About Face (Wolf Within) (2 page)

I would have three months to find a new bond mate. By mid-November, if I wasn’t in a new relationship, I lost my pack.

“Been there, done that,” I muttered and wiped my eyes again.

He’d let me go. Jason Allerton had insinuated himself into my life since Paris. He’d given me sanctuary and a job as his Advisor and interested himself in my life. He’d been the one to maneuver me into bonding with Murphy.

Ostensibly, he put us together so we could investigate the weird, untimely deaths of young pack members worldwide, but also another agenda, a more personal one. He’d wanted us to bond together and be happy after we’d both suffered the deaths of our original bond mates.

Amidst everything I’d been through in the past nine months, Jason Allerton had been a comforting father figure.

And just like that, in the span of three seconds and one sentence, it was all undone.

I’d trusted him with my mother. When he’d taken a hotel room in Boston after my father had been exiled and I’d taken Lauren back to my condo, I’d thought he was looking after me.

He’d seen me struggle with Lauren as I’d tried to give her space to reclaim herself and yet keep my sanity at the same time.

Every decision was agony for her. What to wear. What time to get up and go to bed. Which flavor of jelly to spread on her toast.

He’d taken us out to dinner more nights than not. I’d cooked for him.

His calm, comforting, authoritative presence had become a given in my life over the past eight weeks.

To think I’d been grateful when he’d suggested he take Lauren out to dinner on his own so I could stay home and relax. Or go out.

Yeah, right. With who? My best friends, Vaughn and Jossie, lived in Vermont and my cousin Faith and her bond mate, Scott, were two hours away from the city.

I’d expected to see more of them the past couple of months, but people got busy. Faith was pregnant and had a pack to rebuild after my father nearly destroyed it.

Jossie was convinced I wanted to bond with her and Vaughn and make a triad—and invented excuses to keep us all apart.

So I spent those nights alone. I had time for a luxurious soak in the bathtub with a delicious murder mystery. I could watch a movie while curled up on the sofa as the lights of the city glowed through my living room window. I had opportunities for walks around the block in the summer darkness so I could ease the tension out of my shoulders and take deep breaths as I marshaled the inner strength to deal with Lauren another day.

Now after this Regional was over, she’d go to Montana with him and start her new life, and I’d have every night alone in Boston. Every morning and midday, too.

“You selfish bitch,” I whispered to myself in amazement and for a clouded moment wasn’t sure if I referred to me or Lauren.

The lights and music from a waterside bar attracted my attention. It was a small place, gray shingles, a wooden deck in the back so patrons could watch the ocean as they pounded down beer and shots and figured out who they would go home with that night. It was full of Others, not Pack, but screw it. No way I wanted another night alone. Those would start soon enough.

* * * *

My eyes felt gritty and full of sand when I fluttered them open the next morning. I had no idea where the hell I was or why the sunlight had a weird dappled effect across the sheet that covered my nude body.

My head thumped, and my mouth tasted sour. I held still, afraid I might be sick, until the queasiness passed.

Someone’s bare foot brushed my ankle. I jerked away in shock, clutching the sheet to my neck like a virgin in a bodice-ripper.

Holy shit, it stank. The man in bed with me reeked and his scent was all over me. I was fucking disgusting.

The smell decided my rebellious stomach and I lurched out of the bed. I had no idea where the bathroom was. I estimated I had about thirty-five seconds to figure it out.

I looked around to orient myself and discovered I was in a small studio apartment. Outside, seagulls screamed over the relentless crash of waves. Sheer green curtains with an odd texture fluttered in front of a half-open sliding door that led to a weathered deck. The dappled effect was explained.

Dirty dishes were piled in a porcelain sink near the front door. A rickety table and two chairs squatted in front of the sink. More dishes were on the table as well as a thick accumulation of junk mail.

A battered sofa with the arms duct-taped to keep the stuffing from spewing out rested against one wall bookended by two tray tables. A drop ceiling and cheap fluorescent lights completed the shabby decor.

No bugs, just the cluttered detritus of a young bachelor.

A half-open door with chipped paint to the left of the front door was either a bathroom or a closet.

