Chapter Three
RILEY
Riley returned to the motel, pleased with his work. He’d put his cover story out there in a perfectly natural way, and then there was arranging to hook up with Jason. He seemed shy, but that smile of his did something to Riley.
Riley shook his head to clear his mind. Thinking like that might be fun, but it wasn’t going to get his job done.
He got some ice from the machine and cracked open a soda before sitting at the desk in his room.
Like the rest of the place, it had seen better days, but all he needed was space for his laptop and, right now, his notepad.
Because while Riley was all about convenience whenever possible, he also knew it was better to use paper for some things. It could always be burned afterward.
He wrote Sheriff Matt Urban, Alpha, in the middle of the first page, and drew a circle around it. Next, he added two lines leading out from the circle toward the only other names he had, both with question marks against them—Tristan and Bryce.
Urban had gone public about being a shifter when he’d run for sheriff, but try as he might, Riley hadn’t been able to find mention of another shifter in Elk Ridge anywhere. Not newspapers, social media, or even police records. And that was weird.
A pack couldn’t be one man. If there were no other shifters visible, it meant someone was hiding something. If not for Nerissa Taylor’s unwitting confirmation, he might think there was no pack here and that his source had been wrong.
The only thing Riley had been able to find was the Twitter account of a college student, Tristan, who lived in Elk Ridge.
He mainly tweeted—or whatever they called it now—aimless chatter about his classes, but he’d sometimes retweet something about shifter rights.
He also made rueful complaints about a Bryce and his ongoing sexual liaisons, all couched in a way that made it clear Tristan was very close to this guy, though not in a romantic way.
It was a bit of a reach, but right now it was all he had.
Even if Tristan wasn’t a shifter, the fact he was a political ally meant he’d probably be friends with the local pack.
Nerissa Taylor’s defensive reaction had been interesting and unexpected. He wasn’t sure why she’d been so firm with him—it wasn’t like he was a bigot. He believed shifters should have equal rights.
His phone sounded, and he picked it up to find an email from his editor.
He didn’t open it. He already knew she’d be demanding a progress report, and there was no point ruining the rest of the day.
Instead, he started scrolling news feeds for anything relating to shifters.
It was a constant fear in the back of his mind that someone might have beaten him to this story.
Nothing particularly new—Texas was still trying, and failing, to pass a law banning shifters from government jobs. That kind of thing had been floated for years, mostly by people who insisted they weren’t anti-shifter, just concerned about safety.
Meanwhile, a shifter in Nebraska was still facing murder charges for killing a human, despite the fact that the evidence was flimsy at best. Riley, like most people, figured the case would have been dismissed weeks ago if the roles had been reversed.
Fear had a way of tipping the scales. Shifters might have equal rights on paper, but in practice, it didn’t take much for the worst in people to come out.
For an instant, Riley wondered what would happen to the Elk Ridge pack when he broke his story. Would they need to go into hiding to keep themselves safe from scared, violent humans?
But he pushed that thought away. If the pack was hiding something dangerous, they deserved whatever came their way.
Not that he kidded himself he was doing this out of some sort of civic duty.
He wasn’t that kind of guy. Never had been.
He was doing this because it was his last chance before he got sacked from the paper for being as damn useless at being a journalist as he was at everything else.
His editor had made that perfectly clear when she’d assigned him to this story.
Amy had stood at the borrowed desk he was camped out on, and told him that this was his last chance.
“Either you break this story, or you’re gone.
This paper’s not a charity.” The newsroom had gone silent, and Riley had wanted to die on the spot.
Drawing a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts away, because otherwise he’d end up sitting in the dark, clutching a bottle of beer and hating himself.
Instead, he stared at his piece of paper, wondering where to begin.
He then realized there was only one place to begin, and that was with the solitary shifter he’d so far identified.
He’d do nothing more today. That would allow time for news of the travel writer to get about, so that people would be more likely to talk to him. Tomorrow, he’d go and see Matt Urban.
JASON
“Goddammit, Jason—what the hell are you doin’?”
Jason jerked out of his daydream to find thick black smoke rising from the pan he was supposed to be stirring. “Shit.” He snatched it off the heat and dumped it into the sink, running cold water over the charred ruins of the shallots.
“I don’t know squat about cooking, but I’m guessin’ that smell ain’t part of the plan,” Jesse said. “You okay?”
Jason nodded quickly. He wasn’t going to tell anyone about Riley, or tomorrow, or the way his stomach was knotted up inside at the very thought of it. It wasn’t like it was even a date. Or was it? Jason didn’t know. He’d never been on one before.
Sure, there’d been a few drunken come-ons when he’d worked at bars over the years, but never for anything more than a quick screw.
No one had ever really looked at him. No one had ever wanted him—just his body, for a way to fill time.
Jason had always figured he’d wait for the right guy, for something real.
But he’d been waiting so long, and he was beginning to realize it would never happen.
“There you go.” While Jason had been lost inside his head again, Jesse had made him a mug of Dave’s fruit tea and put it on the table, pulling out a chair in unmistakable invitation.
“I hate this stuff,” Jason protested, as he sat down. Even the smell of Dave’s tea made his stomach turn.
“Everyone hates it,” Jesse agreed. “But you look like you need something, and coffee’ll have you climbin’ the damn walls. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, and could feel the heat in his cheeks.
“Show me what needs doing for dinner, and you can tell me all about nothin’ while I get started,” Jesse said.
Jason wondered when Matt’s mate had turned into their pack’s caretaker.
Bryce usually had that role more than covered, but it turned out that suspicious, mouthy Jesse Turner had a streak of kindness a mile wide.
The trick was to pretend not to notice, otherwise Jesse made a bad-tempered hornet look sweet.
