An American Werewolf in Hoboken (4 page)

How long could a guy keep this cloak and dagger shtick up? Did the other men in his pack have to suffer this kind of humiliation while on the hunt for their life mates or was it just the curse that was making everything so hard?

How was it he’d never heard tales involving blow dryers and flea dip while they all sat around the table, playing poker and drinking beer?

Because
their
life mates were all fellow werewolves. JC was human. He’d like to see the explanation for that cosmic fuckup in his aunt’s chicken noodle soup.

A human.
He said the words in his mind again to remind himself just how difficult the elders had made this curse.

He couldn’t think of a single human who wouldn’t curl up in a ball of terror-filled rocking when he shifted. Because it wasn’t pretty.

In fact, it was quite noisy and uncomfortable. So not only did he have to tell her she was his life mate, but that he was a bona fide werewolf.

The good times just kept rollin’ in.

“Flufffyyy! C’mon, baby boy—yum-yum time!”

He cringed. Yum-yums. All this cutesy talk, as if he were an utter imbecile, was demeaning.

She thinks you’re a dog, pal. This is the avenue you chose to take, isn’t it? All covert and sort of
Teen Wolf-
ish. You could’ve just shown up and rented an apartment instead of road trippin’ your way to Hoboken. It was you who said you wanted to be free to roam the woods in shift while you were still single, wasn’t it? Free and easy down the road you go—or some such country song.

You could’ve taken a bus, a train, a car, but nah. You spent your last days as a single man chasing deer and rolling in the mud amongst the pines of New Jersey’s forests.
Your
journey, your choice how you
made
that journey. That you managed to get caught by animal control is on you, brother. It was careless and your drawn-out road trip was self-indulgent.

In fact, you could just come clean right now and tell her the truth about who you are—what you are.

Right. I’m not really Fluffy your dog, pretty lady. I’m really Fluffy-slash-Max, your forever hook-up. I stayed disguised this way because if I knocked on your door, flowers in hand, and demanded you be my werewolf woman so I won’t die, I had the distinct impression you might have hesitations.

So Fluffy he’d stay, until he could call his pack or figure out how to reveal himself without putting JC into a mental institution. He could only imagine what that phone call would be like.

Ring-ring. Hey, pack members, this is Fluffy calling home base. So I found her, or she found me. In the pound. Awesome, right? Oh, and FYI, she adopted me. She thinks I’m a dog.

Max’s ears, finely tuned, listened to the sound of JC’s voice again, high and falsely sweet for his benefit. Dinner call. Shit. More kibble. He’d suffered enough inferior dog food in that shelter to last him a lifetime.

But his stomach growled, churning and twisting. He needed to feed, and if dog food was all there was on the table…

So kibble it was. At least until he could make himself known to her, unleash the man in him. Jesus, he sounded like a commercial for Viagra.

With resignation, Max shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to eat his yum-yums and answer to the most ludicrous name in all of Hoboken.

Fluffy.

Fuck. He was going to have to eat a whole cow raw just to regain a tenth of his manhood.

JC was scooping kibble into a bowl and cooking something that smelled distinctly like Nirvana when he squeezed himself between her and the table.

She grinned at him. A grin he liked a lot. One that was sometimes wide and generous, sometimes soft and flirty. “Hey handsome, you hungry?”

He sniffed her hand in response. Steak. She was making a steak. Instantly, his mouth watered.

This was a test. Yep. This was some sort of cosmic test to see how strong his fortitude was.

She rubbed the top of his head with the heel of her hand. “Dinner for two, isn’t it romantic? Pretty soon we’ll be picking out a china pattern together.” As JC set a place for herself at the small table, Max stood beside his bowl, nosing the rim.

This was god-awful. What had she called it at the pet store? Cheesy lamb something? He didn’t care how many tender, bite-sized nuggets they included, it was inhumane to expect anyone to eat it.

The aroma of the steak under the broiler wafted to his sensitive nose again, breaking him. His stomach rumbled with discontent over his bowlful of kibble, but he nudged a piece or two with his nose because JC looked on, hope written all over her pretty face.