I didn’t have time to care so I bolted.

It was a bathroom. Not filthy, but certainly grungy. I prayed to the porcelain goddess over and over but still couldn’t get that foul stench out of my nose.

I’d slept with an Other.

I even thought I remembered his name. Don. Or maybe Ron. Ron. Almost definitely Ron.

To be fair, he didn’t stink because he was unwashed. He just wasn’t Pack. He wore Obsession cologne. I could smell it the bathroom cabinet and faint traces in the damp towels on the rack.

Some Pack could sleep with Others and get over their strange, sour scents. I’d never been one of them. I could work with them, ride the subway with them, buy food and clothes from them, but I could not be intimate with them.

Until the fourth or fifth Long Island Iced Tea, apparently.

Just the thought of the sweet drink loaded with six different kinds of alcohol made me gag again until I was reduced to dry heaves that twisted my stomach and choked my throat and nose.

Murphy had walked out on me four months ago and I’d painted my condo. Jason Allerton dropped me as his Advisor and I’d rushed out, gotten drunk, and fallen into bed with some young Other man.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I needed to take a shower so I could rinse the stink off me, and wash away the hangover.

Breath held, I twitched the grungy shower curtain aside to reveal a mildewed plastic shower stall. It was not exactly the Ritz, but whatever.

The water pressure was for shit and the temperature fluctuated between icy cold with spurts of stinging hot. I endured it until I’d soaped my entire body and washed my hair with Ron-or-Don’s combination shampoo and body wash. Only men could be so lazy as to combine two such different products. The gel smelled like a guy, too.

Once I was done, I realized I’d have to wrap one of his used, Obsession-scented towels around me to dry off. The entire point of the shower was undone.

Curses spilled out of my mouth in a steady stream as I dried off with as little of the damn towel as I could manage and not stay dripping wet.

When I walked out of the bathroom, Don or Ron was awake and hastily doing dishes as if I gave a shit what his hellhole apartment looked like.

Last night in the bar, he’d been almost a dead ringer for Liam Murphy, except he was shorter and younger. This morning he didn’t even remotely resemble Murphy, except maybe a little around the eyes. He wasn’t fat, but he was loose in places Murphy was tight. And his hair wasn’t right. It was blond. It had looked darker under the black lights in the bar. Everything about him looked different under the lighting and the influence of those fucking evil Long Island Iced Teas.

His voice was wrong too. It was deeper, with a Rhode Island accent, not an Irish one.

“Hey, do you want breakfast? I can make eggs? I don’t have bacon, but I think I have toast?” Everything he said was a question. I remembered bits and pieces from the night before. At one point I’d told him to stop asking me so many questions and he’d said, “Am I asking you lots of questions?” I’d cried, “There’s
another
one right there!” Then I’d kissed him to shut him the fuck up.

We’d still been in the bar then, but I guessed after it closed he’d brought me up to his apartment. Empty beer bottles littered the countertop, and I devoutly hoped they weren’t from last night. My stomach rolled again, so I looked away.

“I need to go.” I was pretty close to panicky as I searched the room for my clothes. Aha. My dress was wadded up on the sofa. It seemed we’d had a very heavy make-out session there. My bra was under the coffee table, and I grimaced at the thought of wearing it after it had spent the night on the grubby, stained carpet.

One sandal was by the front door and the other was by the kitchen table. My purse was on the table. I had no earthly idea where my panties were, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around to find out.

“You don’t have to?” Ron-or-Don made the statement into a question. I wanted to scream, but didn’t. “I mean, I’d like it if you stayed, okay? Unless…you have a boyfriend, right? You kept telling me last night you didn’t, but you do, don’t you? Can you stay for ten minutes to eat something? Please?”

As he spoke, I shimmied into my bra and last night’s cocktail dress. I spied my panties tucked half under one of the sofa cushions. Disgusting. With a grimace, I plucked them free and debated whether I wanted to put them on.

“Oh, I just wanted to tell you? I used a condom, okay?” He gave me a sheepish smile and then turned back to the eggs on the stove. They smelled gruesome, and I pressed my lips tightly together to keep from gagging.

