“For not getting your ass killed. Try and keep that theme going for me, will ya?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Brendon bent over his food again and didn’t let his sister see him smile. She cared. She cared more than she ever wanted to. About him and Mitch.
Chapter Four
Her plan had been a simple one. Spend the evening with her fellow She-wolves. Enjoy a beer or two and relax. But that fifth shot of tequila…that fifth shot of tequila did her in.
She should have known better. Wolves couldn’t handle their liquor. You could call it their kryptonite. If Ronnie had been lucky, she would have spent the whole night throwing up in some fancy club’s bathroom. Luck, however, didn’t seem to be on her side these days. Because if she had any luck she’d be unable to speak.
“I mean, that mane of hair. I could spend hours letting him rub that mane all over my body.”
The three remaining She-wolves and Sissy nodded their heads. They’d lost the other five earlier in the evening when they wandered off to another club or back to the hotel.
“The man is gorgeous, there’s no doubt about that.” Sissy Mae poured Ronnie another shot of tequila. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t make that move, darlin’. You had that big house all to yourself and a naked man desperate to get into your pants.”
“A desperate man sick as a dog. I’m sorry but I don’t think I could have handled that coyote ugly morning when he realized he’d fucked a wolf.”
“What makes you think he’d give a shit? A male is a male, sweetie.” Marty, a mated She-wolf about twenty years their senior, sipped her Russian vodka. “Trust me when I say wolf, lion, cheetah, jackal, or any of the other breeds don’t give a shit when a pussy is wet and willing.”
The females looked at Marty and she casually shrugged her shoulders. “What?”
Supposedly, Marty came with Bobby Ray only to help out, but Ronnie had the feeling Marty would stay. Her mate would go wherever she went, and she’d never gotten along too well with the Smith She-wolves her own age. Not surprising once Marty’s past came out. She’d lived on the wild side for years, mowing through most of the Smith Pack males before settling down with her one true love and having a few pups. She never discussed her past in detail, but a few tidbits she’d dropped here and there over the last few months they’d all been hanging together convinced Ronnie and Sissy that the woman hadn’t merely lived on the wild side, but instead owned prime real estate there.
Still, it gave Ronnie hope she could put her own wild times behind her and settle down with a mate who didn’t irritate her too much and some pups.
“Marty’s right, darlin’,” Sissy insisted. “You’re real pretty. Got good strong thighs. And you’ve got oral skills most men would kill for.”
Now everyone turned and looked at Sissy Mae.
“That’s lovely, Sissy,” Marty sighed out.
“I was only complimenting her.”
“Compliments like that create hookers.”
Ronnie waved her hands, accidentally slapping herself in the face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m no longer looking for the occasional sleeping arrangement. I’m looking for…for…”
“For what?” Sissy asked, and she looked like she really didn’t want to know.
“Love?” Gemma, Sissy’s distant Smith cousin, asked with a sad amount of hope on her pretty face.
Ronnie and Sissy snorted. “Love?” Ronnie couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. That word more foreign to her than Sanskrit. “No. I’d rather have rabies than be in love.”
“Why?”
“Because at least you can get over rabies with some shots.”
Marty laughed and shook her head. She seemed to be the only one who didn’t appear remotely drunk and she’d polished off an entire bottle of vodka by herself. “Trust me, pups, one day you’ll find that male who makes you love him, care for him, and want to stab him in the face all at the same time. And your lives will never be the same.”
Ronnie and Sissy both shuddered in horror.
“We’re so drunk,” Gemma observed for no apparent reason.
“We’re not drunk,” Sissy corrected. “We’re blasted off our asses.”
Taking her shot of tequila in one gulp before slamming the glass on the table, Ronnie offered, “I don’t want my life to pass me by.”
Filling Ronnie’s glass again, Sissy promised, “It won’t.”
“It’s already started. It’s whizzing by like a freight train.”
“So? We’ve had some great times, darlin’,” Sissy reminded her.
“We have. But I’m sorry if I don’t still wanna be running wild with you when I’m fifty. Life cannot be a series of great fucks followed by barroom brawls.”
Gemma scratched her head. “And why is that?”
“When you get past your twenty-fifth birthday, Perky Tits, you can ask me that again.”
Looking down at her chest, Gemma grinned. “Well I’ll be…they are perky!”
Sissy grabbed Ronnie’s arm before she could launch herself at the adorable little She-wolf.
“Okay.” Sissy kept a good grip on Ronnie while slamming back another shot of tequila. “Perhaps we should think about heading back to the hotel.”
“Why?” Gemma whined.
In answer, Daria, Ronnie’s second cousin twice removed, opened her mouth to say something, and then her head slammed right into the table when she passed out.
“Yup,” Marty agreed. “Time to go.”
They got two cabs back to the hotel and either underpaid the drivers by ten dollars or overpaid them by a thousand. Unfortunately, they weren’t really sure which, but the cabbies seemed happy and Marty kept snickering.
Arms around each other, they stumbled back into the Kingston Arms. A fancy, shifter-owned-and-operated establishment. Unlike some resort towns their kind owned, here the Pack couldn’t exactly go running around in their animal form since full-humans stayed at the hotel, too. They had no way to keep them out. But shifters received the best of everything at a very low rate.
“Oooh. Bar.” Sissy Mae stumbled into the fancy hotel bar, but Ronnie and Marty caught up to her.
“Oh no you don’t. Upstairs with you,” Marty chastised. “She is so going to regret this when she wakes up tomorrow.”
“I’m relatively certain we all will.” Together they stumbled to the elevators, and as they waited, Ronnie glanced back and realized Marty was studying a large glass case by one of the bars. Ronnie had barely noticed it the many times she’d passed by it. It looked like a typical trophy case with important hotel awards or whatever. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“I’m reading this article on the owners of this hotel.”
“Fascinating.” Ronnie looked at Sissy and they both rolled their eyes.
“Oh it is,” Marty enthused. “Here. Let me read you a bit…”
“Please don’t,” Sissy muttered in Ronnie’s ear.
Clearing her throat, Marty began reading, ‘“The Kingston Hotel in downtown New York was only a few days from the wrecking ball when entrepreneurs Alden, Brendon, and Marissa Shaw purchased the old hotel and turned it around. Since then the still family-owned Kingston Arms Hotels have become exclusive havens for the very wealthy, with establishments located around the world. The elder Shaw makes his home at all of the locations from time to time.’” Taking a deep breath and not even bothering to hide her smile or laughter, Marty finished with, “‘Only son Brendon still lives in Kingston Arms New York.’”
Ronnie stared at the older woman. “No. Way.”
“Sorry, darlin’. Looks like you’ll be seeing him again whether you want to or not.”