She snorts a laugh, as if we’re not as different as we thought.
I blink a few times and time slows slightly. Microwave off. Crock-Pot on.
In Cateline, I only see beauty. Yet inside me, exists a broken little boy that keeps me divided in two: Connor and Wolf.
Sure, etiquette is important, but for the first time in my life, what if I had something real, lasting? Something that isn’t pretense with a woman, indulgence because I’m a sports star, or a front to get the results I want.
In real life, sometimes I sit up properly and eat my meals with manners. Other times, I slouch on the couch and devour an entire pizza.
I’m a gentleman and a caveman.
Polite and a prankster.
Hard working and out to have fun.
But no one knows that about me because I only show one side. The side I know will achieve my desired outcome or the one my audience prefers—whether one woman or a stadium full of fans.
I never show the world the real Connor Wolfe. Maybe I’m not sure who that is, or—I swallow a sip of water—perhaps it’s because I’m afraid of being left alone in the wilderness.
Even though Cateline browses the dessert options, it’s as if she has an audience with my interior thoughts. I don’t believe in telepathy, but it’s all spoken in her accent. Perhaps getting into my head is a style of learning she didn’t mention.
I shift position and rest my forearms on the table, gripping my hands tightly and trying to move back into the familiar headspace of carefree Wolf.
Keeping myself so divided makes me feel suddenly, achingly tired. It’s like I’ve been running a marathon against myself for my entire life.
And waiting for me at the finish line is the most unexpected sight: she’s slender, has espresso brown hair, and an olive hue to her porcelain skin that suggests freckles will pop if she spends time in the sun. Her dark eyes are watchful, but in them is a depth of knowing I’ve never before let myself look long enough to see.
And her lips...
It’s Cateline.
13
CONNOR
Achill like a sharp icicle picks away at the truth and makes me pull on my hoodie.
“Mr. Wolfe, Mr. Wolfe,” Cateline repeats, drawing me from what feels like a trance. “Are you all like this? If so, we have our work cut out for us.” She muffles a huff of frustration, breaking out of character again.
With newfound clarity, I understand how exhausting it is to go back and forth—boomeranging between personalities. I’ve been doing it for going on a decade. Sometimes I’mon—all fire and bravado, and others I just want to rest. To fire up the Crock-Pot. But I can’t let myself, otherwise, I’ll lose.
Life has taught me to keep up the hustle, just as my father taught me that it isn’t fair. My brother, too.
Once more, Cateline breaks into my thoughts. What do they put in the water here? Truth serum? Then again, she did say she only tells the truth.
“Trust me, consistently adhering to etiquette will give you a competitive edge. You’re capable, strong, and hard-working. Dedicated to your sport. Discipline says a lot about a person. You just need a bit of refinement.”
Was she paying me a backhanded compliment? And if so, why did it make me feel effervescent like the sparkling water at my place setting? More importantly, why do I care?
A voice of warning in a deep Appalachian accent replaces Cateline’s. I can’t let myself care. Pushing past all this introspection, my inner wolf bursts forth and blurts, “I like to think of myself as the total package.” That was an underhanded pitch. I couldn’t resist pointing that out to her, especially because she isn’t interested. At least, that’s her claim. But there was no denying how warm her palm felt against my bicep earlier.
Cateline lifts an eyebrow, which I’ve learned is one of her signature moves to mean she doesn’t agree or is questioning something I say. “The total package? No, something is missing.”
Her accent has an enticing quality to it. Maybe it’s because she speaks the truth, but not one I want to hear. Furthermore, that’s not what I expected to hear. However, I’m not going to give in and ask her what she thinks is missing.
“Mr. Wolfe, the root of the wordmannerscomes from Latin. It meansof the hand. You may think of it this way, manners teach us how tohandle life. We do this with grace and courtesy. To make others feel comfortable and welcome in any given situation. I might add that doesn’t mean we lie or deny the truth and pretend, or are hypocrites. No, the truth always comes first, but because we’ve built trust, it’s delivered and accepted with what you might call elegant ease.”
I adjust my hoodie, the neck suddenly constricting, because if I’ve learned anything in the last hour, it’s that I’m not entirely comfortable in my skin.
