Bearly Breathing (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (6 page)

But not contentment. No. The only thing that would make me feel content was something I could never have. At least, not within reason. Fantasies were fantasies. Reality? Well, in reality, I was just a lynx with a day care and who had never worn the same size top and bottom in her life – and the numbers on both were about four higher than they had been not long ago.

That
was reality. Not my crazy fantasy about some bear that saved me from being crushed to death under a tree.

Pulling myself away from the panda tent, I noticed that Leena and Millie were starting to nod off, leaning against one another. They were fighting to stay awake so hard that it was pretty great. One of them would close her eyes and let her head droop. It would hit the other one gently, and wake her up.

Finally, they both started breathing in a slower, even pace.

And all I could think about was the wild bear, my scarred protector.

I shook my head, slightly embarrassed at my total inability to focus on anything except my pretend boyfriend.

Boyfriend
, I thought with a laugh.
What in the hell is wrong with me?

The one thing I didn’t consider, as I stared at the inside of my tent waiting for sleep to overwhelm me, was that I was the only one sleeping by myself. All the kids had buddies, Dean had Malia. I guess in a way I had everyone, but then again when it came down to it, there I was, alone in a tent, staring at canvas instead of pale brown eyes, shaggy hair, and a smile that got me feeling all tight and warm and wiggly in the right places.

I didn’t just have it for a guy I never actually spoke to for more than  a few seconds, I realized as I closed my eyes and saw his face on the back of my eyelids.

I had it
bad
.

But at the same time, I wasn’t going to be crazy. I decided I just wasn’t. I put a mental foot down, and then rolled over, got a notepad and a pen, and wrote down that I was
not
going to rush. I was going to go slowly. I was going to enjoy the ride, so to speak, and if anything ended up happening, then great.

If nothing happened? Still great.

Everything was fine. The world was going to keep turning no matter what happened.

Sliding my notepad back into the breast pocket of the shirt I’d taken off, I was absolutely steel in my resolve. Never in my life would I make the same mistake I did with Liam – jumping into love just to be in love. Never again.

I closed my eyes and felt Orion watching me. Not in a creepy
I’m in your room and watching you sleep
way. How it feels to walk around in a new place – like a new city or town – with a group of friends? You might screw something up, or not know how to speak the language, but you had
people
, right?

At least you weren’t alone?

That’s how thinking of Orion made me feel.

Irrational as hell, completely wrong in every possible way.

What can I say? I’m a hell of a sucker for a cute smile.

––––––––

“I
had to do
something
to get your mind off your nascent bear-boyfriend, Clea,” Dean said into the phone. His voice was muffled and if I was about a half-step more paranoid, I’d think he did this on purpose.

The crowd in The Tavern was starting to get more dense and thicker and the smell of Axe body spray was dangerously close to hitting overload level. I imagined there being some kind of dial in my forehead, and when the Axe level got too high, I’d start whistling and spraying steam like an old time boiler.

But, he
was
right. Going on two weeks after Orion saved me from death-by-tree, I still had trouble thinking about anything except those eyes, those scars, the kindness in his voice. So far though, his mysterious promise that I’d see him again had amounted to exactly squat.

“Anyway,” Dean said, cutting into my mounting fantasy about my head blowing up. “Don’t worry about Jake. He’s a pretty standup guy. A little into his whole news anchor thing, I’ll give you that, but I wouldn’t set you up with a creep or anything.”

I let out a long, impatient sigh. “Okay, well, just tell me a couple things. Is he going to excitedly talk about his hair styling products? If I
touch
said hair, will it cut my hand? And finally, if a sharp wind blows, will his hair move at all, or—”

If you’ve never heard a coyote laugh, let me warn you – coyotes? They can
laugh
. It isn’t just hyenas with the high pitched half-squeal thing going on. “I,” he paused to suck a breath. “I just don’t know. I’ve never rubbed his hair or anything, but I doubt he’s going to show up to a date with a newsman ‘do.”

“Well, okay,” I said, smiling a little for the first time in too long. “If you say so, I—”

“Clea? Hey!” I moved my mouth, but no words came out. It was like a djinn came out of a bottle and sucked the voice right out of my throat. “Clea! What’s going on?”

