Chapter 7
ZACK
Ford had been sharing my cabin for a few days, and we’d been muddling along together.
I started work earlier than he did, so I had my shower first and got the coffee started while he was in the bathroom.
He’d wash the dishes and lock up when I left, so we didn’t see much of one another during the day.
Whoever made it home first would start dinner, and I enjoyed not having to cook each night.
We were steering around each other as if we both had a different road map, and we never bumped into one another. But that wasn’t what I needed. I wanted him to be in my face, laughing and making plans for something beyond what to cook for dinner.
He was my mate, but dragons must’ve been coded differently to other shifters. We’d had sex and should have marked one another. That was what was supposed to happen.
I’d been yearning for a mate and one had been delivered as if the goddess had sent him in the mail. And it had fallen apart at the last minute.
This is worse than not having a mate.
My polar bear wasn’t wrong. Before I’d met Ford, I was lonely. Now I was agitated and couldn’t sleep, found it hard to eat or even to swallow food, and I couldn’t concentrate at work.
Ford and I were driving home from opposite directions, and we met at the end of my driveway. I waved him forward and followed him to the cabin. It was still light outside, and I refused to spend another awkward night eating, clearing up, and watching TV.
“Have you ever been to a bingo night?”
Ford put down the knife he was using to chop onions. I was mystified why they didn’t make him cry? I howled like a baby when I was within ten feet of an onion.
“Can’t say I have, but I know enough that it won’t be much fun with only the two of us.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of people joining in.”
The entire town might forget about their bingo game and stare and gossip about me and Ford. And I’d be okay with it. What would make the occasion more enjoyable would be if we were marked. As it was, I’d have to introduce Ford as my friend.
“Come on.” We’d taken my vehicle because I was never sure if Ford’s was going to die before it left the driveway.
I blinked as we reached the entrance of the community center. I preferred warm lights, but everyone in town liked white light. I could never understand why they wanted their homes and places of work to be as bright as if they were performing surgery.
We were early but the place was packed, and heads swiveled in our direction as we approached Norm who was selling the cards.
I pulled out my wallet rather than a phone because a) Ford didn’t have any money and b) most people in town didn’t have the facilities to use what they described as those new fangled QR codes.
I bought us three cards each. That would take us to the refreshment break and we could decide if we’d had enough or wanted to get more.
Ford brushed against me as I paid and a bill dropped onto the floor.
We both bent over and put our fingers on it at the same time.
He picked it up, but I couldn’t move because my body and my beast were clamoring for more, for us to mate.
“Do you have back problems?” he asked when I finally got myself upright.
“No. It was just a spasm.” One caused by him. Maybe he was thankful we hadn’t marked one another since he thought my decrepit body was giving out on me.
“I promise when I’m paid, I’ll bring you here and it’ll be my treat.”
That was assuming he was still around. That connection we had should have shown itself with a regular pulsing sensation, but I experienced a prickly irritating feeling of something left unfinished.
Ford followed me to a table with two vacant seats, and I introduced him to everyone at the table.
They focused on him and asked the usual questions of what he was doing in town and where he was living.
He was gracious and answered by saying I was a friend and he was staying with me until he found a place of his own.
He got a few raised eyebrows at the word “friend,” but no one pushed him for more information.
If we’d been mated, I could have held his hand and called him my husband, because many of the people here were human.
But I was reduced to the friend zone, and the gap between Ford and me was as cold as the word “unmarked.”
Artie, the caller, tapped on the microphone, and anyone still standing took their places. He told us we were playing any straight line. I pointed at Ford’s card and explained. He grinned, and I gulped. That smile had me almost yanking him under the table and demanding he mark me.
“I think I’ve got it.” Our eyes locked on one another. I could have sworn we were only looking at one another for a second, but someone at the table cleared their throat, and I glanced away.
Artie called B-7. A woman at our table squealed as she dabbed the marker on the correct square. I couldn’t get as worked up over bingo as she did, but it was fun when you were close to winning.
Ford marked off B-7 on his card.
“You’re off to a great start,” I whispered. When I replayed that remark in my head, it sounded as though he was a racing car driver, and I wished I could take it back.
I looked down at my card and told myself I wasn’t going to spend the evening staring at Ford. I’d brought him here to avoid doing just that. But his eyes found mine, and I began to sweat. I was melting under his gaze, not knowing what to do with my hands.
Artie saved me by calling another number, forcing me to pay attention to my card.
“O-62.”
A man at the next table murmured, “Yes.” I was so distracted thinking of Ford next to me, I forgot what I was doing. He leaned over, putting his lips close to my ear.
“You have O-62.”
“Oh, of course.” Now I was flustered because everyone at the table was staring at me, and Ford was smirking. Coming here was a mistake because I could have done awkward interactions at home.
“I-19.”
I kept my head bent, not caring whether Ford was marking off a number or staring at me. Pretending I was very interested in my bingo card, I counted the seconds until Artie called the next number.
Ford whispered, “You’re holding the marker as if it’s going to escape.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “I like to keep a good grip.”
Spots of pink appeared on his cheeks. Oh, damn. Was he thinking back to the night we slept together? Perhaps. Maybe he was imagining me clasping his cock tightly while I was giving him a blow job.
Artie continued calling the numbers, and I was surprised no one had won yet. When the person beside me shouted “Bingo!” I looked up. What? This was Ford’s first time, and he’d won the first round.
There were mutterings of, “I was so close,” and “I had one more.”
The prize was a gift card to the diner.
“This is for you as a thank-you for having me impose on you.”
He could do as much imposing as he wanted, especially if he had his mouth on mine or his fingers in my hole.
We played two more rounds and then broke for refreshments. Ford, as the newcomer, was the center of attention. And when he called me his friend, he got more than one offer of “Oh, you must meet my nephew/son/cousin.”
Plastering on my best fake smile, I steered him away from the tea and brownies.
“Have you had enough or shall we get more cards?”
He shuffled the gift card between two fingers. “We could use this for a snack.”
It was only nine o’clock, but this was a small town and the diner would be closing soon.
“We have snacks at the cabin.” One of which could be Ford, but I kept that to myself.
“Then let’s go home.”
Home. He said it so casually, but it wasn’t his. He was there on a temporary basis and in a few weeks he’d move out. And what then? I’d have to ask my shifter friends what happened when fated mates didn’t mark one another. Did the connection weaken?
“That was fun this evening. I’m going to like living here.”
“Mmm, people are nice,” I replied, meaning me. I was nice people.
Ford charged into the cabin as though it was his own and began making hot chocolate. I didn’t hover and sat in the living room, checking what was on TV. This could be us next year or in a decade, but not if we were unmarked.
Could it be that dragons didn’t feel that intense connection that other shifters did? If so, only half my wish had been granted.