Curves for the Werewolf Cowboy (Paranormal BBW Erotic Romance, Alpha Wolf Mate) (2 page)

Did I dare call him? I don’t know why I was even thinking about it. He’d been impolite. He’d made me uneasy for some unknown reason. Something about him had scared me. Was this why I was so intrigued? Maybe. I guess part of me had a taste for the dangerous.

But not tonight. I put the napkin down on my bedside table and turned out the light.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you I had a hard time falling asleep that night. Eventually I drifted off sometime around four in the morning. I slept in late, almost to noon. This was my schedule as a bartender: late night, and late mornings. I got up and made myself breakfast, watched some TV and read a bit. Around three in the afternoon I went out to run a few errands and take care of some laundry.

Around 6:00 PM I headed back into the bar to start getting things ready for that night. Saturdays were big, so I knew I had to get everything in order. I had to go grab extra bottles of liquor from the basement storage and make sure the beer was fully stocked. The whole time I had that strange man on my mind. Would he show up tonight? The prospect intimidated me. It made me anxious. And yet, I wanted to see him. I wanted to understand just what it was about him that made this nervous energy course through my veins.

Around 7:30 PM, customers started streaming in. These men worked long days out on the ranches that populated the fringes of Houston, but boy, when they cut loose they
really
cut loose. A little after eight the entire bar was packed. Soon I was so busy I forgot all about the mysterious man of last night. I was pouring beers left and right as the music blasted over the speakers, and the atmosphere was blanketed with the big laughs and bravado of cowboys on a Saturday night.

Then I noticed him. I was taking an order from a customer when I saw him walk through the door, handsome-looking with a confident stride. He was much taller than I’d remembered.

“Babe, two Buds. Hello? Anybody there?”

I looked toward the source of the voice to see some guy waving his hand in front of my face.

“I’m sorry. What did you say you wanted?” I said apologetically, but still slightly distracted.

“Two budweisers,” he said, holding two fingers up as if to drive the point home.

“Got it.”

I grabbed two Buds out of the cooler and popped the tops off, handing them over to him, a gruff-looking guy of about forty or so, with a weathered face. He held out a credit card in my direction.

“Do you want to start a tab?” I asked, nearly yelling through the din of the packed bar.

He nodded yes and then walked away, blending back into the darkness of the huge crowd beyond the bar counter.

I looked back down the bar, searching for the mysterious man. He’d taken a seat by the TV, the same stool he’d occupied the night before. My heart started racing as I walked over to take his order. But before I was halfway there the other bartender, Marcy, had already walked up to him. I watched as she poured him a double bourbon. Then I heard a customer yelling for my attention. I turned around and took his drink order. After serving him I told Marcy I needed to step outside for a second to get some fresh air.

Out in the crisp fall air I tried to get my head straight. I was usually in my prime on Saturday nights. I liked most of our customers and the tips were good. I had absolutely no problem with it being busy. But tonight I just couldn’t concentrate. I knew I wasn’t going to get this man out of my head until I talked to him. So once my breath had steadied I walked back into the bar, doing my best to remain cool and confident.

He was still seated there, eying the television as the baseball game went to commercial. He looked down at his drink and then brought the tumbler to his lips, finishing off the last of the bourbon in one smooth sip. Putting the glass back down on the counter, he motioned with his hand to get my attention. I walked over with a huge smile plastered on my face, a forced smile to hide my nervousness in his presence.

“Another double bourbon?” I asked cheerfully as I took his glass.

He stared at me for a second, as if searching my face for some kind of sign. Then he nodded his head solemnly, not saying a word. I brought him a clean glass and poured his drink right in front of him. I slid it back to him with another warm smile. He took a sip, then spoke:

“Why haven’t you called me?”

“What?” I asked, trying to feign surprise. Of course I knew what he was referring to, but I didn’t have an answer for him. What was I going to say?

“I gave you my number. I thought it was obvious enough.”

“Well, I—I mean, I saw that number. I guess I don’t know what to say. I was a bit taken aback. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“What kind of girl are you?”

“Not the type that goes home with any old stranger.”

“What makes you think I’m just ‘any old stranger’?” he asked. He was dead serious, almost indignant that I’d even suggest he was just any average Joe.

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know anything about you. I just don’t let anyone up and take me home just ‘cause they gave me their number on a damn napkin.”

“But you don’t have a boyfriend do you?”

“No,” I said, feeling somewhat shy at this point.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Like I said, I’m not interested in just anyone.”

“Well, I’m not just anyone.”

“Yeah? Well, how should I know that? All I know about you is you’re form out of town and apparently only drink double bourbons.”

“That’s why I want to take you out.”

