11. Carter
Carter
O kay, so I’m agitated.
Nervous.
Pissed as hell.
Mostly at myself.
Every time I walk into Pizza Girls— which, yes, has been at least once a day this week, don’t judge —I barely catch a glimpse of MJ. And when I do?
She disappears.
Vanishing act. Houdini-level avoidance.
Like I’m some creepy stalker instead of the idiot who did exactly what she asked—except not really, because I also didn’t unmatch her.
But come on.
Did I stay out of her way?
Absolutely not.
I meant to. Really.
But then I logged into Date to Mate— just to check —and saw her picture again. And what did I do?
I accepted the match.
Then, I sent her a message and asked her out.
Like a moron.
And she ignored it.
Flat out ignored me.
Which only made me want her more.
Because clearly I’m a glutton for punishment, and my Lion is a damn masochist when it comes to this woman.
And now? Now we’ve got this ridiculous Date to Mate Fall Equinox Singles Mixer thing Uncle Uzzi is throwing in some creepy Bridgerton-ass mansion on the Hudson.
Black tie required.
Magical ambiance guaranteed.
And you know who’s gonna be there?
MJ.
Single.
Untethered.
Unprotected .
Surrounded by a bunch of horny, pumped-up supernatural freaks all sniffing around like they’ve got first dibs.
Hell.
Fucking.
No.
Did I mention it’s black tie? I mean, of fucking course, it’s black tie. Because why wouldn’t it be?
I look like a pissed-off undertaker as I stand in front of the mirror in my office, adjusting the stupid collar of the tux Uncle Uzzi had hand delivered to my garage.
Like I’m supposed to be grateful he used magic to get my measurements right.
“Fuck,” I mutter, yanking the bowtie loose again. “Wearing a monkey suit is not my idea of a good time?—”
“I resent that,” Tony growls from the doorway.
Shit.
Right.
That’s why Shifter-owned companies need better not-so-human resources departments.
Which actually is why I just hired one.
“Not you,” I mumble. “I meant the actual monkey suit. The tux. ”
Tony, one of my new hires— massive, quiet, and literally a Silverback Gorilla Shifter —crosses his arms. “Still offensive.”
“Duly noted, Tony. My bad.”
This is my life now.
A growling Gorilla offended by tuxedos and a date with destiny I already blew.
Fucking amazing.
Tricia Rodriguez, my not-so-human resources personnel , a Bunny Shifter actually, pops her head in next.
Curvy and tall, all business, and scary efficient for someone with twitchy ears and a unicorn gel pen collection.
But she came highly recommended, so I gave her the job.
“Sir?” she says, one brow raised. “I heard a slur?”
“I know,” I mutter. “I’ll tell Tony I’m sorry again later.”
“I see.”
Her tone is neutral but pointed.
“Okay. As long as you’re aware that words carry weight and we strive for inclusive language.”
“I get it, Tricia. I do. I appreciate the accountability. But right now, I really need to leave before I’m late to a magical hellscape mixer with dozens of other supes and one crazy ass magical matchmaker who may or may not have sealed my fate.”
Her ears perk. “Oh. Drama.”
“Yeah. And tuxedos. Send help.”
She grins. “You look nice, boss. And if you need any help?.”
Do I? I glance in the mirror again. The tux fits like it was conjured—because it was.
My jaw is tight, my eyes a little too wild, and my heart hasn’t stopped pounding since I thought about MJ in some kind of cocktail dress surrounded by hungry single supes.
I’m gonna lose my damn mind.
“Thanks, Tricia, I got it,” I mutter, grabbing the keys to my SUV, and the invitation etched in silver script.
She gives me a thumbs up and a smile.
“See ya later, Lion-o.”
What the?
I don’t answer.
Just stalk out, pulse hammering, tux choking, jaw clenched.
Because I might’ve screwed up before.
But this time?
I’m not walking away without a fight.
And if that means facing a mansion full of enchanted candles, date-hungry Shifters, and possibly a Vampire or two, and one very pissed-off pizza queen?
So be it.
Time to hunt.