Page 1

The Bigfoot’s Double: Kit

The guy at the end of the bar had been nursing the same cranberry vodka for forty minutes and working up the nerve to say something clever to me. And I already knew it was going to be bad.

I’d developed an instinct for it. I’d been behind a bar since I graduated high school and I could clock a doomed pickup line from a mile away. He kept catching my eye, adjusting his collar, and rehearsing under his breath like he was about to go onstage in front of ten thousand people. I almost felt sorry for him. But honestly? I was kind of enjoying watching him struggle.

Finally he waved me down, and I gave him my full attention, and watched him light up as I leaned against the bar, letting my crop top ride high on my back.

“So,” he said, “what’s a guy gotta do to get your number?”

“Order something that isn’t the cheapest thing on the menu,” I replied, and popped the cap off a beer for the woman two seats down before he’d finished processing it.

A couple of people laughed. He turned a nice shade of pink and went back to his phone. I felt a little bad, but only a little. Mostly I felt warmth coursing through my body, a sort of self-satisfaction. I always felt that way when I made a guy look like a fool. It’s not that I'm trying to be mean. People call me mean and it’s just lazy. Mean would be if I said it to hurt him. I said it because I was hoping he’d have something to say back. I wanted a guy that could keep up with me. And because if I gave every hopeful guy in this city my number, I’d never have a night to myself again. Boundaries, right?

Reggie, the owner of the bar, drifted past with a rack of clean glasses and gave me the look. “Be nice to the paying customers, Kit.”

“I am nice. I’m the reason half of them are here.” I leaned back, my pants riding low enough to show off my jockstrap and my crop top barely covering my nipples. “You know how much money I make you with this body? Guys come from all over to get a piece of this, and you get their money.”

Reggie snorted and kept walking, which was as close to a concession as I was ever going to get out of him. That was when the door opened and let in a gust of cold October air, and with it, a guy who made the whole bar feel smaller.

He wasn’t even trying, but every head turned anyway. He was big. Not like gym-big, but built he’d never needed a gym to begin with. He had wide shoulders that filled out his jacket, dark fur covering his entire body, and a notch out of one tall pointed ear. He moved through the crowd easily, the people parting for him without a second thought.

He sat at the far end of the bar and I forced myself to finish pouring the woman’s beer before I wandered down there. I didn’t want to look too eager. I wanted him to work for it.

“What can I get you?” I asked, and I heard my own voice come out a little lower than usual in an attempt to sound just a little more sultry.

He looked up at me and his eyes were amber gold. They were warm and strange, catching the bar lights like they had their own source of glow. My stomach did a slow, lazy flip. But then again, werewolves had that effect on me quite often.

“Whatever’s most expensive,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

I blinked. Then I laughed before I could stop it. “You heard that?”

“Nope. But it’s not the first time I’ve been here.” His mouth curled, not quite a smile, something sharper and more interesting than a smile. “And you have a reputation.”

“Well that’s good to know.” I crossed my arms on the bar and leaned in, close enough to catch the scent of him. It was some expensive cologne that smelled of cedar and leather. But underneath that was something warmer, muskier, that made the hair on my arms stand up for no reason at all. “So what’ll it be, big spender?”

“Surprise me.”

“Dangerous thing to say to a bartender.”

“I like dangerous.” He said it flat, no flirt in his voice at all, which somehow made it flirtier than anything else anyone had said to me all week.

I turned away to mix something obnoxiously priced with top-shelf everything, mostly just to make him pay for the bit, and I could feel him watching me the whole time. Not in the sleazy up-and-down way I was used to. More like he was cataloguing me. Filing me away somewhere. It should have felt creepy. Instead, it felt… good.

I set the drink in front of him. “Twenty-two dollars. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He didn’t even blink at the price. Just pulled out a card, and while he did, I caught sight of his hands. They were big too, thick-fingered, and tipped in dark claws. Well, all except his index finger which was blunted. I filed that away for later too.

“Name’s Brandon,” he said, sliding the card across.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were gonna.”

“I was not.”

“You were thinking about it.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, gold catching the light again, and damn it, he wasn’t wrong.

“Kit,” I said, because there wasn’t a point pretending otherwise.