9. Carter
Carter
P izza pickup.
That’s all this is.
A simple new Thursday night ritual for the employees at Lion Limousines & Livery.
A chance to say thanks for another week of good work.
Keep morale up.
Feed some hungry Shifters before they start chewing the upholstery.
It has absolutely nothing to do with the gorgeous, brown-eyed woman behind the counter at Pizza Girls. Nothing at all.
Except, yeah, it does.
Because ever since I walked into that place last week and caught a whiff of her scent— warm dough, brown sugar, and something rich and womanly and hers —I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
Her smile.
That sassy mouth.
The way she moved behind the counter like she ruled the world.
And now I’m back.
Like a damn fool.
The worst part? I still haven’t opened the damn app.
Date to Mate.
I know what it’ll say. I know who it’ll show me. I felt it the second I looked into her eyes.
But I don’t want a mate.
I don’t want forever.
Not when I’ve worked so damn hard to build a life free of strings, obligations, and other people’s expectations.
Not when settling down sounds a hell of a lot like settling, period.
Pride life is hard.
Always has been. Always will be.
It’s why I left.
The Blue Valley Pride?
Sure, they’ve modernized some—got an Instagram account now, and my mom still signs me up for the seasonal newsletter no matter how many times I unsubscribe.
So, yeah, I see the want ads.
Seeking mature Lion male with good genetics to sire spring cubs. Inquiring emails accepted.
Like I’m some kind of walking donation center with a pulse and a penis.
I hate that part of Shifter culture.
The side that treats unmated males like ticking time bombs full of virile responsibility.
Like we owe the world cubs because we were born with claws and a Y chromosome.
No.
No fucking thank you.
If I have cubs someday, it'll be because I choose to.
Because I want them.
Because I’ve found a woman that I love and want to build a life with.
Not because the Pride Elders sent a fertility tracker and a polite note saying I’m “ next in the rotation .”
I’m not a stud service.
I’m a man.
A free man.
So yeah. I don’t want forever .
And I sure as hell don’t want fate messing with that freedom.
But then I walked into Pizza Girls, and now I’m not so sure about anything.
Still, I’m not walking away.
Can’t.
I pull into the lot and kill the engine. My heart pounds harder than it should for a pizza run.
I run a hand through my hair, give myself the you’re just here for the carbs pep talk, and step inside.
Bell jingles.
Heat. Smells. Laughter.
And then her.
MJ.
Behind the counter, in a black apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed, lips parted— and eyes locked on me.
Her smile is replaced by a frown.
Uh oh.
“Hey, I’m here to?—”
“I have a bone to pick with you.”
That stops me cold.
“What?”
“Get over here.”
She rounds the counter like a woman on a mission and grabs my wrist. Sparks shoot up my arm .
Literal ones.
Magical static crackles where her fingers meet my skin, and my Lion goes alert.
“Marianne—”
“Don’t you dare say my name like that. Where did you even learn it?”
Her eyes are flashing.
“You think you can just waltz in here, pick up a few Meat Lovers’, and ignore the fact we matched on Date to Mate?”
Shit.
I freeze mid-reach, the heat from the pizza box nothing compared to the inferno suddenly lighting up my face— and the ache in my pants.
She’s standing there with her hands on her hips, those soft brown eyes flashing with righteous fury, her cheeks pink, lips parted, curls bouncing like they’ve got an attitude of their own.
And I am one hundred percent rock hard.
“Y-you saw that?” I croak, throat dry like I just swallowed a fistful of sand.
She crosses her arms under her very distracting breasts, tilting her head like a predator zeroing in on her prey.
“I got the ping, Carter Leone,” she says my name, and her brows furrow. “ Not nice to meet you, by the way.”
Dagger.
Straight to the chest.
“Marianne— MJ —I didn’t mean to ghost you. I swear. It’s not personal, it’s just—I’m not looking for a mate.”
“Well, that sounds pretty personal to me, doesn’t it?”
Oof. Her tone is razor-sharp, but her scent?
That’s pure sugar and heat and danger.
It hits me like a sucker punch to the soul.
She’s mad.
She’s magic.
She smells like forever.
And I am so, so screwed.
I hold up both hands like I’m trying not to spook a wild animal.
