Chapter 2

Fred filled order after order of cutesy named Valentine’s Day drinks. She would never admit it, but she wished, for just one moment, that she was one of the girls on the receiving end of one of these Shotz-Thru-the-Heart or Kiss-Me-Nows. Those were the days, when she could just have some fun. Not worry about what came next. Back when she still believed in true love and happily-ever-afters.

Not anymore. She was still reeling from her latest relationship disaster. Her live-in boyfriend, Josh, literally skipped out on her. No note, no phone call, not even a text. He was just gone. Poof. Like magic. Only it wasn’t magic. It was a con. One she should have seen coming. You should have known better, Fred.

Not only did he disappear without a trace, but he also stole every cent she’d saved the last few years. He emptied their joint bank account, packed up, and took off. He even took her new memory foam pillows. The jerk.

Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, her new landlord paid her a visit. And not a friendly one. Turns out her rat bastard of an ex hadn’t paid their rent in three months. It was a good thing the full moon was two weeks away, otherwise her Wolf would’ve hunted down Josh and tore him to shreds. She still might.

This would have never happened if she hadn’t been so desperate for a normal life. She let herself be persuaded by his not-so-subtle hints that he move-in with her. He was a smooth talker, she’d give him that. But it was all a lie.

“Hey baby, my lease is up and I’m always at your place anyway, why don’t I move in? I love waking up to you. It’ll be great. Making love every night and we could even ride into town to work together.”

Except he never did. While she worked two jobs, he had none. He convinced her it was temporary. When weeks turned into months, he told her not to worry, he would take care of the house while he looked for a job.

He’d shop, cook, clean, do the laundry. So, it made sense to open a new checking account with him. She could transfer her paychecks and he’d sort out everything. He’d pay the rent and the bills. She wouldn’t have to worry about it.

Yeah. Right. She should have gotten the hint that everything wasn’t hunky-dory when she found herself doing laundry at two o’clock in the morning most nights while he was nowhere to be seen. Ugh, Fred you are so dumb.

If Mr. Ingles, her former landlord, was still alive he would have understood why she was late with the rent. As it was, her late landlord’s distant nephew inherited the property and took control immediately. He wasn’t interested in listening to anything she had to say. He wanted her back rent and he wanted her out. Period.

Of course, Fred figured, his end goal was to sell the old building for a mint. It was, after all, prime beach-front property. Her time working in a realtor’s office taught her the land alone was worth millions.

The home itself had character and style, though it was a little weather worn. The paint was peeling, and the shutters were broken in places. The roof needed repairs if not replacing, and some of the windows were rusted shut from the salt in the air.

It would take a fortune to get the building back in shape. But what she wouldn’t give to see it the way it looked back in its hay day. Mr. Ingles had framed pictures of the place back in the early sixties all over his section of the house. It was glorious. Fred wished she could afford it. The house was perfect.

She loved waking up to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. The smells of the beach and the sea tantalized her enhanced senses. It was beautiful. Even in winter. There was nothing quite like snow falling on the ocean. She begged her new landlord, Mr. Kaepernick, to reconsider, but his answer was a big, fat, resounding, “No.”

“Pack up and get out or I’ll have the Sheriff’s department pay you a visit. And you better pay me what you owe before you go moving any furniture.”

To think she sent the creep a condolence basket when his uncle passed. She even baked the cookies herself. And she hated to cook. Now, he was going to kick her out without a leg to stand on and hardly any warning. And he was threatening to go to the cops. Just great.

“I’m so going to kill Josh.” she kept her voice low, but her boss still heard her. She felt him move towards her and knew she was in for a mild scolding. Ugh. Werewolves.

“Stop talking to yourself, Fred, and get the lead out. The bar is crowded with thirsty customers. Kill Josh on your own time,” Mike stalked towards her and grabbed a case of cold longnecks from the top of the pile she had forgotten about behind her.

He slammed it down on the counter with just enough force to startle her out of her stupor. So dramatic. She shook her head as he pushed bottle after bottle of craft IPAs, Pale Ales, and Porters into the ice filled stainless-steel coolers behind the bar. Freezing cold water dripped over the sides as he shoved in the beer. Fred used a rag to dry them off.

The only problem with the newest additions to The Thirsty Dog was keeping them stocked. She liked the look of the trendy open-top coolers. It certainly made her job easier. Bending down constantly to figure out which beer they had, and which bottles were cold was time consuming. Especially for impatient customers. Like the ones there tonight. Holidays were always crowded at The Thirsty Dog.

