with her palms. “You’re gonna be just fine, kid,” she said. “Look, we can’t all be amazing at everything, right? You can restart a heart, but with my help, you might just melt a few without looking like a blind date practical joke. Trust me, just do what I say and you’ll be fine.”

The rest of breakfast was far more boring, and far more normal. By the end of it, his manners seemed a lot less alien, and she’d had four beers so it was all good, but when she got home, Angie was straight up exhausted. She collapsed into her very old and very duct-taped recliner, and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. After massaging herself for a moment, she grabbed her phone and flicked through the news for a few minutes, and then went for a quick shower.

She came back down her hall, completely naked except for a towel wrapped around her head, and fell back into her chair like a very tired jellyfish.

“When’s she gonna call?” Angie asked her silent phone. “I’m thinking I need someone more than I realized, especially after
that
mess.”

The late morning sun peeked through the shuttered bay window in her living room. A gentle rain began to patter the grass outside, and the little pond she’d dug to put some koi in, and then never bothered to actually buy the fish. The gentle rhythm lulled her into a semi-sleep, the kind that was warm and soft and came and went gently as the rain ebbed and flowed.

When she closed her eyes, she saw flashes – familiar ones – of a guy with green eyes and carelessly perfect hair. His face was gentle but firm, and every time he clenched his jaws, his cheekbones stood out. “Who are you?” she asked in her dreamy, half-unconscious voice. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a visit from this beautiful stranger as her day faded into her backward night.

The soft rain wrapped her in a blanket of soft security. But it wasn’t sleep that made her feel safe and warm – it was this unknown man’s touch, his hand and his fingers wrapping around hers.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

He just smiled in answer. A soft, lilting music caressed her ears in time with the drops of rain against her window. “Why can’t you show up for real?”

Another smile, almost ghostly. Who
was
this? She started to burrow into a confused hole of questioning that reminded her semiconscious brain that she was falling asleep. And just like that, he was gone. As her eyes fluttered open to a fairly hefty burst of thunder, Angie pushed the drapes apart with her toe and looked outside. She’d put her chair right next to the big bay window just so she could do this.

“Why can’t I get my mind off this guy I’ve never known?” she asked her toe. It was painted nicely, a purple background with a swirly white thing on top. “I’m going nuts. Must be. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to my damn foot.”

She got up after a long moment of watching the rain, and a couple good blasts of lightning that arced across the sky. “Well, not like I wasn’t a little nuts before.”

With a quick twist of her back, and a pair of satisfying vertebral pops, waves of intense exhaustion coursed through ever shred of Angie’s being. It felt like heaviness weighed her down inch by inch, like she’d taken a handful of Xanax and sat there in place watching TV until her eyes closed on their own.

Luckily, she had enough time to wander to her messy, unmade bed and nestle into the covers before she fell completely dead to the world. Angie arranged her nest of blankets around her in a big, fluffy, goose down heap. Angie hadn’t ever been one to use pillows; they always made her feel too propped up and hot, so her beloved massive blanket mound was perfect.

Just perfect.

Just... like him. Whoever the hell he was.

*

R
ude, violent beeping woke Angie and immediately infused her with something approaching demonic rage. She grabbed her phone in a half-conscious stupor and hurled it at the wall nearest her bed, leaving a black streak. There was a reason she spent so much on protective cases.

Heady orange light leaked in underneath her blackout curtains. She blinked a few times, rubbed at her eyes and reached for her glasses. As the world came into focus, she groaned, popped her neck, then her knuckles, and sat up. A red curl fell down in front of her face, which she ejected with a puff of air. She tried to run her fingers through her hair.

“Oh son of a bitch,” Angie swore.

Tangles. Tangles everywhere. Her giant, copper-hued mane was a rat’s nest that no amount of detangling spray was going to do a damn thing about. She rolled around and grabbed her phone off the floor and smiled at what she saw. That was just the first alarm. She had two more to go.

It’s important to treat yourself every now and then, she’d learned a long time ago. In her case, it was important to treat herself every single time she went to sleep. After all, what’s better than getting to go back to sleep three times every day without ever being late?

She was snoring again before her knotty, tangled mass of octopus-like curls hit the pillow.

*

“W
hat the hell? Who is it?” Angie sat bolt upright to her phone vibrating so hard it was about to jettison itself off the nightstand. Then she remembered she needed to answer the phone before she could talk to whoever was calling.

“Hello?” she asked again, this time after actually answering. Her voice was thick and sleepy. “Who is it? Talk!”

“Hey, uh, it’s Colton. You okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” Angie said. “I’m not exactly good at waking up. What’s going on?”

He laughed under his breath. “Look, I’m not sure I even want to ask anymore. I’m kinda scared of you until you’ve had a pot of coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, lay it on me. Someone not show up? Do I need to get there early? Just tell me the bad news.”

“First of all, I’m okay, nothing’s wrong, and everyone’s safe,” he said.

“Oh right, how are you?” she yawned and then chuckled. “So what’s up?”

“Yeah, uh, Millie didn’t show. Sergeant Nichols wants you to get here as soon as you can. He’s buying donuts.”

