Alpha's Last Fight: A Paranormal Shapeshifter BBW Romance (10 page)

“Of course I do. How else do you think I maintain my perfect physique?” He patted his stomach. He was actually in pretty good shape considering his sedentary, junk food fueled lifestyle. Which was, of course, completely unfair, as I certainly hadn’t inherited his freaky metabolism. I was constantly dieting and made fairly regular trips to the gym, but all I had to do was look at a slice of pizza and I’d suddenly go up a dress size.

“Hey wait, not that one. I think there’s a slice left.”

“Oh gross! It’s got… stuff on it.”

“Oh… I know there’s another one around here somewhere. Let me give you a hand.”

I smacked his hand away and waggled a finger at him.

“You’re supposed to be resting up, remember. Why don’t you just sit back down and check the TV. I’m sure there’s a game of... something... somewhere in the world starting any minute now.”

“Sounds like a plan. You know me too well.” He sighed and I sensed a sadness in him that he’d managed to keep from me when I’d been growing up. I felt a pang of guilt. I’d been away for too long and, without anyone to look after, he’d forgotten to take care of himself.

As I worked diligently to try and turn his house into something slightly respectable, I kept my mind occupied with familiar fantasies. Love, marriage, babies. Dad beaming as he bounced a grandkid on his knee and Dave and I looked on hand-in-hand.

That was Dave in Accounts by the way. He had nice teeth and laughed at my jokes. We’d had one date, but he’d never called me back.
Why didn’t you call me back Dave?

But as I worked, the fantasy changed. Dave didn’t drive a sensible hatchback. He rode a beast of a motorbike that thrummed between my legs like a massive vibrator. He’d given up on accounting to pursue his dream of becoming a professional boxer. He was taller. He was broader. He wasn’t quite so well groomed anymore. He still had nice teeth; they were just a little longer and a little sharper. And he insisted I called him H—”

“Hey there, wow! I can barely recognize this place,” said Dad, poking his head into the room.

“That would explain a lot. We call rooms like this kitchens,” I said, teasing him in the same lecturing voice he always used when scolding me in the past. “They’re traditionally used for food preparation.”

“Kitch—ins. I’ll have to remember that one, Nat. Who’s got you in such a tizzy anyway?”

“Who what? What who?”

“Come on, kid. You can’t fool your old man. You never get this worked up unless there’s a fella involved.”

The fact that after all these years he could still read me like this gave me the warm fuzzies.

“If you must know,” I said, stretching out the sentence and ending it with a curtsey, “I have a date.”

“Hey, good for you. I thought you and Tommy would hit it off. You could do a lot worse. I know things ended… badly on your first go round—” wasn’t that the understatement of the century?— “but that kid’s got a great future in front of him and you’re pretty much all he ever talks about when he comes visiting.”

Okay, for start, that last bit was kind of creepy. Not to mention the fact that Dad seemed way too invested in the idea of me and Tommy together forever.

“It’s not Tommy. It’s someone else.”

“Boy, you didn’t waste any time, huh? Anyone I know?” I could see him visibly deflate a little. Disappointed and confused.

“I doubt it. He doesn’t live in town. He’s… I met him last night.” That sounded bad. Dad knew I’d left with Tommy last night. He didn’t need to say anything. I could tell from the look on his face he didn’t approve. “Anyway. I have to get ready.”

“Sure Nat. Sure. Thanks for all the cleaning. It’s nice having you around again. Maybe when you’re not too busy with your gentleman caller we could have a talk about this kitch-
in
thing. I’d like to know more about it.” He grinned.

“Sure thing, Pops. I’d love to.”

When I heard the motorbike pull into the drive, my heart started doing cartwheels in my chest. The knock on the door that followed almost floored me. The only thing that got me moving was the fact that if I didn’t answer the door, Dad would get there first.

“Hi. You good?”

I nodded, unable to speak. Hutch looked… he looked good. Not in a getting-dressed-up-for-a-date kind of way. He just looked good in general. He had made some kind of effort. His hair was wet, slicked back behind his ears, and he was wearing a fresh black t-shirt. So fresh that it still had creases suggesting it had only recently been removed from its packaging.