“See? It’s good, isn’t it? The saleslady said it’ll keep you at a healthy weight, and it’s got all the nutrients you need.”

Max wasn’t hearing her words; his eyes were too busy devouring the steak as she pulled it out of the oven and set it on the counter.

Look away, Fluffy. Don’t do it. If you look, you’ll crack. If you crack, you could end up back in the shelter in a ménage of death with Manny and Dan and the gas chamber. Worse, do you want to become one of those stories they tell around the table back at home?

Picture everyone at the annual barbeque, referring to you as Fluffy.

Damn. Of all the things she could have made. A hot dog, one of those Lean Cuisine boil-in-a-bag things his mother sometimes made…anything but a steak.

The doorbell rang just as JC was putting the finishing touches on her plate, and he was forcing himself to look at something other than the juicy meat.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she gave him the same look she’d given him back at the shelter. The “don’t even” look.

She put her adorable hands on her sexy, full hips and warned, “Now hear this, Fluff, don’t go getting all territorial on me here. I know you don’t like people very much, but you’re going to have to suck it up and learn to deal. It’s probably just Viv anyway, and she’s an animal lover. Believe me when I tell you, men have not been beating down the door to my sexuality as of late. So just relax and eat your dinner. Got it?” She scratched his ears and went to answer the door.

Thank God. Now all he had to do was resist the temptation to stand on his hind legs and firmly sink his teeth into that tender steak. Hell, it smelled so good. Maybe if he just smelled it… A little whiff to help satisfy his deep need for real food.

Paws firmly planted on either side of the flowered plate, he levered himself upward and took a whiff.

A T-bone?
Damn. You. Universe.
He let his head fall back, clamping his muzzle tight to keep from howling his grief and instead, whimpered. A T-bone. His favorite cut of steak.

Did you just whine, Fluffy? Have your man-parts left the building?

But it’s a T-bone.

Maybe he could just lick it. She’d never know, and his teeth were clean, after all. She’d scrubbed them until his gums were raw.

One last glance and his decision was made.

Max raked his tongue over the salted surface, drawing it with a slow pass until he thought his eyeballs would roll to the back of his head.

Hell. His instinctive nature to devour it was threatening to overwhelm him. What if he took just one little bite? Just a tiny piece off the edge?

Worst case scenario? She’d scold him and they could go on about their business. She wouldn’t take him back to the shelter. If he was sure of anything, he was sure of that.

Maybe, Fluffster. Or maybe JC will take one of your privileges away. Sucks to be you.

He shook his head. No, no. She was too easy. She wouldn’t do that
.

But what if she takes away those yummy, all-natural doggie treats? Or worse, she won’t buy you that T-shirt she couldn’t find in your size. You know the one. It was powder blue and read, “Mama’s Big Boy.” You don’t want that, do you?

How would he ever go on living?

Mind made up, he decided one bite and no more.

Max clamped down on the meat, holding it with one paw, tearing just a small bite off the edge. Savoring the texture on his tongue, he let it sit there for a moment. One glorious moment while his stomach rejoiced—even though it was a little overcooked for his liking.

As angels sang hallelujah in the distance, he pondered just how long it had been since he last had a decent meal.

You’d better stop now, Fluff-o-nator.

Dropping down off the counter in guilt and shame, he attempted to fend off the temptation to gorge.

The bowl of kibble stared back at him, its chunky bits of goodness and protein taunting. He sniffed the bowl again.

Nope. No damn way.

But you’ll hurt her feelings, you insensitive jerk. She went to so much trouble to pick out just the right variety of food for you.

It was true
.
She’d read all the ingredients on almost every package, scoured the aisles for the proper balance of all the things necessary for a healthy, happy dog.

How could you, Fluffy? Is this the way you want to start a relationship? With deceit and treachery?

He looked down at the bowl again. He couldn’t do it. He would
not
eat dog food and he was
nobody’s
pet.

He grabbed the bowl between his teeth and tipped it over behind the fridge, pushing it to the back with his paw. It was the best compromise for now.

His stomach rumbled noisily again. The steak sat on the plate, mocking him.
Fluffy! Eat me, Fluffy!

Shaking it off, Max licked his chops and swallowed hard.

