18. MJ
MJ
L ater That Week
I haven’t answered his calls. Or his texts.
Or the very sweet, very cheesy bouquet of flowers, designed to look like a pizza pie, that showed up at the shop two nights ago.
And I definitely haven’t told my sisters about the mating bite.
Until now.
“I knew it,” Dina squeals, bouncing on the sofa like we’re still teenagers. “I told you he looked at you like you were the last cannoli on the tray.”
“You slept with him and didn’t tell us?” Carina gasps, cradling her baby bump like I just traumatized her unborn child .
“I didn’t just sleep with him,” I mutter, pacing the apartment like it’s suddenly too small. “I—we—it was wild, spontaneous, pussy-breaking sex and an unexpected, definitely not asked for, mating bite!”
Three seconds of stunned silence follow my very loud and somewhat untruthful proclamation.
“Oh, honey,” Carina says, her voice gentle now. “You okay?”
“No!” I shout. “I mean, yes? I don’t know!”
I flop down on the floor, head in my hands, heart pounding like a damn drum solo.
“I told him I wanted him. I did. But he didn’t want a mate! He said it! So what the hell was that?”
“That was a man realizing what he couldn’t live without,” Dina says firmly.
“Or a guy letting his dick— or his not-housebroken furry alter ego —do the thinking,” I snap.
Either way, I need answers.
Which is why the next afternoon, I find myself outside the last place I ever expected to be.
Lion Limousines & Livery Service.
The garage, to be specific.
It’s massive.
Like shockingly upscale for a business in Newark.
Music with a heavy bass is thumping from top of the line speakers, and I see a few guys in chauffeur gear milling about.
A couple of them sneak a glance at me, then I notice one take a deep sniff, and he just about breaks his neck from jerking back so fast.
Oookay? I mean, I’m trying not to be offended, but what gives? Do I stink or something?
I discreetly lift my arm to sniff at my pit—but I got nothing.
Whatever.
I keep walking. Keep looking.
No Carter.
But I see a lot of other stuff.
Big, expensive cars and limos. Matte black glass. Brushed steel accents. A long line of them, all washed and gleaming, from sleek sedans to stretch limos that scream money and class .
I step inside, and the scent hits me before anything else.
Leather. Engine oil.
And, sniff , oh my God— it’s him.
That spicy, musky scent I recognize as his. Carter.
God, he’s everywhere.
The front of Lion’s Limousines is way bigger than I expected.
I mean, I knew Carter was building some kind of swanky garage-slash-car-limo-Shifter-guy-hangout-thing, but this place is huge.
Concrete and glass, black metal beams, and a sleek-ass sign out front that reads Lion Limousines & Livery Service: Performance, Protection, Prestige .
Three P’s.
Go figure.
Inside is all polished floors, chrome accents, and car-scented testosterone.
There’s even a refreshment station, like this is a goddamn spa and not a garage.
The espresso machine looks more expensive than my car.
And standing behind the front desk?
Well, she’s everything I’m not right now.
Tall, curvy in a pencil-skirt-and-heels way.
Not a speck of grease or a drop of tomato sauce in sight.
Her glossy brown hair’s pulled back in a high ponytail, and her cherry-red lips curve in something between a smirk and a snarl as she looks me up and down.
Like I tracked in something unsavory.
Spoiler alert: that something is probably flour and dried cheese from this afternoon’s prep.
“Can I help you?” she asks, and her voice is kinda sharp.
Like she keeps it honed for slicing people just like me.
“I’m here to see Carter Leone,” I say, squaring my shoulders even though I feel wildly underdressed.
Not for a pizza kitchen.
But definitely for this garage.
Whatever it is he’s doing, he must have put a lot of money into this place. Which means he has a lot of money.
So, he’s rich.
And of course, he didn’t tell me.
A lie? An omission?
I am decidedly not rich.
This is just another mark against us, I suppose.
Her eyes narrow as she gives me another once-over.
“Huh. You don’t look like the usual.”
“Excuse me?”
She leans forward slightly, and then she sniffs me.
No, really. Full inhale.
Like a dog.
Or, you know, a Shifter.
Her eyes widen.
“Ohhhh. You’re a normal .”
My stomach drops to my toes.
“What did you just call me?”
“You smell like—um.” Her nose twitches. “Well, like the boss. But I guess that’s not unheard of. Anyway, he’s not in. And I don’t usually take messages from his women, but did you need something?”
My face goes hot.
His women?
“Hold up—what do you mean, his women?” I snap, hands on hips now. “Like plural?”
She gives me a pitying little shrug.
“Look, it’s nothing personal. But I’m not in charge of Mr. Leone’s social calendar. And between us? He’s probably off with one of his options . That’s kind of a thing with, uh, guys like him.”
I blink.
I might be blacking out.
“I’m sorry—did you just say options ? As in he’s dating other people? While also, um—” My voice catches. “While also— optioning time with me?”
She wrinkles her nose like it’s my hygiene at fault.
“You said you knew what he was? ”
“A Shifter,” I whisper.
She nods.
“And with Lions? They’re not exactly known for being monogamous. You ever see a National Geographic documentary? An able male can service his way through a whole Pride if you catch my drift.”
I am about to climb this desk.
