“Your people aren’t allowed here,” the guy said.
“Jake, stop,” the woman said softly, hugging his arm. “Let’s just go.”
Jake looked from Lyric to his lady, and back to Lyric. He parted his lips to say more, but Lyric darted inside. A chill followed her, and she nearly shivered with it.
She didn’t like being around humans in mass. Not without backup.
And here she stood in the entrance of this bar, for the second week in a row, looking for an escape from the shit-show of her life.
She stretched her neck and looked down the hallway to see someone push into the back room. She could hear the murmur of excitement coming from back there. Bingo was definitely on.
A trio of ladies in their sixties bustled through the door and past her. They were dressed in bright green and pink shirts, and one of them wore a neon purple baseball cap.
Lyric smiled for possibly the first time in a week.
She made her way to the bar and ordered herself one marionberry cider, poured it into the frosty glass, paid the bartender, tipped him three dollars, and then meandered to the hallway and pushed the door to the bingo room gently open.
She spotted him right away. How could she not? Vic was sitting at the front table with two other enormous werewolves, all with artificial dark brown eyes that said Vic had shared his contact lenses with his friends.
They were three of the best-looking men she’d ever encountered in her entire life.
Vic’s nostrils flared and he looked right up at her. A slow smile stretched his face, and without looking at it, he pulled out the empty chair beside him.
For me?she mouthed, gesturing to herself.
He nodded, then lowered his gaze to her body. It was a quick and hungry up-and-down, and then he pointed a finger up.Wait. He stood and said something to the other two werewolves and made his way to the back where she stood.
She couldn’t help her laugh. He was dressed in a bright pink T-shirt and neon yellow ninety’s-style wind pants, and a neon blue fanny pack.
“What on earth are you wearing?”
“Ummm, it’s neon night at the ol’ bingo bar, woman. Catch up.” He guided her gently back out the door and into the hallway.
“Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly at being touched.
“Bathroom,” he rumbled, grabbing her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Staring at their connected hands as he led her at a fast pace to the restrooms in the back of the bar, she said, “But I don’t have to use the restroom.”
He pulled her right into the men’s room. Gross. “Get out,” he uttered to a guy in there washing his hands.
The guy looked up with a rude look like he was going to say something, but at whatever he saw on Vic’s face, he clamped his mouth shut and bee-lined for the door.
Once it was closed, Vic tugged at the hem of her shirt.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Swapping shirts.”
“Swapping…Vic, you won’t fit into my shirt.”
“I can try. Fine, you take it off. I won’t look.”
He turned around and peeled his hot pink T-shirt over his head, exposing the crisscrosses of scars that said he was a werewolf who knew war. Geez. He’d been hurt before. Hurt bad.
His skin was tan, and smooth other than the raised red scars, and his muscles rippled under his thin skin. She was staring.
He handed her the shirt back. “I’m not looking.”