“Well, I don’t get off until way too late. I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m in town for awhile. Here’s my number again, in case you lost it,” he said with the hint of a smile, pushing a napkin towards me with nine dark numbers etched on it. I noticed it was a Dallas area code.

He tipped his hat and walked out of the bar. I looked down at the counter to find two crisp bills that more than covered his tab for the evening. I watched him walk away. He seemed so powerful, I felt like I could almost see people deliberately moving out of his way as he left the room.

Once again I slipped the napkin into my pocket, even though I still had the other one at home on my nightstand. Would I actually call him this time? I wasn’t sure. But for all I knew he’d keep showing up at the bar until I did. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Sure, he was damn attractive and even as I thought about him I could feel myself getting slightly wet. But I didn’t know this man at all, I needed to keep my guard up. For now, the bar was busy and I got back to work. I didn’t give him a single thought for the rest of the night.

The next day was Sunday, my day off. I woke up late and ate breakfast by myself in my apartment. I read, lounged around, watched television. Nothing special, really. Periodically I would walk into my bedroom and see the crumpled napkins sitting on the nightstand. I thought about calling him. I don’t know, I was bored I guess, but also intrigued. Besides, it’d been forever since I’d been on a date. All my friends told me I needed to put myself out there, that I should stop working so hard. But I never seemed to meet anyone I was interested in.

I sat down on the couch with the napkin laid out on the coffee table. I started to dial the number on my cellphone, but I could feel my heart racing. I needed a drink. It was three in the afternoon, so not totally out of the question. Just something to calm me down, ease my nerves before I made this big step. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of merlot.

After sitting back down on the couch and taking a few relaxed sips, I finally felt like I was in the right state of mind to take the plunge. I picked up my cellphone and dialed the numbers rapid-fire, not giving myself a chance to second-guess my decision. I heard the phone ringing on the other end. It was then that I realized I didn’t even know this man’s name. And he didn’t know mine, either.

“Hello?” said a rough voice on the other end.

“Hi, it’s, um, Amber,” I said shyly.

“Who?”

“Amber. The bartender at the Rattlesnake Tavern. You gave me your number last night.”

“Hello, Amber. I like that name. I like it a lot, actually.”

“Thank you. Do you have a name yourself?”

“Yes, the name’s Clay Riley.”

“I’ll be honest, Clay. I don’t know why I called you. I don’t have anything much to say right now.”

“Well, what do you say to dinner tonight? I’ve got a meeting coming up at four, but should be out by six-thirty at the latest. I could pick you up sometime around eight or so.”

“I—I don’t know. I think I’d feel more comfortable if I maybe met you there or something.”

“Point taken. Well, where do you want to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anything you pick is fine.”

“Nahh, I’m not from around here. You’d know better than me. I’ve got to run. Listen, I’m gonna give you my secretary’s number. Call her when you’ve made a decision and she’ll make the reservation.”

Clay rattled off the secretary’s number and I wrote it down under the number already on the napkin. We said goodbye and he hung up.

For the next hour or so I searched around on Yelp for places to go for dinner. I knew Houston pretty well, but I figured a businessman like Clay would probably be more interested in something a bit fancier. I finally settled on a steakhouse in north Houston; quality food, but not too pretentious. I dialed up his secretary and asked her to make a reservation for 8:30 PM. That would give a little time to get there early and get settled before he arrived.

After the reservations were all settled, I spent the next few hours getting ready. I was having the most difficult time deciding what to wear. Nothing seemed to fit well. Normally, I’m a pretty confident girl. I get hit on at the bar all the time, but that was usually just by drunk ranch hands. I was comfortable in jeans and a tank top, but I was a bit wary when it came to dressing up. What made things worse was that for some reason I felt obligated to impress Clay. I wanted him to like me.

I tried on dress after dress. What I was really doing was trying to hide my curves, or at least highlight the good while hiding the bad ones, but with each dress I felt increasingly self-conscious. I fell back on my bed, already exhausted with the process. I don’t know what I was so worried about. Clay had asked me out, after all. But there was something about him, intriguing, yet intimidating. Is it crazy to say that I was still kind of scared of him? That this was precisely what was driving me toward him?

I got back up and tried on one last dress, a tight, black number, that against all odds seemed to work. I laughed as relief came over me. At least this aspect of the night was settled. I looked at the clock. It was almost seven. It would take me at least a half hour to get to the restaurant from my apartment. I knew I’d better hop in the shower soon if I planned on getting to the restaurant ahead of Clay.

About forty minutes later I was out the door, keys in hand and a purse dangling over my shoulders. It looked like I’d be putting makeup on in the car. Really, I didn’t need to be in this much of a rush, but my nerves were working overtime; I wanted to get to the restaurant and have a drink at the bar to calm down before Clay got there.