Grizzly - Bundle Parts 1-3 (7 page)

Did they think I was an idiot too?!

I might be a plus-sized woman, but the sad assumption that overweight people aren’t very intelligent, talented, smart or capable, really pissed me off. I dealt with it nearly every damned day of my life.

“Contact my attorney. You have his number. This call is ending now.” I said and then hung up.

Ass-hat!!!

Whether I liked to admit it or not, the call had wrecked my mood. I groaned and sent my attorney a quick text giving him the head’s up.

When I’d gone in for the initial consult to discuss my arrest, we’d decided that it was best to settle out of court. He definitely wanted to put the squeeze, so-to-speak, on reminding Mr. Bob Silks and his attorney that a public scandal would create equally as much, if not more bad PR for him as a public figure as it would for me.

Mick was my attorney’s first name. Considering that I’d hit the seven figures, I hadn’t needed an attorney for anything other than basic stuff involving setting up my own LLC.

Until now.

So, I’d scrambled fast to find a good one who specialized on negative PR. For embarrassing personal situations that had taken a legal turn. Such as this impulse and bad decision, oh to say, deck a stranger at the gym while swimming, after he’d called me a whale to my face.

Thankfully, I had a therapy session coming up with my therapist later in the day. I knew it was going to be one of those sessions where you laugh and cry at the same time, hoping to find the strength and a space where you can face your embarrassing behavior, while being strong enough to own it.

Then understand it.

But for now, I had to push all distractions aside. I needed to focus on my writing. Half the battle of being an author is the power of creative focus, pushing aside all distractions. We have all the time in the world, in one sense, but to write, we have to master our approach at how we use time.

Most rely on the schedule of a typical work-week to dictate their days. Not so for me, or most writers I know. We create our own schedules.

So, I did what I do best. I opened my laptop, and started to revise my project. One word, one sentence at a time. Before I knew it, late morning turned into afternoon, which turned into late afternoon. Late afternoon turned into early evening, and soon, I was on my way to my therapy session.

All the while, all day long, I had Abe on my mind…

Chapter Eight

(( 8 ))

ABE

It was hard to do, but I was doing it. Ignoring Cass for a couple of days, outside of working on her book and sending a few emails to clarify questions that I had. I was out running on a nearby park trail, thinking about her, despite myself.

Thinking about her goofy personality, that sweet smile of hers and her even sweeter curves kept finding their way into my thoughts.

Sweet. It was her word. Her descriptor. I’d never met anyone so sweet.

Which made her ridiculously sexy and attractive to me.

Bears love sweet things. Sweet like honey. What we can lick that is sweet, we also love. Will fight over. Will protect. Seek. Find. Acquire. To enjoy.

Pure and simple.

By the time I’d finished the edit, I was very eager to see her again. I’d chewed on it the entire time on how I was going to go about informing her that I was divorced and a bear-shifter. I’d decided that I’d just figure out a way to work it into a conversation, innocently enough when it came to the divorce piece.

As for the shifter part, I needed to ease her into it. So, I was thinking about bringing up movies or books that were based on paranormal beings and creatures. Get a feel for what she thought, how she might react.

We weren’t all that much different from humans, really. We just had the animal component. That part of us that was creature merged inside of a human body that needed to come out and be what it was.

Things had changed dramatically over the last few decades. To the point that those who were paranormal entities could mingle and live amongst the masses, if needed. We’d found ways to be peaceful and remain unobtrusive. Invisible and behind-the-scenes. Our own internal governing bodies and pack or tribe laws and politics took precedent over the ordinary laws of humankind.

The honor system was crucial and we all abided by it.

Generally, relationships and marriages with non-shifters were discouraged but not enforced like it used to be. As a result, we were no longer the taboo topic of discussion we’d once been. Vampires, werewolves, shifters, and the like had all made agreements to gently reintroduce ourselves to human civilization.

And this was why I’d gained the courage to leave the comfort of my mountainous region in
Yellowstone National Park
and the
Jackson Hole
,
Wyoming
area to make my way to Boston, of all places.