Before I can unleash my inner Jersey Girl, a deep voice cuts through the room like a chainsaw made of justice.
“That’s enough, Tricia.”
I whirl around to see a massive man filling the hallway entrance.
He looks big. Really big.
Like King Kong but wearing slacks.
Shoulders for days. The kind of guy who makes drywall seem flimsy just by existing.
“I’m Tony,” he says, nodding at me. “I work for Carter. And you are?”
I swallow. “MJ. I, uh, I was just stopping by. I think there’s a misunderstanding.”
He sniffs the air.
His brow furrows.
“I can smell him on you.”
“Okay, what the actual fuck,” I whisper .
“You can’t just say stuff like that to a normal!” Tricia hisses.
“You guys are Shifters, too?” I blurt, nerves firing like popcorn in my chest. “Because I know. About the whole supernatural thing. And the magic app—the Date to Mate thing. So don’t act like I’m clueless.”
They both go still.
“You a Shifter groupie?” Tony asks.
“No! And is that like a thing?” I snap.
He crosses his massive arms, shrugs.
Tricia looks mildly panicked—but not enough for my taste.
Then she shrugs, too.
“Well, if you know about us, then you know Carter’s a Lion Shifter. So, that’s where he is. Visiting his Pride. But he’s there kind of long today, and again, I’m not surprised. The males go back to, you know , service any needy females in heat.”
I stare.
Service.
Females.
In heat.
Like he’s some kind of sexy valet with a furry dick and a punch card.
“Excuse me?” My voice goes sharp .
“Oh, Gods. Okay, so, um you didn’t know that, I take it,” she says, blinking innocently. “Yikes. Well, sorry. I thought you knew how it worked. I mean, if he didn’t explain it to you officially, then that’s on him?—”
“That’s ENOUGH, Tricia.” Tony’s voice is thunder now.
Tricia shrinks a little. “What? I didn’t lie. If she’s gonna be in his life, she should know what kind of male she’s dealing with?—”
Tony steps forward.
“You’re telling half-truths to a human about your boss’s sex life, and if he hears you said he was out servicing females? You’ll be back at that temp agency before you can say ‘unemployment benefits.’”
The room spins.
My heart is racing.
I look between them, my hands shaking now.
“I—I think I need to go.”
Tony’s jaw clenches. “Hold on, wait a second—please. You might be misunderstanding something.”
I shake my head, words trembling on my tongue.
“I don’t know what I’m misunderstanding, and I’m not even sure I want to know,” I say, voice tight. “But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? Because Carter didn’t tell me anything. ”
Not about the Pride.
Not about his so-called “obligations.”
Not about what kind of life came with falling for a goddamn Lion Shifter with magic hands and bedroom eyes and a mating bite he swore wasn’t supposed to happen.
And now I’m supposed to stand here and what ?
Play cool?
Laugh off this whole thing like it’s some big, sexy mix-up?
I can’t.
Not right now.
Not with the way my throat’s closing up. Not with the way my heart’s trying to claw out of my chest.
“Please,” Tony says again, quieter now. “It’s not what you think. He’s gonna be real sorry if you leave like this.”
I look at him, and for a split second, I almost believe him.
But then I remember Tricia’s words. The pity in her voice. The way she sniffed me like I was something feral clinging to Carter's scent like a cheap perfume. The way she acted like I was just one of many— some chick with dollar signs in her eyes.
And suddenly ?
I can’t find the funny in any of this.
Not in Tony’s massive Shrek energy.
Not in Tricia’s smug Real Housewives of Shifterdom attitude.
Not even in the fact that I’m standing here, crying in a luxury garage that probably has a lounge chair worth more than my rent.
It’s all too much.
Too sharp.
Too humiliating.
My vision blurs, but I blink hard, forcing it back.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though I don’t know who I’m saying it to.
Them. Myself. The universe.
“Just tell him—no. Don’t tell him anything.”
Because what could they say that would make any of this better?
Hey, boss, that girl you marked showed up thinking you cared and we accidentally made her feel like disposable ass? Oops!
My chest feels like it might split open.
Anger. Shame. Grief.
And something so sharp and deep it doesn’t even have a name.
I turn, legs trembling but determined.
My chest is so tight I can barely breathe, like my ribs are holding back a scream.
My throat burns.
My jaw clenches.
My stomach twists so violently I think I might throw up.
And still—I keep moving.
Because if I stop, I’ll fall apart right here.
Right in front of the woman who thinks I’m one of Carter’s women. One of many.
Right in front of the man who pities me.
Right in the middle of the too-shiny showroom where I thought I might get a piece of closure or at least a crumb of honesty.
Instead?
All I got was wrecked.
“Stupid,” I whisper to myself, voice breaking. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why’d it have to be you, Carter?”
Golden-eyed bastard.
Why’d it have to feel so real?
My heels click too loud on the polished floor, echoing the sound of my own heartbeat.
I push faster, tears falling now. Quiet, hot rivers I can’t even bother to wipe away.
I make it through the doors .
Out into the air.
And then— a sob escapes.
Then another.
And another.
Until I’m gasping. Sobbing. Unraveling in the parking lot like some tragic heroine in a romcom with no punchline and no HEA.
But even as the world tilts and my knees threaten to buckle— I don’t stop walking.