At the outrageous wiggle of his eyebrows, I find myself sinking into laughter. This shifter is impossibly easy to be around. Helps that he brought food. Popping the top off the cooler, Mahon pulls out sandwiches, like he promised, and a pitcher of brown liquid that I’m hoping is sweet tea.
And a full watermelon.
“Do you want me to go grab a knife?” I ask. “To cut that up?”
“That’ll ruin my whole plan!” Mahon scoops up the melon, holding the gourd away from me, as if I want to steal it.
“What plan?” I get the sense I should approach all of Mahon’s ideas with caution.
“To impress you with my brute strength.” Then, the bear stands up, clutching the watermelon with both hands, and brings it down in a swift move across his knee. The rind cracks, and Mahon digs his fingers into the fissure, tearing the melon in two with a mighty roar.
Juice goes everywhere.
Droplets fall like cool rain on my face, and I’m glad my clothes are dark colors. When I seek out Mahon’s gaze, I watch his triumph dim at the sight of the red splatter, including the stain forming on his shirt.
“Oh shit.”
Burying my face in my hands doesn’t do much to smother my snorts, and from the small puffs of air, I know my wings are quivering along with my hilarity.
“I pictured this going a different way.” Mahon’s face holds a ruddy blush when I glance over my webbing at him.
“H-how”—I sputter on my words as more giggles spill out—“did y-you see it going?”
“Well, I thought you might compliment my muscles. Maybe gasp. Clutch your pearls.” He offers a sheepish grin when I choke on a laugh. “I do this all the time as a bear. But I guess I don’t worry about getting dirty. I just jump in the lake to wash my fur.” With careful movements, Mahon sets the two watermelon halves on the top of the cooler before grimacing down at his shirt.
“You can take it off.” The words pop out of my mouth without warning. Or maybe my vulva learned how to speak because the horny parts of me are suddenly rabid to see the shifter shirtless.
Or naked.
The image of his muscular, pale ass is burned into my memory.
If I thought Mahon would be weirded out by my offer, I obviously need to stop expecting him to act like everyone else. The bear doesn’t hesitate, shucking off his T-shirt and tossing the material to the side like the covering offends him. I try not to stare, instead picking up one of the sandwiches and putting all my concentration into peeling off the brown paper wrapper. A smile tugs at my mouth when I realize he brought turkey and avocado—my usual.
“So, Satine, tell me about yourself.” Mahon affects an almost-formal tone while simultaneously pouring me a cup of the brown liquid. “How do you fill your days in that big ole house of yours?”
Accepting the cup, I do a quick sniff check and immediately relax. Tea, like I thought. “Work takes up a lot of time.” I sip and try not to pucker my lips at the wild amount of sugar. Almostlike drinking straight from a bottle of honey. “I try sticking to an eight-to-five schedule, but then the end of the day rolls around, and I’m still working on projects. Or putting out digital fires. Sometimes, I’m going ten-plus hours a day. Still, I like it. A little bit of art, a little bit of management, and a whole lot of problem solving.”
Mahon keeps his eyes on me as I talk, and then he drops his focus to my mouth when I bite into my sandwich. If I had hair follicles, no doubt his attention would cover me in goose bumps. As it is, my nipples pebble against my flimsy top.
“Who are you working your marketing magic for? Any places I might know?” The shifter snaps off a smaller corner of the mutilated watermelon and offers the dripping fruit to me.
“Our biggest client owns a string of gyms on the West Coast. Not sure you’d know them. But I’ve done a few smaller projects for businesses in Folk Haven. Just helping with setting up their social media pages and working out some style guides. That kind of thing. That’s how I got to know Heath. Of course, Sonya was the one to hire me.” I refer to the siren who co-owns Coffee & Claws. “But Heath is the one I work with mainly. Your cousin has gotten pretty skilled at photographing his pastries. That’s prime digital marketing content.”
A new blush rises on the tops of Mahon’s cheeks, the red easy to see on his alabaster skin. His eyes shift to the side. “Guess he wasn’t lying,” the bear mutters almost too low for me to hear.
“Lying about what?”
I watch the big man fidget, and my heart melts at his adorable evasiveness.
Mahon scratches the back of his neck and then sighs out his explanation, apparently unable to be even the slightest bit deceptive. “It’s only … well, a couple weeks ago, I went in the café’s kitchen. Heath had his phone waist height.” The shifter gestures toward the crotch of his pants, and I struggle againstthe urge to stare in that direction. “I saw the flash go off, and I figured he was … taking a picture of his branch and berries.”
Oh gods. I weld my jaw shut, worried that any noise might interrupt what promises to be an amazing story.
“So, I told him, ‘I’m all for admiring the abundance The Clawed One gave you, but I suspect a place of business might not be the best environment for the photo shoot.’ You know?” He scratches his beard, appearing almost thoughtful. “My guess is, most people would prefer a few layers of fabric between their pastries and a dong.”
A high-pitched giggle sneaks out before I can stop it. Then, a rolling wave of them follows.
And Mahon keeps going, face flaming and mouth grinning, sharing his embarrassment with no further hesitation. “So, Heath said ‘I was just taking a picture of my croissant.’ And I said, ‘I don’t know why you’d call it a croissant unless there’s a curve in it.’ But then I thought that might make him feel bad, so I told him ‘It’s fine if your dick is a little curvy; I’m sure your future mate will love it, no matter what.’ ”
