Claws & Crochet

Part 18

WARNER

The rusted bolt comes loose easily for me.

"You keep helping me out like this I'm gonna have to put you on payroll." Harvey glares at me, but that's normal for the man, so I'm not concerned. Plus, he's spent the last twenty minutes cursing at this bolt, trying to get it off without damaging anything.

"Don't worry about it. You let me work on my bikes here. We're square."

The gray-haired human huffs and holds out his hand. I drop the lug nut into his palm and move on to the next one on the wheel.

"I got the rest," he grumbles, but I wave him off.

"I'm almost done. Least I can do."

He stalks off, toward the set of new tires, muttering under his breath about overly helpful werewolves.

His complaining always makes me grin.

When I'm not on one of Uncle Mason's build sites, I'm usually working on a bike refurbishing project. Since I live in an apartment, I needed a workspace. Harvey agreed to let me house my projects in his garage and use his tools for a completely reasonable rent, plus lending a hand ever so often. But that's hard to do when the man loathes asking for help. Normally, I have to force my help on him, or take a sneak attack approach.

Kind of reminds me of Zoey.

Of course, she's much more enjoyable to be around than the grey-haired mechanic, but she also seems bent on doing everything herself if she can. The few times I've been able to help are little victories.

Thoughts of Pine Fall's newest arrival fill my mind as I finish the tires on Mrs. Applewood's BMW, and I'm still thinking about Zoey Gunner when I'm perched on the low box I use as a seat next to my current referb project.

A 1980 Ducati Pantah 500.

A few weeks in, and the machine is starting to look presentable.

When it's done, the thing'll be beautiful. Lighter and sleeker than what I prefer to ride, but it'll make me a nice chunk of change when I re-sell it.

Or I could give it as a gift.

Tanya and Isaac's eighteenth birthday is coming up in a few months. Tanya loves vintage things, and I could see my little sister riding this.

Well, if she gets her license back soon.

Maybe I should avoid gifts with motors. Plus, I'd have to figure out a present just as huge for Isaac. I know he wants a bike, but he's been working at a local farm to earn enough to buy his own. I wouldn't want to take away the excitement and pride of that first big purchase from him.

Selling the Ducati it is.

While I work on replacing the worn brake pads, an image drifts into my mind, of another woman driving the bike.

Zoey would look gorgeous straddling this classic ride, honey brown hair streaming out behind her—from underneath her helmet of course—cruising down an empty two lane beside me.

Only problem is, I'd have to forgo the glory that is having her on the back of my own bike.

Still, it's something to think about.

Whoa. Slow down. You can't show up at her place with a bike. She'll get spooked.

But damn, the urge to claim her is a steady thrum in the back of my mind, like a constant growl from my wolf.

She has the mating scent.

I talked to Roderick about the lore, figuring our Alpha would know best. He confirmed multiple pack members experienced the phenomenon.

All werewolves know, in a theoretical sense, about the mating scent. The idea that optimal partners will smell particularly appealing to our wolves. But there's nothing binding about the special pheromone. The fragrance is different for all of us, and a wolf could have more than one person with mating potential. We can also take a mate without the alluring scent.

And someone who smells like the perfect mate is plenty capable of rejecting us.

I clench my jaw and try to shrug off the discomfort of the idea that Zoey might not be okay with mating a small town werewolf.

Already, I'm doubting my chances after breaking down and watching the video of her ex getting mocked by a barber shop quartet. Wasn't hard to find online, and I spent a good five minutes dying of laughter at the horrified expression on the dick's face.

But then I took a closer look at the asshole.

The guy's hair was styled with gel, his button-up shirt free of wrinkles and neatly tucked into slacks. There was a sparkle of a thick watch on his wrist, and the humiliating serenade was taking place inside of an office with huge windows overlooking Denver.

I glance down at my grease-smeared jeans and t-shirt. My work boots are scuffed, and I've never done more than comb my hair after I get out of a shower.

Zoey's ex is on the opposite end of the spectrum from me, and I can't help comparing myself to him.

Is that what she goes for? The well-dressed corporate type?

I barely stop myself from swiping a grimy hand across my forehead, grimacing at the black marks on my fingers I've never noticed before.

I'll never be like that. Not in a million years.

But I can at least make sure to clean myself up before I track her down again. Maybe swing by the store to get some more shirts without holes in them. Anything to get her to give me a chance as a man. After that, we can deal with the wolf.

"This was not a date. I am not going to fall in love with you Warner Jameson."

She didn't tell me to stay away from her. She didn't say she didn't want to know me. In fact, her statements almost seemed like she was trying to convince herself of them, not me.

Zoey Gunner is a challenge. She's long term.

She's already crawling under my skin, melding herself into my thoughts of the future.

What would it be like to have Zoey as my mate?

A partner. My own person who I can rely on and take care of and laugh with and hold.

I'm suddenly tipsy from wanting.

The idea brings into stark relief the emptiness in my chest I try to ignore. But with Zoey in my mind, I can't help thinking about how much I long to be needed.

All my life I've been the extra.

When my Dad died, Mom stood on her own, never looking for comfort from her children, only trying to be a constant rock for us. Where the fatherly duties were left open, Uncle Mason stepped in. There was no space for me there. In other families it might have fallen to me to care for the younger siblings, but Roderick took the reins on that along with the needs of the entire pack. Plus, Tanya and Isaac have always had each other.

People around town like me. They think I'm charming and good for a laugh or a friendly favor.

But no one has ever needed me.

Could Zoey?

Author's note: Thanks so much for reading! I love a pining werewolf, don't you?