How Nina Got Her Fang Back: Accidental Quickie (Accidentally Paranormal Series Book 13) (22 page)

The cute guy with the poodle didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting past Cujo. Thankfully, he’d maintained himself long enough for JC to get a dog bowl and some food. She’d also grabbed a blue doggie toothbrush to clean up his unsightly teeth.

He’d sat rather solemnly in the car on the way home, filling up the entire backseat of her small Prius with his massive body. Occasionally he sniffed her ear, making her giggle, but he seemed content to take in his surroundings, watching the scenery fly by the car window.

Each time JC took a peek at him in the rearview mirror, she began to see his potential, and her heart ached at the idea he’d been so close to being euthanized, which only served to endear him to her more.

When they’d reached her apartment, JC had let him go, fully expecting he’d want to check out his new surroundings. As long as he didn’t
discover
her new carpet with his leg in the air, he was free to explore.

However, he didn’t explore much. In fact, he didn’t leave her side at all. Now in her tiny blue and yellow bathroom, he was literally going to have to be surgically removed from her ass. His massive gray body sat on the bath mat, taking over the small tiled space, his eyes monitoring her every move, waiting, assessing.

JC pointed to the tub of warm water, and his gaze followed her finger. “So here’s the deal. You get in. You under no circumstances move. Not a muscle. We’re a team now. That means you help
me
, I help
you
.” Wrapping her arms around his bulky torso, she hauled him into the tub.

He didn’t fight her, but he certainly wasn’t making things breezy. He sat stiff and unblinking as she sprayed him thoroughly with the showerhead, running her hands through his thick coat of hair, loosening mats as she went.

Sitting back on her haunches, JC assessed. Some dogs looked smaller when wet, but not Cujo. He was just as enormous wet as he was dry, the muscles in his back legs bulky and wide, his chest broad and hard. “Okay, so here comes the smelly flea stuff. I have to let it sit on you for fifteen minutes according to the bottle. How about we get to know each other while we wait?”

JC began working up a soapy lather, scrubbing at his dense hair to cover all flea-riddled areas. Satisfied, she sat back on the toilet seat and scratched behind his ears to keep him occupied. He tilted his head, allowing her the best vantage to his happy spot.

“So about you. Where did you come from? I mean, did someone own you at one time, or were you always on the streets? Did you run away from home? Get lost during a family trip? Was someone cruel and abusive to you?” JC’s stomach churned at the notion. Leaning forward, she trapped his muzzle between her hands, searching his chocolate-brown eyes. “That would really piss me off.”

His big pink tongue swiped her nose in response, making her gag. “God, that breath of yours could peel my skin off. Good thing we got that toothbrush, huh?”

He reared his head back and turned away from her as though insulted.

JC scratched his ear again, smiling when he couldn’t resist the pleasure and gave in by leaning closer. “Don’t get defensive. I’m sure in all your stray-ness, toothbrushes were hard to come by.”

She reached for the blue toothbrush, squirting a liberal amount of paste on it. Holding it up, she grinned at him when he tried to make himself small by backing away. JC cupped his muzzle. “Say ‘ah’,” she teased, pressing the bristles to his mouth.

He bucked a bit, shifting his stance before giving in.

“Good boy. So, of course you want to know all about
me
, right?”

He gagged.

JC barked a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, I’m thirty-two, single, and I’m part owner of a salon here in Hoboken—born and raised here, by the way. Also, an only child. I work a lot because my salon is really busy, but also because my personal life is pretty uninteresting. Not much of a partier, mostly a homebody. I love to read, I crotchet a helluva doily and I love anything DIY. Was addicted to Candy Crush, but I think I’ve finally kicked the habit. Broke up with my douchenozzle of a boyfriend, Jess, about two months ago because he cheated on me. Caught him and his
Jersey Shore
/Snookie knock-off in bed together red-handed. The search for my knight in shining armor is on hiatus right now. That means, until further notice, it’s just you and me, Prince of Hair.” Maybe forever, the way things are looking on the romance horizon.

JC looked at him for any kind of reaction to find even
he
looked depressed after hearing the description of her life. “I know, I know. I’m not exactly a total scream. But listen, I’m loyal, hardworking, and though my place is small, it has to beat the smelly shelter, right?”

His nose twitched.

She raised her fist to the ceiling with a grin. “I’m going to take that as a ‘hell yeah’. Time to rinse, buddy.”

Six bath towels later, he was like a brand-new dog. She worked diligently to untangle the mats in his hair as she toweled him, and then dug around under the bathroom sink for her blow dryer.

“Now don’t get all freaked out on me, it’s noisy, and I know you’ve suffered your fair share of indignities today, but with all this hair, we need to dry you. It’s too cold out to let you air dry. So sit, okay?” That was probably the wrong way to address him. The Dog Whisperer said she had to be the alpha of her pack. But he appeared to respond best when she took a friendlier approach.

