Prickly Business (17 page)

“Hey, you. Everything okay?” He sounded more cheerful than he felt as he mounted his bike and sat in his parents’ driveway. Glancing back at the house, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find his father glaring at him from the front window. It gave Dylan a little bit of time to talk to Avery, even if he’d rather run from this place and not look back.

“Hey back.” Avery’s voice came over the line clearly, a little shy mixed with his flirt. “No. I mean, yeah. I mean, everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

Dylan couldn’t help but laugh at Avery’s bumbling words. “Yeah? Then what’s up?”

“Um…. Well, I was wondering if you’d like to meet me at Howl tonight.”

“Howl?” Dylan knew the nightclub. Not his scene.

“Yes. I was hoping you’d come dance with me tonight.”

Avery’s quiet, hopeful words were almost enough to make Dylan give in.

“It’s not my thing, brat. I don’t dance. Ever. Maybe we can—”

“Oh, come on, Dylan. I went to that diner with you and I didn’t think I’d have fun, but I did. Plus you said you’d come if I asked, remember?”

Yes, Dylan did remember. He’d just hoped Avery would have wanted to do something else like watch a movie, go bowling, watch paint dry. Anything more intriguing than going to a club.

It helped that Avery didn’t whine. It was one of the things Dylan liked most about him. “I had a great time.” Then softer and with a sincerer edge he said, “I wouldn’t ask you to go if I wasn’t sure you’d have a good time too.”

How was Dylan supposed to say no to that?

He let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sucker
, his inner voice laughed. “Yeah, okay. Do you want me to pick you up after I get off work?”

“How about we meet there?” Avery offered, his tone lighter. “It’d be out of your way to pick me up.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you—what?—around nine? Ten?”

“How about ten?”

“I can do ten,” Dylan agreed. His goofy grin was not going away any time soon, and why was he grinning? It’s not like he wanted to go to a club.

C
AUGHT
UP
at work, Dylan didn’t leave the shop until an hour before his date, and he still had to take a shower before the trek across the city. Maybe he should take the car.
Nah.
It was nice outside—had been all week—and they weren’t predicting rain for at least two more days.

Showered but not shaved—he was pretty sure Avery liked his scruff—Dylan grabbed his keys and rushed out of the house.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting on the side of the road cursing himself for not taking the car. At least it had a spare in the trunk. Dylan kicked the back tire and thanked the Powers That Be that whatever he’d run over hadn’t pierced his front tire. That would be a whole other set of problems. Reaching into his back pocket, Dylan came up empty, then proceeded to pat himself down in search of his phone.

Nowhere. He didn’t have it. Thinking about where he’d last had it, Dylan was pretty sure he’d left it at the shop in his hurry to be on time.

Fucking great.

He checked his watch. Ten o’clock. Of course. Avery would think Dylan stood him up and was ignoring his calls.

“Son of a bitch,” he groused.

Kicking the stand up, Dylan maneuvered the crippled metal around. It would take at least thirty minutes to walk the motorcycle—flat and all—to Lucas’s. If he was lucky Avery would still be at the club—alone—when he finally got there.

A
FTER
REPEATING
his “no rushing” mantra to himself all afternoon, Avery wasn’t entirely sure why he’d called Dylan to meet him at Howl. It had happened without any real involvement from his brain. Before he even realized it, he’d had his phone in hand and then the line was ringing.

Fail. He’d almost hung up in the moments it took Dylan to answer. Then he’d figured—two birds, one stone. He could do some digging into Lacey’s disappearance, spend time with his mate, and maybe squeeze in a dance or three. The “no rushing” rule only applied to the two of them landing in bed. They still needed to get to know each other. Howl was as good a place for that as any.

The club was fair-sized with two different levels and a couple of stages where bands or drag shows sometimes performed, along with a separate DJ booth and two full bars—one upstairs, one down. The clientele was a mix of shifters and humans, though a wolf owned the club and the employees were all members of the Portland pack.