Or maybe I’m the animal, and she’s the one holding the leash.
“ Shit. You’re right. I was a jerk, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you, truly. Look—how can I make it up to you?”
Her nostrils flare, her gaze raking over me like she’s considering turning me into a calzone and stuffing me with regret. And maybe sausage.
My cock throbs at the thought.
Not helpful, brain.
“You can make it up to me by staying out of my way,” she says coolly.
Another dagger. Right through the heart.
This one twisted in tightly just for good measure.
I blink. “Wait—what does that mean?”
“It means that while you might not be interested, I am.”
My heart skips a beat.
My Lion snarls, sits up straight.
She wants me? Even after I fumbled this like a rookie wide receiver?
“What do you?—?”
“I’m not getting off the app, Carter. I’m still looking for my happy-ever-after. So if you don’t mind, I need you to decline the match so I can keep searching.”
The fuck?
No. No no no.
My Lion lets out a furious snarl inside me, pacing like a caged beast.
“Don’t look at me like that! Just because you don’t think I’m pretty enough or whatever doesn’t mean someone else won’t!” She stomps her foot and it’s fucking adorable .
Wait. What did she say?
“Pretty enough, MJ that’s?—”
“Whatever. I don’t care what you think about my looks,” she says, but I see it.
The hurt shining in her eyes, and fuck, now I wanna punch myself in the dick.
This girl is beautiful. But she’s not just a pretty face.
She’s my pretty face.
Mine.
But I can’t say that.
Not when I’m the asshole who didn’t even respond to the mate ping.
“It’s fine if you’re not into me. The app made a mistake. Just decline the match and we’ll go our separate ways, no problem.”
I nod like an idiot.
Numb.
Aching.
Still rock-hard, which feels like some kind of cosmic punishment, only this time it comes with a side dish of sorrow.
“If that’s what you want,” I say slowly, trying not to sound like my soul is leaking out my ears.
“It is.”
“Yo, MJ? Carina’s asking for you,” some teenager pops his head in where we’ve been, I don’t know if talking is the right word for whatever this is, but anyway, he calls out to her.
She turns away like I’m yesterday’s trash, curls bouncing like victory confetti, hips swaying like temptation incarnate.
I stare at the boxes of food like they might offer answers.
Or maybe a time machine.
But all I get is cheese and regret.
My Lion scratches at me, the animal threatening to gut me.
And I know this isn’t over.
No way.
No how.
I might be dumb enough to let her walk away this time.
But a Lion only misses his mark once.
Next time?
I’m going all in.
But first?
I’m gonna need a little help.
A very specific kind of help.
In the form of one meddlesome, mystically nosy, magically unbothered menace with white hair and way too much time on his hands.
I grab the food and my phone, ignoring the way my hand tightens around it like it’s the only lifeline I’ve got.
Before I load the pizza, chicken, and salad boxes into the back of my SUV, I tap the contact already at the top of my favorites.
Uncle. Freaking. Uzzi.
The phone rings once.
Twice.
“Dear boy,” comes the too-cheerful voice on the other end. “How goes the search? Have you discovered your one true mate? Are you currently in a naked cuddle pile with your forever?”
“I fucked up, Uncle Uzzi.”
Pause. Then a sigh.
“Ah. Yes. That tracks.”
“I need help.”
“Oh my. That definitely tracks. What did you do? No—wait, let me guess. You got the ping and ran like a coward. Then you pretended not to know her. Then she called you out in public, and your big, bad Lion is now hiding in his luxury vehicle trying not to cry into a calzone?”
“Uh, there weren’t any calzones.”
He hums like a smug cat with a saucer of cream.
“ Yet . ”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. It’s adorable.”
“Uncle Uzzi?—”
“All right, all right. Don’t have a kitty attack. I’ll be back in Newark tomorrow morning. Early. We’ll meet then. Bring coffee and contrition.”
I hang up before he starts quoting Shakespeare or chanting in Latin. Again.
But even as I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, there’s a wild, shaky something in my chest. Not quite hope.
Something more dangerous.
Something like determination.
Because I might’ve messed it up the first time.
But this Lion?
He’s not going to miss his second chance.
Not when she smells like home.
Not when she feels like fate.
Not when I know she’s mine.