Must resist. Will resist.

His nose twitched.

T-bone. It’s a T-bone.

Shit. Cannot resist.

Half, that’s all he’d eat. Just half—it was too big for her anyway, he reasoned.

Finding a comfortable spot, he rested his lower body against the cabinets and dug in.
Half, only half
, Max reminded his overactive stomach.

A screech laced with horror invaded his love-affair with the steak. “Fluffy! What are you doing?” JC stomped toward him, her pretty eyes flashing all sorts of angry, her finger waving in the air.

There’d be crate time involved in this crime.

He just knew it.

Chapter Three

Shit
.
Fucked, Fluffster. You’re fucked.

He slid guiltily from the counter, turning fully to identify the
male
who’d entered the kitchen. His ears stood up attentively.

“His name is Fluffy?” the man asked after a guffaw of loud laughter. “You named a dog the size of Bigfoot
Fluffy
?”

Bigfoot is all a lie. Just ask me, the werewolf.

The man, slick and dressed in a black leather jacket and skinny jeans, whistled, rocking back on his heels. “Damn. He’s friggin’ huge, JC.”

Why thank you, intruder.

“Yeah, he’s huge all right, and in a whole lot of trouble. He ate my steak!” She grabbed his muzzle and gave him the “bad dog” eyes, her shoulders sagging. “This is bad, Fluff! No, no, no!”

Not the whole steak
. He shot her his best guilty look before letting his head hang low in shame, only to catch a glimpse of her visitor’s shoes
.

And who the hell was this?
Max’s gaze wandered up to assess the face of the man who’d interrupted a perfectly good meal, sized him up, and in two seconds flat he wanted to chew his way through his the guy’s intestines.

There was an immediate phony vibe about him—cocky and self-assured. He had that beefed-up, polished, spray-tanned look that said he cared more about making his payment to the place he pumped iron in than he did about his girlfriend. His eyes were deeply set under a hawk-like forehead, and a little on the beady side, if you asked Max. Of course, no one would ask him. He was, after all, only the dog.

Sitting back on his haunches, he narrowed his eyes at the interloper, waiting.

Grabbing JC by the arm, the man pulled her close to him. “Listen. Forget the dog. Forget the steak. Let’s go out. I’ll buy you dinner.”

She squirmed free of Muscle Man and rubbed her arms, moving closer to Fluffy. “Not gonna happen, Jess. Now, go get your spray-tan-in-a-can or whatever it is you claim you left here, and go home.”

Jess? The douchenozzle?

Jess raked a hand through his black hair and grated out a sigh. “I wish you’d just listen to reason, JC. Just let me explain what happened.”

JC crossed her arms over her chest, sucking in her cheeks. “Reason? Are you calling me unreasonable for demanding you keep your man parts inside those ridiculous skinny jeans?”

Jess’s chiseled face hardened. “Look, it was a mistake. I was drunk. She was drunk. It was a party—we were
all
drunk.”

He watched as JC narrowed her eyes at Jess, her spine rigid. “So not only did you cheat on me, but you were intoxicated, too. How is this working in your self-control’s favor?”

Jess moved in closer, planting himself in front of her. “It was a stupid mistake. That’s it. A one-shot deal.”

“I told you, I don’t care how many times it was. It’s. Over. Now, get whatever you left behind and go home, Jess.” She pointed toward the small hallway leading to her bedroom.

Max nodded his head in approval.
Way to stand your ground. No cheaters.

“C’mon. Can’t we still be friends?” Jess coaxed, putting a charming grin on his smarmy face. Max hovered closer to JC, his thick body pushing Spray Tan Man out of the way. “Let’s be friends over dinner. It has to beat hanging out with this mutt.”

Mutt? Wanna see my big mutt teeth, asshole?
Once more, Max placed his bulk between them and gave Jess a low warning growl, letting it spill from his throat slow and lazy.

“Go lay down or something, would you?” Jess nudged him hard with a knee to his hindquarters then reached again for JC, making Max bark sharply in warning.

Jess just didn’t seem to get the picture.
I’ll eat your waxed eyebrows right off your fake-tanned face, slick.