I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. It defied logic, defied gravity, defied the laws of physics themselves.

“It’s absolutely perfect, Dean,” I said when I finally regained the capacity of speech. “His hair, it... it didn’t move when he bumped into someone.”

“Whew,” Dean said. “I thought you’d had a coronary or something.”

“I’m not
that
old. But you totally lied about the newsman hair. That shit wouldn’t move in a hurricane.”

Dean, bless his heart, started laughing again, but I cut him off before he got into full-on howl mode. “I guess I better actually talk to this guy, huh? I’d rather not go down in history as the one girl who ever didn’t want to listen to Jake... what’s his name? Newsman, so probably something like Jake Jakeman, right?”

“Jackson,” he said.

“Of course it is. Okay, bye! And no matter how much I complain, thank you. This was a really nice thing you did.”

The phone clicked off at exactly the same moment Walter Cronkite sat down in front of me, but
sans
mustache, thank goodness.

“Hi,” he announced. And that’s what it was, too, a proud announcement of his arrival. “I am Jake Jackson.”

“Oh my God,” I said with a smile. “You absolutely are. I’ve seen you on the news, but I had no idea this was actually who you
are
, you know? Whit Whitman, I can’t stop watching his—”

“You watch
Whit
?”

The air basically got sucked right out of the room, Axe body spray, stale cigarettes and all. It was like a hole just got punched in the space shuttle. I’d done it. I’d mentioned the local news god. The Zeus of the six o’clock news, I had invoked his name. I was sitting in front of the girl he’d turned into a bull and went after. Except that was a Greek god, and I’m talking about the dork with the overdone hair on the evening news.

Oh, and I was on a date with what I guess was his greatest disciple.

“I just love the way he reads the news,” he said, sitting up straighter and squeezing his hands together like he was plotting a murder.

Little background here – Whit Whitman is the local ancient, undying newsman. That’s not to say he’s a vampire, which usually needs to be clarified around here. Actually he’s a silver fox. Like an actual one, not like Anderson Cooper. Anyway, he does every single thing you need a newsman to do. He’s got one of those silver voices that can make anything sound smooth, he’s got those eyes that convince you everything he’s saying is absolutely the truth, and he’s got a perfectly groomed mustache that would make Walter Cronkite proud.

Of course if you listen to any of about a dozen women around town, he’s also the biggest sleaze the world’s ever had the opportunity to birth.

But
damn
if that guy can’t read the news.

And chase ambulances.

And bother the police.

“He’s just such an incredible human being,” Jake said, as though he’d been reading my mind and waiting for the least appropriate possible time to interject that idea. “He just... the way he reads the news, it’s almost like sex to my ears.”

“I’m sorry did you just say—” I scoffed a little louder than I meant to, and then pretended it was a cough. “Can I get you something? Beer? Pickle juice?”

“I’ll have The Glenlivet, twelve-year, please. It’s nice and rich without being too overpowering, and anyway it’s about a quarter of the price per pour as the twenty-one. I
do
love the older stuff though. It’s so smooth and sweet.”

“Oh-kay,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone wax quite so philosophically about whiskey before.”

“Oh, yes. And remember, you shouldn’t spell Scotch whisky with an ‘e’, it’s just w-h-i-s-k-y if you’re being correct. Only Irish gets the ‘e’, although it does show up in American brands from time to time for various reasons.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind.”

I escaped the tractor beam just before he launched into a discussion about... who knows, something else that I barely understood, and headed to the bar. Jack and Coke for me, and a well bourbon for Captain Picky. On the one hand, I wanted to see if he was going to notice, and on the other hand I didn’t want to pay eighteen bucks for a single drink. I told myself that if he
did
notice, I’d play it off like a joke and go buy him the real thing.

Watching him preen in the screen of his cellphone as I waited on the big, beary bartender to pour our drinks, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be losing any money.

Luckily, a buzzing phone interrupted me actually reciting what Jake just said. Sex to his ears? Jeez Louise, this guy was about as exciting as a fire hydrant without any grass around it to a cocker spaniel with a full bladder.