The coolers displayed the beer bottles, kept them cold, and within easy reach. Tonight, it was her job to keep them filled and, so far, she failed miserably. She let the coolers go down to empty not once, but twice. Yikes. Get your head on straight, girl.

“Sorry, boss, I was making Bite-Bombs for that group over there. Mason’s newest flavor, Cinnamon Fire, is his best yet.”

“That it is,” Mike looked at the crowd. She was glad to see him here tonight. Her boss lost his mate and their baby three years ago. Childbirth was difficult for Wolves, and in some cases fatal. Fred bit her lip. He was a good guy and she wished him all the happiness in the world. As if he felt her thoughts, he nodded his head in her direction and continued to watch the bar.

The small acknowledgement felt right. They weren’t exactly close. Mike knew where to draw the line between employer and employee, but their Pack bonds sometimes allowed feelings and flashes of memories to come through.

Jordan, the other bartender on duty, shot her a thumbs-up. He was probably listening in too. He was a member of the Pack too, so he had no trouble hearing her conversation with Mike even as he took orders.

Jordan was cute as hell, with thick, dark hair and piercing brown eyes. He was lean and muscular with long legs and a fantastic build, but he was a little too cocky. Bottom line, guys that were conceited were not to Fred’s tastes.

Jordan flirted shamelessly with anyone of the opposite sex who was within the vicinity. As if he read her mind, he turned around and gave her an exaggerated wink and blew her a kiss before setting up a round of tequila shots.

Fred laughed and shook her head. Dope. She stopped dating Wolves when she was around twenty. She wanted to improve her odds at finding true love and figured she’d never get anywhere with any of her kind. They were such dogs anyway. Pun intended. Not that dating normals turned out to be so great either.

Maybe she should try dating women? She looked back at Jordan and took a sec to admire his firm backside. Uh uh. His ass was perfectly outlined in the tight black jeans he wore as part of his uniform. Nope, no way, she shook her head and sighed.

It was guys for her. All the way. Damn it. But cute ass or not, Jordan didn’t really do anything for her. They were buddies, Packmates, co-workers and nothing more. The first night he worked there he hit on her, but she made it clear she was only interested in being friends with Pack. He understood and backed off immediately.

That was one thing she loved about her Pack, the Macconwood Pack. Respect and loyalty above all else. That was the unspoken motto. Right now, she just wished she got that little tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach when she looked at Jordan’s ass or anyone for that matter.

Was Josh right about her? Did she attract misery and loneliness? Was she dried up on the inside? Ugh, maybe she was broken or something?

She read an article online about women whose libido diminished after they reached their late twenties. Maybe it was true? Or maybe she just wasn’t good at sex? Aaahh. Maybe she just wasn’t sexy? Or attractive to the opposite sex? OMG. Josh hadn’t touched her in weeks before he left town.

Fred looked down at herself in the barely there uniform and shook her head. She was not conceited herself, but she knew damn well, she had all the right parts, and they weren’t half bad. But something killed whatever attraction Josh had felt for her in the beginning.

She closed her eyes for a second and admitted to herself that, yes, they had other problems. He thought she was lying when she stayed out all night during the full moon. And she knew he was lying when he said he was trying to find a job.

In one particularly memorable fight, he accused her of cheating on him with her boss. Yeah, like she and Mike were getting busy in between taking orders at the bar. As if.

She could not believe she ever considered revealing her true nature to him. After one difficult night of lying there next to him, she decided to tell him the truth. It was after another failed attempt at making love. She was tired from working two jobs, it was in-between moons, and she was feeling alone and scared.

She still couldn’t believe she almost blurted out her secret. Fred wondered if it might bring them closer together. Especially after he told her he just couldn’t touch her not knowing where she spent her nights. At the very least, she thought if she told him, maybe he’d shut up about her supposed cheating.

Thank goodness, she had the foresight to keep her mouth shut. Too bad she didn’t have enough intuition to keep her bank account and credit card information to herself as well. Idiot.

“Hey, can I get a beer, here?” Fred looked up with a plastic smile and filled the order.

Enough, girl, forget Josh and get your head on straight. Maybe she should just have some straight-up-dirty-against-the-bathroom-wall sex with a stranger. Just to wash the taste of betrayal out of her mouth. She could call it an experiment. A Valentine’s Day Sexperiment.

OMG. That was truly cringe-worthy. Possibly the worst thing she had ever thought of. She mock gagged as she imagined the re-tweets that would get. LOL.

“No, you keep the change, cutie. Happy Valentine’s day.” Fred smiled at the customer, he was short, about five-foot one, but his smile was friendly and his tip was large.

