“You ain’t just whistling Dixie, baby… hm hm hm hm hm hm…”
Rex jumped and turned, looking for the source of voice. He blushed when he realized it was coming from a convertible parked a few spots down from him at the scenic turn off he’d been told to wait at. And it was coming from a guy who was admiring his bike. Or his backside. Either option was enough to make him want to crawl under a rock and hide tail.
This was silly. For days, he had been following the directions of the sex voiced lady who kept calling him on his private cell phone. He’d skipped out of Texas Hold’em Poker Night and went for a run, as per her orders. He’d showered nightly in his backyard outdoor shower enclosure. Hell, he’d even changed his running route when she suggested it. What had he gotten to show for it? Nothing, that’s what.
This was the very last time, he swore to himself when he took his Harley out for a ride, shirtless, wearing worn-out, holey jeans and boots. Per her orders, of course. He sighed in disgust. He must be out of his mind, running around trying to impress a fem who was clearly spying on him and jerking his tail. Fuck it, time to go home. Or over to Louie’s place. It was poker night again and still early enough he might be able to find an open spot at one of the tables.
He gunned the 1,200cc panhead V-twin on his vintage 1951 Harley-Davidson chopper and grinned as the beast shuddered. He might have been wasting his time with the fem, but it felt good to be out riding around with his best girl. Of course, it probably would have felt better with a shirt on. No one who didn’t ride realized just how much road grit a rider ate. All that flying debris slapping against his bare chest freaking hurt!
He heard his cell phone start ringing as he made a u-turn to head back to Talbot’s Peak. So the bitch was watching, huh? She always called when he deviated from the plan she wanted him to follow. He ignored his phone this time. Talking on the phone while guiding a thousand pounds of mostly vintage bike down a winding mountain road at sixty miles an hour wasn’t safe. Besides, he was so over her, whoever she was.
“Shit! I told you he wasn’t going to keep letting us string him along like this!”
“I know, I know. I just wanted a little more, you know, reassurance that he wouldn’t eat us.”
Babs looked over at her BFF and shrugged. “You wanted me to hook you up with the wolf who took over the personals desk, not hook you up with a nice, safe herbivore, Darla. He was never going to be a safe date.”
“So what do we do now?” Darla whined.
“Nothing,” Babs said as she watched the dust cloud kicked up by said sexy-wolf’s bike as he spun out.
“But I was actually going to, you know, go through with it this time.”
“You missed that boat, sweetie. I don’t think he’s going to let you keep stringing him along.” Which means I can set him up for me, she thought disloyally.
Half the rabbit population of Talbot’s Peak wanted a piece of that wolf. Hell, probably more like eighty percent—the other thirty just wasn’t brave enough to admit it. That was including the male rabbits, of course. Babs really hadn’t seen the point. First of all, he was a wolf. Even beta wolves were not safe bed partners. Second of all, she really wasn’t into blond, Arian god-wanna-bes. They tended to be way too full of themselves. And a blond, Arian-god-wanna-be who was an alpha wolf? No thank you!
But a deal was a deal. She had owed Darla big time and Darla wanted that wolf. So she’d used her little bit of magic to try and make it happen. Two weeks of trying to get the timid Darla to act on the set-ups Babs arranged qualified as fulfilling her end of the agreement. And two weeks of looking at all that tanned, blond muscular goodness was enough to make Bab swat a taste or wolf meat. Now, how to get him set up just right for her shot at Mr. Hot Shot Sex Ad Salesman?