“Sorry,” I said, acting embarrassed. “My mom’s sick, I’d never do this normally, but—”

“No, no,” he said, waving his hands in a gesture that had to have been practiced. Right after it came the smile that would normally tell me he was about to try to sell me a car. “Not at all, I understand. Our loved ones, you know, they’re the most important things in the world and so when they come calling we have to...”

His own voice is the only thing in the world he likes more than Whit Whitman’s
, I thought. I tried to conceal my grinning, but it wasn’t working so I bit my lip instead.

Jake took a sip of his whiskey. Whisky? Whichever. And then groaned in appreciation, licking his lips. “It’s just so smooth and delicate,” he remarked to anyone who was listening, which was no one.

Yeah,
I thought.
The subtle flavor of McCormick’s from a plastic jug. Complex, fantastic flavors.
Silently, I giggled to myself, feeling really good about both my frugality and my bullshit-o-meter.

Dean’s text was a warning I wished I’d had before this whole thing started.
“He’s got a real man-crush on Whit Whitman. Probably best to avoid talking about the news. In fact, it might be best just to make sure you talk the whole time and don’t let him get more than a couple words out.”

I blushed. He really wasn’t
that
bad. I mean sure he got a little obnoxious with the self-satisfaction, but he wasn’t like a straight up ass or anything. And anyway, I decided as I started tapping my finger on the screen, it was always fun to screw with Dean’s head.

“It’s not that bad
,” I texted back.
“Actually, I think I’ve pretty much forgotten about that bear. What was his name? Anyway, Jake is really, really cool.”

In my mind’s eye I could see Dean sitting there in his living room wondering what the hell he’d done.

I’m making it sound like he was playing a prank on me. That’s really not the way of it. He tries
really
hard to help me with dates and things like that. He tries so, so, so hard to hook me up nearly constantly that it had turned into a little bit of a game.

“Sorry,” I said again. “She’s got typhoid or something.”

“Really?” Jake sat back and laid both his hands on the table. “That’s horrible, I’m so sorry, I... I don’t know what to say.”

“Laugh,” I said flatly.

“Huh? Laugh at typhoid?”

Can’t do it. I just can’t do it. A guy with a gut doesn’t bother me. A guy whose eyes are just a little bit crooked? Fine. Bushy eyebrows? Too much nose hair? Gross, but trimming works wonders. But no sense of humor? Where is there to even go with a sourpuss?

“I’m... I’m sorry,” I said, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “I was just saying stuff. She’s not actually dying of typhoid. Can you even
get
typhoid anymore?”

“Oh, I know,” Jake said in a way that told me very clearly that he did not, in fact, know. “I like to pretend not to get jokes. You know, as sort of a roundabout way of
making
a joke. I act like I don’t get it and then you get confused.”

I nodded, very slowly. “Well,” I said with a grin. “I absolutely
am
confused.”

“Oh... oh no,” Jake said as his phone started buzzing. “Oh good lord, I’m so sorry... this is an extremely important call. Do you mind?”

Never in the world has a telephone buzzing been the sound I wanted to hear most.

He exchanged a few words with whoever it was that called him and had an incredibly grim look on his face when he finished and laid the phone on the table. “I’m sorry to say this, Katy, but I have to go.”

I opened my mouth to correct him, but stopped myself before the first sound slid off my tongue. “I see,” I said, looking as grim as possible. “I’m sorry too, Drake.”

He didn’t even notice I called him the wrong name.

Whoosh
.

That was either the sound of the bullet I dodged, or of everything in the entire world going right over this guy’s head. Of course, it would have a little dip in the sound before going over his head because of the wind-current resistance caused by his hair.

“This,” I put on my best Shakespearean theatre voice, “this could have been something real. Something... certainly something.”

With such aplomb and gravitas that it almost made me believe it was real, Jake grabbed my hands. “I know what you mean. I felt it too, Katy. I felt like we were two hearts thrown together into a tornado that came out the other side. But... But duty calls, Katy. I have to go read... The News.”