He held up his hands in self-defense. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But if he doesn’t turn out to be the guy you think he is and you need to vent, call me, okay? You know I’m always here for you.”
She swung her purse onto her shoulder. “I know.” There was another clang, louder this time. Crap, it sounded like World War III was about to break out in the warehouse. “Go and fix whatever trouble is going on back there. I have to go home and get cleaned up for the club anyway.”
Ernesto walked her to the door. “Before I forget. Did you catch the names of those guys who tried to attack you?”
“Why?” She frowned. “You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?”
He shook his head. “No. Like you’re always reminding me, I’m not in that world anymore. But I still know people. If I know who it was, maybe I can talk to someone and try to get them to leave you alone.”
Selena felt that funny sensation in her stomach again but ignored it. “The only name I know is the one in charge—Aaron. Have you ever heard of him?”
Ernesto thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No. But there’s no reason I should. Still, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Nothing stupid, right?”
He grinned as he opened the door for her. “Coming from you, that’s funny. Go have a good time tonight, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” she quipped.
He laughed. “You’re right. Don’t do anything I would do, either. In fact, don’t do anything at all.”
Selena made a show of rolling her eyes as she left. Outside, her nose tingled from the chemical stench rolling out from the warehouse and filling the air. She got in the car and quickly closed the door so it wouldn’t follow her. Whatever Ernesto’s new business venture was, she hoped it was worth it, because it stunk like a chemical factory.
Chapter 10
“Okay, I’m confused,” Zane said, eyes fixed on the small TV positioned on the wall behind the bar. “The lean, athletic guys can move as much as they want, but the big guys have to remain bent over with their hands on the ground without moving at all before the one in the middle gives the quarterback the ball, right?”
Brooks glanced up at the TV. The club was too loud to hear anything the analyst on ESPN was saying—even for a werewolf—so all they could do was sit there and watch the highlights of the weekend’s college football games. At that moment, the station was showing clips of the problems the Texas A&M Aggies were having with penalties, especially false starts.
He’d been trying to explain American football to Zane for years, but it was hopeless. Zane was overwhelmed by the number of rules, not to mention the endless penalties. Brooks supposed he couldn’t complain. Zane had been trying to teach him soccer for years, and Brooks didn’t understand a lick of it.
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Brooks said. “The receivers, tight ends, and running backs are allowed to move before the center hikes the ball, but only one of them can do it at a time. Once everyone is set, they all have to remain that way for about a second prior to snapping the ball. The offensive linemen stand there motionless the entire time so they don’t give anything away.”
Zane looked at him. “Do you realize how stupid that sounds? Grown adults have to freeze like they’re doing the mannequin challenge instead of playing football?”
Brooks chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess it does seem kind of silly. Like I said, it’s a complicated game.”
“That’s one word for it,” Zane muttered. “Not the one I’d use, but you go ahead if it works for you.”
Brooks laughed again, taking a swig of beer as he glanced across the main dance floor to the club’s other bar, which ran the length of the opposite wall. He and Zane had gotten there early for his date with Selena and had been surprised to find it packed. That was surprising, since it was the middle of the week. An immense place, the interior was all black, right down to the Christmas decorations, but it was lit with purple, blue, and green lights that gave everything an almost luminescent quality.
He’d never been there before, since goth wasn’t his thing. But apparently, they also held themed nights at the club, because the stuff coming out of the DJ’s sound system seemed more like ’80s pop than goth. Then again, he’d been a toddler for a good portion of the ’80s, so he could be completely wrong about that.
The bartender came over with two more beers, even though neither he nor Zane had ordered them.
“Courtesy of the two ladies at the other end of the bar,” the man said, gesturing with his head in that direction.
Brooks glanced over to see two women seated there. Like a good portion of the people in the club, they were dressed in goth clothes, but instead of the traditional jet-black hair he’d always associated with goth, one had bright-blue hair, while the other had purple streaks. They held up their glasses of red wine in a toast.
Zane tipped his beer toward them in thanks.
“You going to head over there and thank them in person?” Brooks asked.
“Maybe later,” Zane said, setting his beer down on the bar.
That’s when Brooks realized he’d barely touched the one he’d ordered when they’d first gotten there. Considering they had work early tomorrow, not drinking might make sense, but since it was essentially impossible for werewolves to get drunk, not drinking usually meant something else.
“You okay?” he asked, pointing at the bottle.