Avery wondered what the humans thought of the mural behind one of the bars, which featured the silhouette of a wolf howling at the moon, or of the other, which showed an anthropomorphic wolf with razor-sharp claws and dripping fangs. Not that any real shifter Avery had met could take on the half-man half-wolf form. But the humans probably didn’t give the murals a passing thought, let alone have any awareness that most of the people in the club really could howl.

Wanting to relax for a bit, Avery settled at the bar to enjoy the music and people watch. He’d been to Howl plenty of times over the last couple of years, but he’d never really paid attention to the aesthetics of the club. He’d always gone with one motive: to find the most gorgeous guy there and get fucked. Sucked. Jerked off. Avery wasn’t particular about that part. Sex was sex, and he could appreciate all forms. He never failed to catch his quarry either. There were perks to being hot, blond, and supremely flexible.
Thank you, Sven.

While the guys at Howl might not be as refined as the ones at Tallgrass, Avery’s preferred hangout, some of them were sexy enough for him to deem worthy of wasting an hour or two. Tonight he took the time to examine the club itself, instead of searching for fresh meat. He viewed the crowd’s offerings with a strange feeling of disassociation, which probably should’ve alarmed him.

Somehow, unintentionally, he started comparing every man there to Dylan. That guy lacked Dylan’s broad shoulders. That one had a unibrow to put Bert from
Sesame Street
to shame. Too short. Too tall. Wrong hair color. No scruff. Gross beard. Bow legs. Too pretty. Not rugged enough.

Only after several songs did he realize what he was doing and made a conscious effort to stop it. He also realized there was one thing all these men did have above Dylan—they were actually
here
. Dylan was late, and not in the fashionable sense.

Avery withdrew his phone to check the time. Eleven o’clock and not a missed call or text to be seen. He hadn’t accomplished a single thing on the Lacey front either.

Sighing, Avery shoved his cell into one of his back pockets and grabbed Lacey’s phone from the other.

So, he’d been stood up. Avery tried to ignore the stab of pain accompanying that thought. Maybe Dylan had gotten over his fit of temporary insanity and remembered he never liked Avery much. If only Avery could say the same. True, he’d been surprised that fate would pick a man like Dylan as his mate. Thinking back, he’d said some awful things. Cruel things. His drunkenness didn’t excuse the fact that he’d acted like the worst sort of snob. He could acknowledge that now, with time and distance.

Worse, despite what he’d said then, he’d been instantly attracted to Dylan. Soul drawn. It felt like nothing he’d experienced before or since. Those unexpected feelings, along with Dylan’s teasing about his being a hedgehog, had made him lash out even more. Only over the last month had he finally grasped that Dylan hadn’t meant any real harm. Dylan had teased him, while Avery had been intentionally hurtful. Hindsight made that clear, but regretting it now changed nothing, and he recognized how good of a man it made Dylan that he’d been willing to help Avery despite that first meeting and their clashes in the years since.

Avery’s recent circumstances both humbled him and shone a light on how little he had to show for himself. He came from money, but that didn’t make him a nice person. What was he without his parents or his trust fund? Just some snotty little brat who’d spent way too long thinking he was so much better than everyone else. He had a degree he couldn’t land a job with, regardless of the dozens of resumes he’d sent out while making deliveries for the pack.

Avery Babineaux had learned a lesson in humility, and he didn’t like what it revealed about himself. As much as it hurt to think Dylan might have ditched him, Avery couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t even say if he’d forgive himself in Dylan’s shoes.

He knocked back the rest of his drink and slid from his stool. No point in wallowing. He’d come here for a purpose. Mr. Otis was relying on him, and something inside him couldn’t bear to let the old wolf down.

Finding the best selfie Lacey had on her phone, Avery straightened his shoulders and went to work.

A
N
HOUR
later he still had nothing. A few people recognized the picture of Lacey but claimed not to have seen her in months. Then, right when he was about to call it a night and go home, he finally caught a break.

“Yeah, I know Lacey,” said the rail-thin guy leaning against the bar. “It’s a real shame she disappeared. No word yet?”

