Chapter 8
Rob
Okay, so what exactly is a Tiger supposed to do when he tells the woman the Fates apparently handcrafted just for him that he’s not interested—and then immediately realizes he’s a complete fucking idiot?
Because that’s my current situation.
Let me explain.
A few days ago, I downloaded that ridiculous magical dating app Uncle Uzzi keeps shoving in everyone’s faces—the one that supposedly lets the Fates themselves match supernatural beings with their destined mates.
Date to Mate.
Yeah. Real subtle.
Now, when that bright blue sparkly notification popped up on my phone telling me I had a match, I did what any sane Tiger Shifter would do.
I ignored it.
For about ten seconds.
Then curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked.
And boom.
There she was.
Hadley Smith.
Curvy, gorgeous, fiery-tempered owner of Agatha’s Ice Cream.
A she-Bear with thick thighs, warm brown eyes, and a mouth sharp enough to skin a man alive.
The second I saw her picture, my Tiger sat up inside my chest like someone had fired a starting pistol.
Mate.
I should’ve known right then I was screwed.
But instead of listening to my instincts—or the literal supernatural algorithm apparently run with help from the Fates themselves—I decided to be clever.
I told her I wasn’t interested.
Yeah.
Go ahead, take a moment to appreciate just how spectacularly stupid that was.
Because now?
Now ever since I downloaded that damn app it’s been pinging all over the place, cheerfully letting me know exactly where that fine ass she-Bear is traipsing all over town.
Without me.
Hadley is at Agatha’s Ice Cream.
Hadley is at Jessica’s Closet—a little clothing boutique owned by the Neta’s sister where they sell that devilishly sexy lingerie, Kisses by Kylie.
Hadley is delivering an ice cream cake at the Maverick Point Firehouse.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Every notification feels like someone jabbing me in the ribs with a fork.
And it’s driving me absolutely nuts.
I tried calling her shop.
She hung up on me.
I tried texting.
She blocked my number.
I even emailed the little contact us button at the bottom of her website like some desperate tech support customer.
I won’t even repeat the reply I got.
Let’s just say it involved creative suggestions about where I could shove my stripes.
And the thing is—knowing she’s a little toughie with a serious attitude only makes me want her more.
Sigh.
Great.
Apparently, I’m a goddamn masochist and now my Tiger is sighing like a damn teenage girl.
But that’s not the worst of it. Oh no, here I am about to do the one level I never thought I’d ever stoop to.
I think I’m actually going to ask my idiot brother for advice.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Have things really gotten this bad?
“Yo, Rob, you got a sec?”
Reg’s voice pulls me out of my spiral, and I turn away from the training circle where I’ve been absolutely wrecking the newer honor guard recruits.
Angus is currently flat on his back in the dirt.
Fallon is leaning against a fence post like he’s reconsidering his life choices.
“What is it?” I ask.
Reg gestures behind me.
“Well, you’ve knocked Angus and Fallon into next week, and Mike says you should maybe take the rest of the day off, seeing as the others are still nursing their injuries.”
Mike is our Pride Healer—an actual MD, too—so maybe I should listen.
Nah. Finish them. They can take it, my inner beast huffs.
I glance back at the training ring.
Angus gives me a weak thumbs up from the ground.
Fallon flips me off.
Fair.
Pussies, my Tiger insists.
Either way, I can’t continue like this.
Well, fuck.
If I can’t spar, how the hell am I supposed to get this restless, frustrated, mate-less angst out of my system?
My Tiger paces inside my chest like a caged predator.
Mate, he rumbles.
“Not helping,” I mutter.
Reg squints at me.
“You talking to yourself again?”
“Mind your business.”
He snorts.
“Fuck, Reg, what would you do if you were in my shoes?” I snarl angrily.
The idiot grins, then he jerks his chin toward town.
“You could always just go there.”
I blink.
Then I feel the overwhelming urge to slap myself upside the head.
Because he’s right.
I should’ve done that days ago.
Instead, I’ve been skulking around like some lovesick idiot while a magical app stalks my mate around town for me.
Reg folds his arms.
“Well?”
I run a hand through my hair and sigh again.
“You realize she hates me, right?”
Reg shrugs.
“The message she sent through the website contact form said—and I quote—‘Take your striped ass off my website and go lick a cactus.’”
Reg loses it.
He doubles over laughing.
I’m considering murder.
“You deserved that,” he wheezes.
“Thanks for the support.”
“But listen,” he says, straightening up. “That means she’s mad.”
“No shit.”
“It’s good! If she was indifferent? That would be bad.”
He shrugs.
I pause.
“So, you’re saying she likes me cause she’s mad at me?”
“She wouldn’t bother telling you to lick a cactus if she didn’t care, Robbie.”
I think about the last thing she texted me.
“Don’t call me Robbie, fuckface.”
“Come on, what’s a little nickname between brothers?”
I stare at him.
“Okay, fine. No brotherly love! But seriously, Rob, the whole attitude is a Bear thing. She’s flirting.”
“That is absolutely not flirting.”
“Sure it is,” he says cheerfully. “If she hated you she’d ignore you.”
My Tiger pauses mid-pace.
Reg grins.
“Go to the ice cream shop. Order a triple scoop.”
I hesitate.
“I can’t just show up.”
“Why not?”
“Because she told me she doesn’t want a mate.”
“And?”
“And I told her I didn’t want one either.”
Reg stares at me like I’m the dumbest predator in North America.
“So now go tell her you’re an idiot.”
“That’s your advice?”
“Worked for a lot of people I know.”
I rub my face.
Unfortunately, he might actually be right.
Because sitting here while that damn app keeps announcing her location like some kind of romantic GPS?
Yeah.
That’s definitely not working.
My gaze drifts toward the road leading into town.
Toward the pink-striped awning of Agatha’s Ice Cream.
Where my mate is probably scooping waffle cones and pretending I don’t exist.
My Tiger stretches lazily inside me.
Hunt.
I sigh.
“Fine.”
Reg grins.
“There you go!”
I head toward the locker room.
“Wait! Rob? Town’s that way! Where’re you going?” he calls.
“To shower, fuckhead. I can’t go talk to a woman smelling like a damn animal.”
“Good plan,” he shouts after me. “Ice cream girls probably don’t like the smell of regret and ass-kicking.”
I pause in the doorway.
“You really think she likes me?”
Reg laughs.
“Buddy,” he says, “if that woman didn’t like you, she wouldn’t be this mad you walked away. Now, go get her, Tiger!”
I snarl.
He yelps.
Then I sigh.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe Hadley does like me.
My Tiger purrs.
Okay, yeah.
Reg might actually be right.
And if Hadley thinks blocking my number, dodging my texts, and hiding behind a counter full of cookie dough waffle cones is enough to keep me away?
Well then, all I can say is my little Cookie is about to learn something important.
Tigers don’t quit the hunt.
Especially when Fate already picked the prey.