The way he looked at me made me think he expected some sort of response. Congratulations, perhaps? Gratitude? A high five for quick thinking even while inebriated?

“Safe sex, you know?” he added. I didn’t even remember getting laid, let alone whether there was a condom involved.

“I have to go,” I repeated as I slid on one of my shoes and lurched for the other, one leg magically longer now, thanks to the four-inch heel.

“It was a mistake, wasn’t it?” Ron-or-Don asked. “You wish you’d never met me, don’t you?”

My head hurt. I massaged my temples with the fingers of one hand while I braced myself against the door with the other and slid my foot into the second shoe.

“I was drunk and so were you.” I was aware I wasn’t being kind and the poor bastard hadn’t done anything wrong. He looked at me in the harsh morning sunlight and more than ever did not resemble Murphy. What the
fuck
had I been thinking?

“Look, I’m sorry, I can’t stay. You’re a nice guy.”

That made him wince. I guess Others didn’t like being called nice. I had no time to figure him out. I didn’t want to figure him out. It did seem as if our roles were reversed. Generally, wasn’t it the guy who rushed out the door in the morning and left the girl to feel guilty and used? Or maybe I was being sexist. I didn’t have a clue.

“You know what? Can you tell me your name? Can you believe I forgot it?” he confessed as I unlocked the door. Perhaps this was his attempt at a cheap parting shot? I flashed him a rueful smile over my shoulder on the way out.

“That’s okay, I can’t remember yours either.”

* * * *

Lauren’s makeup was spread out in a vast confusion across the bathroom vanity when I walked into our motel room just after five PM that afternoon.

She wore a peach-colored slip, and her hair had obviously been styled at a salon. Her finger and toenails were colored a darker peach than the slip. Summer color.

As soon as I walked in, a radiant smile lit up her lovely, perfect face, and she was in my arms a second later. She smelled like Chloe and Calvin Klein’s Escape because, of course, she hadn’t been able to choose between them. I’d thought I’d been so clever. I’d gone through her suitcase before we’d left and taken out all but two perfumes—one for day, one for evening. I should have known she’d wear them both.

“I thought you’d left. When I came back to the room this morning, your bed wasn’t slept in, and I thought you walked out.” She burrowed her soft face into my shoulder and, as I hugged her, I thought how inverse our relationship was. She was more like the child and I, the mother. It had been that way since my teens, and that aspect hadn’t changed in the past two months, even though I’d desperately wanted it.

Oh, for a mother I could confide in. What would it be like to have one who would listen to my woes and thoughts and hopes and offer advice, comfort, understanding? All Lauren ever did was look to me to fix things, to approve, to give sanctuary. I did those things ungrudgingly, but I wished sometimes our roles were reversed.

I was also a little weirded out she’d spent the night with Jason Allerton. Thoughts of their naked bodies entwined in passion made me strangely uncomfortable. Lauren having sex didn’t bother me. No, Lauren having sex with Jason Allerton was the issue. What did he look like without his Armani suit and tie? Did he drop his authoritative, commanding personality in bed? Was he strictly a missionary position kind of guy, or did he like to experiment?

I squeezed my eyes shut and banished that shit straight out of my mind.

When I opened them, Lauren had tears in her eyes that turned them nearly purple. She looked so goddamn young and vulnerable in her lacy peach slip and bare feet, her hair twisted up into a breezily perfect updo that had taken at least an hour to arrange.

My heart contracted the way it always did when she looked at me like that.

“Silly, did you really think I’d miss your bonding ceremony?” When I hugged her, I dropped the three shopping bags in my hands. The first two contained a new dress for tonight and shoes to match. The third bag held my cocktail dress from last night. After I’d left Ron-or-Don’s apartment, I’d gone to the Providence Place mall, straight to Gap for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then I’d gone to Victoria’s Secret.

A new pair of Skechers had replaced the silver evening shoes, which were in the bag with the shoes that paired with my new dress.

Shopping, especially for shoes, cleared my head of all the crap that haunted me since the moment I’d opened my eyes in Ron-or-Don’s bed.

At least until I’d walked into the motel room and had to face everything again. That’s the problem with shopping. The stores eventually closed, and I had to go home.