Because, her signal was here, in this town, and had haunted my dreams and sleep for years. Even when with my first wife, I’d known she was still out there. My true bear mate.

I’d thought her to be a shifter too. Like my first wife.

But she wasn’t. Which made me wonder –
why
?

Having settled but still being new in town, I’d decided it was time to meet more of my own kind. Make some acquaintances and hopefully, some friends in the long run. I’d snooped around a bit, starting up casual chit-chats with other shifter types who were all too wary of a bear asking questions about the social scene and neighborhoods.

Eventually and somewhat amusedly, it was two lesbian wolf-shifters at my gym who shared some good hangout spots. As it turned out, there was a classy bar, called
Biddy’s
, which served mostly beer and wine which also had a large pool hall area. Plus it was known for a bear-shifter crowd that they thought I would appreciate. They mentioned that a lot of bear-folk gathered to play pool and that it was generally welcome to newcomer.

I’d already gone to play pool and had ran into both of the officers I’d spoke with the night Cassidy got arrested. After sharing some good laughs about her funny predicament, we were soon drinking and cheering to other stories that they could share without getting into trouble.

Chapter Nine

(( 9 ))

CASSIDY

After my therapy session, I headed towards one of my favorite places to hang out.
Biddy’s
was an upscale place; a wine and beer bar that had a pool hall tucked away in the back. It was a bit of an anomaly, as if the owner hadn’t been able to decide what they really wanted the place to be. But somehow, it worked. Casual but classy, it drew a nice crowd and I always felt comfortable.

It was about two blocks away from my therapist’s office and part of an historic brick building protected from destruction. Well over a hundred years old and charmingly decorated in the old lampoon bar style.

Precious little bullshit was tolerated by the staff. Plus there was a large backspace for a pool hall and plenty of nice people to meet. Local bands had an elevated stage to play at and many evenings, there was a vibrant crowd. The space worked.

Some would say it was even a wee bit haunted. But I wasn’t sure about paranormal stuff like that. Although I wrote about paranormal creatures and beings, as a Taurus, I liked having my feet squarely planted on the Earth and in reality, thank you very much.

Once I settled in a comfortable, wooden booth, I ordered a light amber beer, and a double shot of
Maker’s Mark
whiskey over ice, on the side. I spent the next hour thinking about the session I’d just had with my therapist. I opened my hand-written journal, set about writing notes about my feelings, impressions, insight and thoughts about the session.

Being a creative-minded person, I’d specifically searched for, sought and found a therapist who worked with creative types, understanding how our minds work.

Thinking about my therapy session, it had been hard, and terribly embarrassing to share about how I’d decked a total stranger and ended up needing to be bailed out of jail. Even as I said the words, heard them coming out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it must have sounded to my therapist.

That mortification was sitting with me and just didn’t seem to want to go away. My therapist assured me that with some time and self-evaluation, I’d be able to move forward. I’d learned quickly enough that the best path to self-forgiveness was to move on quickly. Fast and furious. Clinging to it had no place in the heart or mind. Just solemn acceptance and a promise to be a better person.

To be a bigger and better person than one of the antagonists in my stories, for starters.

Well, bigger figuratively. The last thing I needed was to be bigger, literally. Diet humor aside, having learned the art of writing an antagonist worthy enough of the central character was something I’d had to develop quickly.

For one simple reason. Readers loved it!

They really love it when the dynamic is strong, intense, has that crazy passion between the primary characters. That push, pull and merge that keeps the human drama story moving forward. But a dynamic that must be handled tenaciously and preciously. As the tendency to self-destruct is all too common. Overused in too many a storyline.

It’s amazing how we can fail once,
one fucking moment
and have it haunt us. I was determined to do right by Mr. Silk, but he wasn’t exactly entirely innocent either. Once he met me in the middle, it would all change and hopefully, he’d stop bullying people in public spaces such as he’d done to me, that day at the gym pool.

I tapped my pen a bit against my teeth, a bad habit I’d developed in Jr. High and realized that what was going on in my personal life could also go into my novel.

