On a side note, this scene gave me great fits of giggles to write. It may or may not get tweaked a bit before the final release. We'll have to see.
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I couldn’t blame people for getting out of his way. Mooney McMahon is a force of nature in his snug, low slung jeans and skin tight shirt. He had a beautiful body and every ripple of muscle showed as he stalked toward me. I tried to tamp down on the little quiver of lust starting up in my bully but it didn’t work. His body language was advertising just how good he’d be in bed and my inner goddess was listening loud and clear.
When it became clear that he was headed right for me—after I made it clear where I was—the whispering began. That scrawny little money is hooking up with a McMahon? What would a wolf like that see in a freak like her? I see the McMahon Beta is still acting the fool and running around with food. I ignored it as best as I could. I’ve always been an odd duck, so to speak. Tolerated for the most part but never quite accepted. My ego could handle a little more backlash. The side remarks also helped to cool my libido down, so that was good.
I started to slide over to make room for him since he wasn’t heading for the empty side and I had staked claim to one of the few booths that wasn’t horse shoe shaped, but Mooney apparently had other thoughts. He snagged my wrist and pulled me out of the booth before slipping into my spot and dragging me onto his lap. It all happened so fast that I barely even saw it happen despite being the person he had manhandled!
“Settle down, babe,” he murmured in my ear as he stretched one long leg out along the back of the bench and tucked me into the crock of his arm like I was a giant kewpie doll. “Folks gonna get curious if we sit across from each other and whisper through the performance. Nobody’s gonna say anything about us whispering if you’re sitting on my lap. Thanks for the brew, by the way,” he said as he snagged the bottle of MGD off the table. “How did you know this was my favorite.”
Score! I thought happily. I reminded myself not to get too comfy. This was all for show. I wasn’t really his girl, even if I wanted to be in a teeny little corner of my mind. I leaned over and grabbed my own drink before shrugging.
“I made an educated guess. You are a normal, All American kind of guy who drinks his coffee black, eats his steak rare, and loves football. I decided that meant you probably like domestic beer and most guys who like domestic, like either MGD or Coors.”
“Good guess, then, ‘cause I hate that Rocky Mountain horse piss.”
I choked on the swallow of hard sider I hadn’t yet swallowed. “Rocky Mountain horse piss?” I asked incredulously. He just grin at me and took another deep pull on his beer, almost emptying it. He raised his bottle and shook it at a passing waitress who ogled him, me, and then him and me, before shooting him a startled smile and scurrying off to get Mooney his next beer.
“Damn, that went down smooth!” he said as he finished draining the bottle and set it on the table. “So, were you able find anything of interest while I played tag with Ghan’s boys?”
“Yeppers,” I replied somewhat tensely. “Not the book, but something.”
“What kind of something?” he asked, sounding concerned. He smiled up at the waitress when she set two more bottles of MGD on the table in front of him. I was pleasantly surprised when she set a bottle of the hard cider I’d been drinking down in front of me. I smiled my thanks to her, making a mental note to leave a nice tip for her. Everyone else here, from the patrons to the staff, had been kind of stand-offish to me if not outright rude. I knew this turnabout was because I was now sitting with—or rather on—a wolf from a well-known pack, but still. She also didn’t try to make googly eyes at Mooney. Just then, some music started and the curtain draping the stage began undulating. I glanced up before answering and promptly forgot all about what we had been talking about.
For the next five minutes, I sat transfixed as Gypsy Rose danced almost nude with the biggest python I had ever seen. I say ‘danced’ because there really isn’t a word in the English language that could define the artistry of the performance. It seemed almost a crime to even try to label it. It was kind of like belly dancing in that both she and the snack undulated around the stage. But it was more. She was employing true magic as she moved. Every flutter of her abdomen, every sway of her hips cause energy to swirl around her like dust dancing on a barely-there breeze before drifting off to float amongst her enthralled audience. It was the most incredible thing I have ever seen.
And then the snake turned into Lamar, the Gossip Queen’s right hand snake.
And he had no dangly bits.
Wow, what a mood breaker. Oh, holy crap, that was something I really could have done without ever seeing. A deep, sarcastic chuckle broke me out of my reverie. I looked away to find none other than Dante Hancock himself standing in front of our booth. I glanced down at the very large alpha wolf almost reflexively. Yep, he had a bulge down there so I didn’t have to worry about Moon Dog looking like a Ken doll beneath the sheets. The sarcastic chuckle turned to dark mirth and I blushed, realizing too late that Dante had caught me scoping his package.
I glanced up at Mooney to get his take on this only to realize he had tightened the arm he had draped around my shoulders in a display of possessiveness. He wasn’t glaring at Dante, exactly but he didn’t look entirely friendly, either. Damn, I hadn’t meant to offend Mooney. To be strictly honest, Dante Hancock with all his sleek muscles and long dark hair didn’t really appeal to me. It had been honest curiosity brought on by the shock of seeing someone I knew but didn’t like in the nude, only to find out that he had not visible ‘he’ parts.
“If your lady is finished with the show, your presence has been requested in the main conference room,” Dante said with an evil smirk. Mooney took the time to finish the last of his current beer—the third one since he sat down—before answering.
“I’m sure she’d done looking around to see if everyone who works here is a swing dick,” he said with his patented smarmy smile. “’course, she already knows what kind or hardware I’m packing, so no harm, no foul.”
I cringe at the blatant insult but Dante let it slide right off. He did step back so that I didn’t have to come face to face with his, er, hardware when I scooted out of the booth. Mooney didn’t seem to rush to get out but he wasted no time drawing up beside me and draping his arm over my shoulder again, either. He picked up my untouched second drink and smiled.
“Lead on, Kimosabe.”