“None.” Avery shoved Lacey’s phone back into his pocket and held out a hand. “I’m Avery, by the way. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Jake.” He clasped Avery’s hand briefly. “Oh, man… two, three months?” Jake tipped his chin to indicate a guy in the crowd. “See that dude in the baseball cap? I think he and Lacey were hooking up before she went missing. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Avery gave Jake his best smile. “Do you know his name, by chance?”

“Nah, sorry, man.”

“It’s cool. Thanks for the help.”

Jake nodded and wandered off with his beer.

Avery scrutinized the guy Jake had pointed out, dubbing him “Frat Boy” in his head. The guy looked the type—beefy muscles, cargo pants, polo shirt complete with the douche-baggy popped collar. He was good-looking, if one liked that sort of thing, which Avery didn’t. Still, he wouldn’t discount the idea of flirting for information. The crowd at Howl tended to be a blend of gay, straight, and anywhere-in-between. Too bad Frat Boy wasn’t pinging Avery’s gaydar in the slightest, and the fact that he’d hooked up with Lacey meant Avery had as much of a chance of his advances being returned as he did getting a punch in the face.

No. Better to observe.

So, Avery did. He ordered a seltzer and lime to give himself a reason for lingering at the bar and watched Frat Boy as subtly as possible.

Frat Boy was odd, no doubt. Avery couldn’t quite put his finger on what kind of vibe Frat Boy gave him other than skeezy, but something else was off.

After a while Avery realized what. While he spied on Frat Boy, the guy seemed focused on two particular girls. He ogled them with an intensity that sent a shiver of unease down Avery’s spine. Only once did he approach to dance with them. Then he went back to the sidelines, staring at them as Avery watched him. And when one of the girls headed toward the exit, Frat Boy followed.

Avery tossed a bill on the bar and followed
him
.

After fighting his way through the crowd, he got out of the door maybe a minute or two after the girl and Frat Boy. Avery scanned the line of people waiting for taxis. Not there. Then he caught a glimpse of the girl’s shimmery purple top out of the corner of his eye. Avery turned to see her walking down the block, Frat Boy not far behind.

Without a second thought, Avery started after them. If Frat Boy caught him, he could say he was heading home. The sidewalks weren’t private property. Anyone had a right to use them.

There was just something about the guy Avery didn’t trust. If he knew the girl, why not call out to her? Why follow?

At least Avery could be nearby if he tried anything. Perhaps he couldn’t hold his own in a fight against wolves, but one lone human was a different matter. Most would underestimate him at a quick glance—which would be their mistake. He could protect the girl if he needed to, and his night had turned into a bust anyway. Might as well play Good Samaritan. Just in case.

D
URING
DAYLIGHT
hours the outside of Howl was pretty unassuming—a large redbrick, formerly abandoned warehouse, à la turn of the century Portland, with huge windows interspersed all over its front and sides. Passersby ignored it mostly, and tourists likely had no idea what it was. Until nightfall. When the sun set, the street was littered with people. Howl stood on the corner of an intersection with steady traffic, so business was always good. Most nights the line to get in went out the door and around the corner. The music blaring inside could be heard and felt across the street, and those formerly unobtrusive windows lit up like Christmas lights—all different colors—from the laser show inside.

It was ridiculous, and Dylan wanted nothing to do with the place. He could count on one hand how many times he’d actually been through the door. He huffed out a breath. He did not want to be here. Not tonight. Not ever, if he had a choice. But he owed it to Avery. Avery of the surprisingly sweet kisses and the soft-spoken words. Dylan shook his head. Sometimes it was difficult for Dylan to reconcile the Avery he was getting to know with the Avery he thought he knew.

It had taken him longer than he’d expected to fix the flat, and if he’d gone back to the shop to pick up his phone, he’d have been even later. No dice. It was two hours past the time Dylan had arranged to meet Avery, and hopes of finding his mate this late—he probably thought Dylan stood him up—much less in this crowd, were slim to none. But he had to at least make sure Avery was gone. And if he was here, Dylan wanted to know his mate was alone. Waiting. For him.

Though turning around and going home held great appeal, thoughts of Avery dancing with other men set his teeth on edge, and he wasn’t sure if it was alpha possessiveness shining through or supreme insecurity.