It was tight as well, the contours of his big chest and muscular shoulders straining the dark fabric. It clung to him so tightly that I could almost make out the ridges of his six pack.

“Damn, someone’s been eating their Wheaties,” said Dad.

I had been planning on making a quick getaway, but I wasted valuable time staring slack-jawed at the pleasantly shaped hunk of meat that towered over me. There was an uncomfortable silence as I figured out what I should do next.

“Dad, this is Hutch. Hutch, this is Dad. Don’t wait up.”

“Hutch, huh?”

“Hutch.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, Pops,” I said, “but like I said, don’t wait—”

“Slow your roll, missy. This is still my roof and now you’re back under it, there are certain formalities I’m sure you remember.”

I was seething, but tried not to let it show. I wasn’t a kid anymore and the humiliating ordeal of pre-date interrogations really should have been a thing of the past.

“So what do you do, Hutch?”

Hutch looked lost for a second. He might not have been the smartest guy in the world but I hoped he realized that
I beat the shit out of people for money
just wasn’t going to fly.

“I… uh… manage an independent entertainment venue just out of town.”

“Well that’s vague. You own this entertainment venue?”

“Sure. It’s mine. Same way this is still your roof.”

On any other day the two of them might have bonded over that. Bitching about banks and foreclosures and mortgage rates. But I didn’t think it was going to go down like that today. Dad didn’t seem too impressed.

“Where are you kids off to?”

“Out. Around.” I honestly had no idea.

“Out? Around?”

“Give it a rest, Pops. We’re going out, okay? Maybe a drink or dinner or something.”

“Sure… hey you should check out the new development along the waterfront. There’s a few nice restaurants there now. Some might have a dress code though and yeah, I forgot it was Saturday. You’re probably going to need a reservation.”

My dad glanced over at me, and I gave him my best withering glare. It didn’t work.

“Shame Tommy’s not around. Did you know he brokered the deal to buy all that land back from the city? Just about everyone knows who he is down there. He could get a table without a reservation. Maybe you should give him a call.”

“I got a reservation,” said Hutch, looking back and forth between me and my dad. I doubted that was strictly true, but I thought it was nice of him to intervene.

“Well, great. Great.” His voice sounded like he thought it was anything but great. “Nat, can I have a quick word before you go?”

My shoulders slumped.

“Okay, Pops. Can you hang on a minute, Hutch?”

Dad took me aside, his face a mask of fatherly concern.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Nat? This guy? I don’t like the look of him and to be honest, I don’t understand why you’re not giving Tommy a fair chance. He’s a great guy, he likes you—”

“Dad. Leave it alone. Maybe you should be the one giving Tommy a call. If you want, the four of us could go on a double date sometime, but for now I’m going to dinner… with Hutch… who has a reservation.”

“It’s just that I worry—”

“Pops, I’m an adult. You can barely look after yourself; stop trying to look after me.”

That hurt him. I could see it in his eyes, but right now I was too annoyed at him to feel guilty. I’d make it up to him tomorrow. We could all get pizza or something.

“Good night, Pops.” I gave him a big hug, and he hugged me back.

“Be safe, Nat,” he said, waving me out the door. “That’s all that matters.”

It was a gorgeously cool and starry night, and we decided to walk down to the waterfront. Hutch hadn’t said a word to me since we left the house, and when he opened his mouth I was ready to explain.

“Your Dad, huh? He’s—”

“He’s what? Look, Hutch, I’m his only daughter, his only family, and you come rocking up on his doorstep to carry me away to who knows where, looking like something out of an unholy alliance of Sons of Anarchy and Game of Thrones and you expect him to just stand there. I might be an adult, but he’s still my Pops and he has a right to feel a little protective of me and I don’t think you're in a position to judge—”

Hutch put a finger to my lips, stopping the flood of protests.

“—not a shifter. That’s what I was going to say. He’s not a shifter.”

“Oh. No. He isn’t.”

“Your mother?”