She shook her head as she tossed it in the tip jar. Who was she kidding? A Sexperiment?. That just wasn’t her style. Winifred was greedy. She wanted it all. Romance, love, trust, friendship, passion. She wanted the whole damn thing, and she wasn’t going to settle for less.

Since there seemed to be a shortage of reliable, trustworthy, honest men, she’d have to do the next best thing. Steer clear of all men. No harm, no foul that way.

She smiled and straightened her shoulders content with her new attitude. No more guys. This was going to be a historic Valentine’s Day for Winifred Castillo.

She even ignored a couple of male customers while she focused on her new mantra. Men are evil. I don’t need them. Mike cleared his throat loudly and glared in her direction then at the waiting customers. Fred narrowed her eyes and went back to work with a vengeance. Work, concentrate, make some cash, pay the evil landlord. This will be the best Valentine’s Day yet, Fred my girl.

“Oooohhh.” Fred squealed just as Mike snuck up behind her and dropped an ice cube down the back of her black tank top. She yanked it out of her miniscule clothing as quickly as she could.

“Lighten up, Fred, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, that’s just great, Mike. I did just break up with my boyfriend, you know. All these hearts and flowers and people looking for love are giving me the willies.”

“So, you got dumped, so what? That normal was nothing but a bum anyway. He didn’t deserve you, Freddie. Now get to work. And smile. Maybe Cupid will be kind,” her normally taciturn boss joked.

“Geez, Mike. Now I’m cold.” She didn’t tell Mike about the money. That was her problem.

“Well, duh, Fred, it’s ice. Now, hustle, before Jordan alienates all the male clientele. Tell him to start stocking the back bar while you wait on those suits over there, and where are your uniform pants?”

Fred rolled her eyes and kept working. She was wearing black jeans today instead of her complete “uniform”. If you could even call it that. The thing consisted of short shorts with ripped stockings, stiletto-heeled boots, and a black tank top strategically cut along the sides and torso that read The Thirsty Dog in bright red letters with a tongue rolling out of the letter “g”.

Oh, yeah. Classy. But Fred knew the drill, the more she showed, the more tips she made. Sexist? Yes. But it was also true.

She was more than comfortable with her toned and athletic body. Most Werewolves were. And it didn’t matter that it was February and her tank top left little more than a few inches of skin covered. Werewolves ran a little hotter than normals.

But still. Ice was ice. She squirmed uncomfortably. Great. Now she’d have to deal with a cold, wet bra strap for the next few hours. Boys.

Fred stuck her tongue out at Mike. Her boss raised a salt and pepper eyebrow and tossed another ice cube in the air.

“No, no, I’m working, I’m working,” she raised her hands in surrender and laughed.

It was good to smile. Just minutes ago, she doubted she would ever do that again. She turned around as quickly as the thick rubber mats that lined the bar floor would allow her and finished her task before taking over for Jordan.

She grabbed and folded the thick pieces of cardboard left over from the cases of beer they had just stocked. She exhaled a breath. The activity gave her a second to take in the scene.

The place was getting more crowded as the seconds ticked by. A few patrons were seated at the bar waiting for her to notice them. One guy looked kind of pissed. Hope that doesn’t affect my tips. She smiled widely and mouthed “one second” before tossing the cardboard under the trash can.

“Hey Jordan, Mike says get more Bite from the cellar,” she called out to her co-bartender. He winked at her as he waved bye to the group of young women who were all but swooning at his heels. Ugh, this is why you don’t date Wolves. Whatever.

Fred poured a heavy dose of scotch and soda for the formerly annoyed customer and smiled as he handed her a twenty. She never flirted with the customers, but she was friendly and knew when to listen and when to talk.

“Keep the change, doll.” Of course, his eyes never seemed to rise higher than the dip of her tank top.

“Yeah. Thanks. Enjoy your drink,” she automatically rang up the tab and tossed the change in the tip jar.

Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all. This plus her paycheck from Maccon City Estates might allow her to put a dent in what she owed Mr. Kaepernick. All she had to do was not eat for the next six months. I hate you, Josh.

She didn’t really hate him. She couldn’t. he was what he was. She’d just gotten lazy.

What Fred really hated, was the idea of having to move. That was much worse than Josh himself. And under these conditions. Her meager belongings wouldn’t even fill a small storage cube, but she’d have no choice. She’d need to rent one to hold her things because the only other place she could afford to live was the little roach motel right off the highway. Yuck.

What was that again about life and lemons? Fred had no idea how she would make lemonade out of this mess. She had no choice. All she wanted to do was finish her shift, go home, and figure out plan.