Again, he didn’t budge, patiently waiting while she plugged the dryer in and got the new dog brush from her bag of purchases. While she attacked the task of drying him, JC chatted at the dog as if he were a new girlfriend. Not that he seemed to care much. In fact, he had all the haughty disdain she’d attributed to a cat covered.

There were no happy belly rubs or sighs of contentment.

Just him and his completely unfazed, eerily quiet resolve.

And the stare. He did a lot of the stare.

Clean and dry, though, he was quite impressive. His dark gray fur lightened considerably with a good cleaning and some softer threads of black were now visible down the length of his back. The fur around his face was full and springy and he smelled a hundred times better than he had two hours ago.

Her beautician’s hands primped and scrunched, running her fingers affectionately along his body as she went. “You’ve got an impressive coat there, buddy. Very fluffy.”

Fluffy.

“That’s it! How do you feel about the name Fluffy?” She cupped his jaw, staring into his deep-brown eyes as though she expected him to answer.

More staring back at her—hard, in fact. Rather unnerving.

“What? Why the face? You don’t like it? Look, you’re one scary mothereffer. I can’t keep calling you Cujo. It only adds to your already freaky-deaky outward appearance. Maybe the name Fluffy will take some of that edge off when we go to the dog park. It implies cuddly and sweet, don’t you think? Sort of your bark is worse than your bite…don’t judge a book by its cover?”

He huffed at her when she slung her arms around his broad neck and gave him a squeeze, choosing to ignore the odd rumble he made low in his throat.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up, drawing him close to her. “Selfie time, Fluff,” she said on a laugh when he twitched.

Planting a kiss on his clean muzzle, she winked at him. “Wait until I show the girls at work how gorgeous you are.”

* * * *

A selfie? Look, guys, Fluffy has a selfie.

And Fluffy? F-L-U-F-F-Y?
Max ticked the letters off mentally.

Christ. Who named a “dog” of his size and stature
Fluffy
? A poodle made complete sense, even a Chihuahua.
I got your fluffy.

Full, with a thick, luxurious coat that happened to be worn and a little travel weary? Yes.

But fluffy? No.

Catching a glimpse of himself in her full-length mirror, Max shuddered, watching the ripples of his fur shimmer on his hindquarters. Jesus, she’d made him look like some mutant Chia Pet.

Wasn’t it enough she’d shoved dog treats under his nose and tied a leash around his neck? Taken him to PetSmart and paraded him up and down the aisles with all those pampered, condescending pooches lifting their noses as he passed?

To degrade him this way, by giving him a name better suited to a bunny rabbit, was almost more than he was willing to suffer for his life mate.

Max could almost hear his pack, laughing and laughing.

Damn this woman. If she weren’t so good looking, if her scent wasn’t driving him out of his ever-loving mind, he’d pick up and go the hell home.

But he couldn’t. Whatever she had—whatever mystifying pull that drew him to her like a mesmerizing Mata Hari—just wasn’t gonna let him go.

JC was his prophecy. He’d known it ten seconds after she’d appeared in front of his cage at the shelter, even as groggy as he was from the tranquilizer.

He’d. Known.

He didn’t feel the emotional ties he was sure most felt when they found the person they’d share their lives with just yet, but he knew if he let her go, he’d suffer not just the curse, but something he hadn’t quite defined.

That as-yet-undefined emotion was what had led him to play along at the shelter.

He’d awakened too late to shift into his human form, and he had no clothes anyway. But something told him to stay put. Something invisible.

And if scent really had anything to do with finding your life mate, JC definitely smelled like his mate. Her scent was different than any other he’d ever encountered. A unique blend of female and flowers and pheromones that made his blood pump hard and his head light.

Not to mention, she was beautiful. She had the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen, plump and round. Her firm, lush breasts, full hips and glossy pink lips were nothing to scoff at either. And her hair…Hair a man could wrap around his fist as he came. Just touching her shoulders, it fell in raven waves around her heart-shaped face.

But it was her eyes that intrigued him the most. A light brown beneath full, dark lashes that swept her cheeks when she looked down at him.

Everyone in the pack always said he’d know when he found the one. Threats of curses, his long journey here, and his hellish shelter stay aside, he had to admit, they were right.

And she’d shown up in the nick of time. As prophecies went, his was a pretty close call. While in shift, he still understood every word spoken amongst humans. He’d heard through groggy ears the sympathetic conversation shared between Manny and Dan at the start of the day—his last day. He knew he was on the chopping block.

Yet, all day long, while he waited for the unknown, in and out of his drug-induced sleep, he hadn’t experienced an ounce of fear. Because somewhere, in some unknown region of his brain, deeply embedded in his gut, he knew he wasn’t going to die.

Not today, anyway.

Though wasn’t bearing the name Fluffy much like death?

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.