I swallowed hard and looked away.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Hutch didn’t press the issue, thankfully. He looked out of his element and slightly on edge as we walked together in silence. The crowded streets of downtown didn’t suit him and he kept glancing at the shadows as if he expected something to jump out at him.

On an impulse I extended my hand and flexed my fingers in the hope that he might take it, but he either didn’t notice or wasn’t interested. My heart sunk and I was beginning to think I may have made a mistake. Hutch wasn’t interested in the date. If he was, he would have made some sort of plan. He was interested in sex and I guess this was just a means to an end.

I couldn’t deny that he had awoken something in me. Something I’d been struggling to keep under control for the last five years. But what happened to baby steps? I needed a man like Dave. Or Tommy. Someone sensible who led a sensible life and drove a sensible car. Not the shape shifting brute who walked beside me.

By the time we reached the redeveloped strip of shops, bars and restaurants along the old waterfront I was starting to get hungry. I’d been cleaning all day and, not being in the mood for moldy pizza, had skipped lunch. Unfortunately, the whole area was packed with people.

“You don’t have a reservation, do you Hutch?”

“No.”

“So your idea of a date is to walk around begging for scraps or something?”

“No. I don’t have a reservation… yet.”

He looked around and sniffed the air.

“Wait here,” he said, and darted across the street to an expensive looking Greek place. He stalked back and forth, sniffing the air, next to a small queue of people that were lined up outside, waiting for a table. I wasn’t surprised to see people shying away from him and wondered how long it would be until someone called the cops.

After a minute or so, he crossed back over the road, dodging between slow moving cars and ignoring their blaring horns.

“Nope. No good. Next.”

“What the hell was that all about?”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

Whatever he was up to, he seemed to have loosened up a bit. He even took my hand at one point and I found the contact comforting. His hand was so massive it enveloped mine like a parent’s helping their kid across the road. His skin was rough, but he was warm, and his grip surprisingly gentle.

He ignored the next two restaurants and instead headed for the next place with a line. Ziggurat. It looked fancy and pretentious and there was no way they were getting a table there. The line stretched halfway down the block.

He released my hand and went through the same peculiar ritual again. Back and forth, sniffing the air, until he lunged and grabbed what appeared to be a random man in a suit from the line and pulled him close.

My mouth went wide.

What the hell?

The guy was big too. Not as big as Hutch, but big enough that he probably wasn’t used to being manhandled like this. Hutch seemed to be oblivious to the people around him as they fell silent, backing away to give the two of them space, all the while trying to avoid making eye contact with the hulking man.

I wasn’t sure what to do as the two men exchanged some angry words that I couldn’t hear over the street’s Saturday night buzz. And then, without warning, it was all over. The man that Hutch had accosted grabbed his date and, ignoring her protests, dragged her away from the restaurant.

Hutch, a smug grin plastered across his face, beckoned me over.

“I told you I’d get us a table.”

“What the hell?”

Hutch shrugged.

“You can’t just attack random people like that.”

I kept my voice low, trying not to draw any more attention to the two of us as the line regained its shape and the buzz of conversation resumed. In less than a minute, it was as if nothing had ever happened and we were at the front of the line.

“He wasn’t a person. He was a dog.”

Dog?
I’d heard that before. At the fight. But before I could ask him about it, we were interrupted by the dazzling smile of the front-of-house hostess.

“Hello. What name is your reservation under, Mister…?”

“It’s Cobb. Warren Cobb.”

“Here you are. Table for two. Unfortunately,” she said, lowering her voice, “unfortunately, we have a dress code and I’m afraid that this doesn’t quite cut it.”

“Are you sure we can’t figure something out?” he asked, leaning forward and giving her a heart-melting smile.

This was a different side to Hutch. Far removed from the person who just attacked the man, who I can only assume was the real Mr. Cobb. This was the Hutch that had the crowd on their feet at the fights. Sincere, charming, and oozing self-confidence.

The hostess smiled back at him.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She returned a couple of minutes later and led us to our table.

“If anyone asks,” she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, “you’re a famous rock star. You don’t usually get out much. Since the last album kind of flopped, you moved to Paris for a couple of years. But now you’re back and getting ready to head into the studio…”