With a hand over her open mouth, Angie yawned again. “Tell him to get me pancakes and bacon. From Al’s. Otherwise, no deal.”

“I think he’ll be amenable. See you in... half an hour?”

“How busy is it?” she asked.

“Not very. You’ll have time for the pancakes before anything crazy happens, I’m guessing.”

“Good,” she said. “Make it fifteen minutes, and add a large coffee to the order.”

––––––––

“I
don’t think I need any more of this.” Dawson Lex took the comically small – in his paw, anyway – shot glass, considered it for a minute, and then tossed it back. “But hey, I’m not gonna make you waste a drink.”

He sighed, took a swig of water, and sat back down to let his fingers bounce over the keys for a second.

“You still good?” Tenner, the bartender named after his favorite tip, looked in Dawson’s direction. “Seems like after about twelve of those, you wouldn’t be able to tickle them keys the way you do.”

“Nah, just gets me ready. Anyway, I’d be surprised if more than ten people showed up tonight.”

“It’s Saturday, and this is one of four bars in White Creek. Where else are they going?”

Dawson shrugged. “I dunno, heard something about a fight in one of those towns down the road. Archer Park, Holton, one of those.”

“Cock fight? I thought those were illegal.” Tenner took a rag off the bar top and used it to scrub the last of the wet beer mugs to a fine sheen before he slung it up onto the hook over his head.

“Man fight. You know, when a couple shifters hammer at each other for a while, one of them gets a concussion and the other one goes and gets drunk.”

Tenner grunted. “Sounds sad.” He poured himself a beer. “Which is funny coming from me, I guess. But concussions? Those can be serious.”

“Oh come on, Ten, you’re an entrepreneur. Small business owner. You’re literally the American dream. Maybe with a little extra weight, I guess. And anyway, you know that bears can end up giving themselves concussions just putting their pants on in the morning.”

“Watch your damn mouth, bear,” Tenner said with a wry grin. “That’s just how walruses carry muscle. Anyway, what the hell is it to you? You types end up all saggy and baggy when you get old.” He pulled at one corner of his mustache. He wasn’t nervous – Tenner wasn’t ever nervous – but Dawson saw the glint of worry in his eye.

“People will come, don’t worry. And once they get in the door, you know I’ll keep ‘em here all night.”

“Play us a song—”

“Don’t even start,” Dawson said. I get that joke enough from the drunks. I don’t need it from my friend, too.”

The two of them fell silent for a moment. Tenner considered his beer, took a drink, and plunked it down on the bar top just as the door jingled, signaling the first visitor for the night. A short man, five feet high at the most, wandered up to the bar, ordered a drink that required Tenner to hollow out a coconut, and sat back watching the muted television.

“You think he’s gonna want anything else?” Tenner asked Dawson, who had started warming up his piano fingers. “Seems pretty absorbed in that
Dick van Dyke
re-run.”

Dawson shrugged. “What kind of night you think we’re gonna have tonight? Buncha sad songs? Some jazz? Some Miles Davis? Maybe some weird piano renditions of 80s heavy metal? I’ve been waiting for someone to ask for me to play
Holy Diver
on the ivory.”

“Shit,” Tenner said, hunkering down over the bar. “That’s really ivory? I know I bought an old one, but I didn’t think it was
that
old.”

Dawson’s fingers danced across the keys, playing out a couple scales. He closed his eyes and found himself drifting along on a pillow of musical notes that enveloped him, carrying him off to a place far from Tenner’s bar.

He took in a deep breath, letting the scent of pleather seats, stale smoke and old beer drift into his nostrils. For most people, he figured, those smells weren’t exactly pleasant. But for Dawson, who had spent the entire first half of his life constantly on the road, with his parents running from one place to the next to keep ahead of the bill collectors, it was the acrid, oddly sweet smell of home.

“Daws?” Tenner asked, sliding on his elbows down the bar to where the piano sat. “You listening? Or are you on one of your space trips again?”

Space trips
. What Tenner had named Dawson’s semi-regular habit of drifting into a trance as he warmed up his fingers. With them dancing over the cool composite material of the keys, going from A to F-sharp, and back down again, it was a kind of hypnosis. He never had been able to clear his head, not since coming up in the world he had – a world of manic movement, near panic at some points – taught him to be constantly vigilant.

As he tinkled out a C minor scale, his thoughts drifted to a girl, one he didn’t know. He had dreams like that from time to time, of walking hand in hand with someone he’d never met. At the end of the dream they always just faded off into the ether, never to be heard from again – except maybe in another nighttime drifting. But this one was different, somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Dawson thought there was more to this little day dream than just a flitting fantasy. She had green eyes, burning green eyes, and red hair so shocked through with the color of fire that he had to touch it to make sure her head wasn’t on fire, like in that one Lady GaGa video.

But just as suddenly, he was gone, and he was once more in Tenner’s bar, the place he called home, the place he made enough of a living to keep his bear stomach filled. Which, by the way, is no easy feat for a bear who needs more than most normal humans need for a whole day, just to get out of bed in the morning.