“This guy came into the diner today,” Jason said at last.
Jesse made an encouraging noise to the potato he’d started peeling.
“Ms. Taylor flirted with him, then she told him to—well, he wants to see the town for this guide book he’s writing, so I have to show him around tomorrow.”
Jesse glanced up. “Who’d want a guide book about Elk Ridge?”
“I know, right?” Jason agreed, relieved that was the part Jesse had homed in on. He should have known better.
“So this guy…” Jesse put down the peeler and looked him dead in the eye. “What’s he like?”
“Oh, you know, just a guy.” Just the hottest, sexiest, most amazing guy Jason had ever seen.
He got the feeling from Jesse’s expression that he hadn’t needed to say that out loud. Jesse was smirking as he put a chopping board and pile of onions in front of Jason and handed him a knife.
“If he’s just a guy, why’re you more on edge than a cat in a dog pound?”
Jason took a sip from the mug in front of him and remembered why he hated the stuff Dave drank by the bucketload.
“I like him, Jesse,” he confessed. “I mean, I don’t even know him, but there’s something about him, and I know I’m going to screw this up.
I don’t even know what this is, but if it’s something, if it could be something, I’ll mess it up. ”
“You don’t—”
“I don’t know what to say, or what I should wear, or if he even wants to do this, or if he’s just being polite, or—”
“Jason. Slow down. Only one way to find out if he’s into you—you gotta meet him tomorrow.”
“I guess,” Jason said, not meaning it in the least. Because until he knew for certain that Riley wasn’t interested, he could still pretend there was a possibility.
“As for what to wear, those dark-wash jeans of yours show your ass off pretty damn well,” Jesse said.
Jason stared at him, astounded and appalled. Jesse was Matt’s mate. Matt would tear Jason apart in an instant if he even thought about noticing Jesse that way.
“What? Can’t blame a man for looking,” Jesse said with a wicked grin. “And don’t sweat it over what to say—ask about his book if you can’t think what else to do with your mouth.”
Jason’s cheeks were warm again as he took a gulp of Dave’s tea.
Even drinking something that tasted like dead leaves and stale raspberry syrup was better than telling Jesse he didn’t have a clue what he was doing when it came to sex.
He was extremely familiar with the mechanics—he’d watched enough porn in his time—but there was all the difference in the world between watching and doing.
“Thanks, Jesse,” he said after a while, because somehow, Jesse’s lack of concern over the whole thing had helped.
It was just showing a guy around town and answering his questions.
And maybe asking one or two of his own, because he’d really like to find out more about Riley.
Like, was he in a relationship? How long did he plan to be in town, and would he stay forever? Important stuff like that.
“Maybe you just sit there and tell me what to do, before we end up eatin’ the table,” Jesse said, taking the knife and uncut onions away from Jason. “Reckon my ribs will have caved in before you get to cooking anything.”
Mention of Jesse’s ribs totally didn’t lead Jason to imagine how Riley would look with no shirt on.
He’d be tanned, the way his arms had been when he’d taken his jacket off and turned up the sleeves on his white button-down, and his muscles would be well defined, because that much had been clear from where his jeans clung so nicely to his thighs.
Perhaps Jason would be able to touch that smooth skin and maybe even lick him, because he looked like he’d be lickable.
And then Jason thought about licking him elsewhere.
His stomach swooped, his mouth dried, and damn it, he was getting hard.
Heat crawled up his neck at the realization.
He’d never reacted this strongly to a real person before.
Actors were different—safe, untouchable, easy to fantasize over in the privacy of his room.
Them, and the kind of guys who sold razors or protein powder or smiled from travel ads, all shirtless and tanned and perfectly out of reach.
But in real life? In the past, guys he’d thought hot had always turned out to be arrogant, or didn’t tip, or had something else wrong with them, like maybe they hadn’t washed properly or were mean to their girlfriend. That first instant of attraction always fizzled straight out again.
Nothing had ever hit him like this. Not until Riley.
Even his name was doing things to Jason’s body, making it hard to breathe.
“Reckon some alone time before dinner might be a good thing,” Jesse said quietly. “And then a shower, or Bryce’ll be up in your business all night.”
Which was a less than subtle way of letting him know that Jesse could scent his arousal, and if he could, the rest of the pack sure as hell would. Jesse was right—Bryce, their self-appointed expert when it came to sex, would never shut up about it.
Burning with mortification, Jason pushed his chair back and slid quietly from the room, heading for his bunkhouse and privacy.
Most of the time he loved being part of a pack, but right now, he’d give anything to be on his own in the middle of the Antarctic.
He should be grateful for Jesse letting him know, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this embarrassed.
Unless it was this afternoon, when he’d been so fixated on a pair of blue-gray eyes that he hadn’t a clue what Riley had ordered and had to go ask him.
When he’d come to Matt’s ranch and become a member of his pack after such a miserable, lonely time on his own, Jason had finally found his balance again. A pack. A place. People who never judged him for all the ways he fell short of being a wolf.
He’d never been able to let go completely of his quiet, wistful hope that maybe—maybe—he’d meet his mate one day.
But he was a realist. With a pack this tiny, and Jason being who he was, it wasn’t going to happen.
He’d told himself that so many times that he almost believed it.
Still, sometimes, in the dead of night, he caught himself hoping, just a little.
But it wasn’t like Jason’s mate would walk into the diner one day and boom—fireworks, rose petals, love at first sight and a passionate clinch in front of everyone.
He knew that, and most of the time, he was fine with it.
Riley’s invitation had shoved him off balance again, knocking loose the calm he’d fought so hard for. A calm where he’d almost managed to forget how he’d longed for someone to look at him and choose him. To love him.
Even though he knew that was never going to happen.