It was then, my full concentration on my contemplative thoughts, my therapy journal wide open and my gaze going wherever it may, that I noticed one of the policemen from the other night, standing with his pool stick planted on the ground and he happened to be staring right at me, a friendly smile on his face.

Officer Rotan.

Very tall, built like a line-backer, sandy blonde hair and when he spoke, his Texan background revealed itself. A Texan drawl, warm like butterscotch. Along with the slight twinge of his,
come-hither-and-fuck-me-silly
cowboy charm.

Truth was, if I wasn’t so into Abe at the moment, Officer Rotan would have his hands full in an entirely different way.

With me, my interest and attraction to him.

One bloody man at a time Cassidy!!
I chided myself…

I’d always been a bit like that, crushing on more than one man at a time. Something that society had made me feel somewhat guilty about. Until I started writing
ménage
and threesome stories that made me realize, many women had a similar fantasy. The love and attraction of more than one man at a time.

Besides being flustered at seeing him, off duty and enjoying a game of pool like any other regular person, I was completely caught off guard by his presence.

I gave him a lukewarm smile, embarrassed but genuinely glad to see him. I added a small wave, hoping that would make my distanced hello seem friendly enough. Trying to be casual, but not too casual. In the end, as my attorney had advised me, it was likely that if anything went to court, both officers would be called up on to help paint a picture of my character. My public persona.

So, good behavior was much needed.

Very much so.

He laid down his pool stick and headed towards my booth.

Gulp.

Dear god, dear god, dear god….

“How are you tonight, Miss Cassidy?” Officer Rotan asked.

I had to careen my neck to look up at him, practically staring up at the ceiling, “I’m good, just having a beverage and doing some writing.” I replied, trying to be as calm as possible while feeling wildly flustered inside.

“Staying out of trouble?” He asked, a teasing look in his eye.

“Doing my best, Girl Scout’s honor,” I answered, making the boy scouts sign in some goofy attempt to show I was being sincere.

“Isn’t that the Boy Scout’s pledge?” He noticed, a grin escaping his attempt at feigning seriousness.

“Most likely, I’m dyslexic.” I stated matter-of-factly, going for humor as it was all I had to offer at the moment. I could barely take myself serious half the time.

“And dyslexia causes you to mix up signs as well as words and numbers?” He teased, egging the silliness forward.

“You could say that…” I grinned wryly.

He reminded me of an older brother type who didn’t ever really want to let his sister get away with nothing. Oddly, I found it charming instead of annoying. His wry take on my humor was a welcome relief. Too many people were inclined to take me too serious, much of the time.

“What about you? How you wrangling that pool-stick of yours?” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. I hadn’t meant for any innuendo, but phrases like that often left my mouth before I had the chance to think them through better. It was why I liked writing dialogue. I could edit it later, take away the blunders and social faux-pas.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Day off for me, just enjoying a game of pool. Wanna play? I’m solo until some of the other guys get here.” He announced and gestured in the direction he’d come from.

His invitation sounded nice, actually. I loved playing pool and it had been a while since I’d last played.

“Yeah, I would actually. It’s been a while, but I think I can give it a go. If it’s okay for law enforcement to socialize with delinquents like myself… that is.” I said, while standing up and gathering my belongings to put in my satchel.

“You’re not a delinquent, yet. Get arrested again, then we can discuss,” He quipped. “Need any help?” He asked, his keen and observing gaze on my face.

“Nope, just putting away my stuff. Mind taking my drink and water?” I asked since my hands were full.

“Sure thing,” He said as he collected my beverages.

We walked over to the spot he’d claimed for the evening. I resettled my belongings and took a sip from my drink.

Unsure what to say, I went about picking out a pool stick instead. It seemed that everyone knew some sort of magic trick that I didn’t about making sure they had the right one. A good fit or what not. I hadn’t a clue, but that didn’t stop me from going through the motions and
pretending
I had a clue. I mean, a lady has to save face sometimes, right?