Martin

I wondered if he was a bear shifter. We were in Green Peaks, at the heart of shifter county, so the odds were good.

He sat at the end of the bar, hunched over his drink, and his round shoulders looked like they were about to rip through the seams of his shirt. His arm could easily be thicker than my thigh. His body was intimidating, but his face seemed kind. A little sad, maybe. He had a neatly trimmed beard, brown hair combed back, and he read a thin little book. That book made me feel safe enough to come closer, which was silly, but after two drinks, I felt silly.

I scrambled onto an empty barstool a few feet away from him. I wasn’t as bold as to sit right next to him.

The bar was dimly lit by yellow and orange lamps, making it hard to tell, but he looked tired.

I wasn’t good at hooking up. In fact, I was abysmal at it. I couldn’t just walk up to an alpha and chat him up because of my stutter. It would resurface at the least opportune moments, making me seem like a nervous wreck even when I felt most confident. I hated that.

My strategy was to just position myself close to someone I liked and wait for them to come to me. It usually worked if I dressed slutty enough. I wore tight pants and a nearly transparent shirt, revealing my collarbones and a good five inches of skin below. An open invitation. I wanted to get fucked—no reason to hide it.

When the alpha glanced at me, his gaze lingering a second longer, I smiled. He smiled back half-heartedly. He looked into his book and shook his head.

I deflated. He was, to me at least, the most attractive man in the bar. Older, serious, big. I must have been gazing at him a little wistfully because when he glanced up again, he frowned.

I turned away. Being desperate was one thing, but appearing desperate? No way.

Maybe I should have gone back to my hotel room. It was getting late, and I had to be up at seven if I wanted to eat breakfast before leaving.

I felt movement next to me. Did he switch seats to come closer?

A quick peek to my side confirmed it. The big bear—please let him be a bear—was now perched on a barstool right by my side. He placed the thin paperback onto the bar counter, closed. My heart picked up, and my underbelly warmed. Shit, I was horny.

“Hi,” he said. “Are you here alone?”

Straight to the point. I liked it. “Hi. Yes.”

“I’m Hunter.”

“Martin.”

“Nice to meet you, Martin. Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure.” One-word replies were safe. Avoid plosives, and it’ll be fine.

“What are you having?”

“Gin and t-to-t—” Dammit. I winced, then forced a grin. Why didn’t I just say GT?

He didn’t react to my falter, not even a twitch. He smoothly waved down the bartender and placed an order. A gin and tonic for me and a beer for himself.

“Are you from Green Peaks?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“No. I’m here at a c-con-ference. Work.” Gah! Here we go. When it started, I couldn’t tone it down.

But Hunter didn’t seem to care, which helped. “Oh? What kind of conference?”

Looking somewhere over his shoulder, I inhaled, visualized the answer in my head, then enunciated on a slow exhale, “Special education.” Bingo. Smooth as vanilla ice cream.

He gave me a soft smile. “You’re a teacher?”

“School librarian. I d-dabble.”

His smile widened. Were those dimples in his beard? Wow, he was handsome. His eyes were bright blue, but they looked warm.

“That’s amazing.” He looked me up and down, lingering on my open collar. “I thought librarians wore sweater vests and glasses.”

I blushed, which he hopefully wouldn’t notice in the bar’s lighting. I gestured to my eyes. “C-contacts.”

He laughed, a happy sound that made me smile back. The full-body relief was rare but familiar. I could relax with this man. He didn’t seem bothered by a few disfluencies and wouldn’t make it weird if I stuttered some more. His laughter quieted, and his gaze lingered on my mouth.

“Are you here often?” I asked.

He shrugged one shoulder, seeming a bit shy. “I live in the area. I come to Green Peaks and book a room. Sometimes.”

Meaning he came here to pick up men. To hook up. But it was that kind of bar, and I was here too, for the exact same reason.

“What were you reading?”

He glanced at the book as if he’d forgotten he’d had it. “Oh. Um. It’s just a novella.”

I leaned in a little to read the title. I recognized the author and grinned. “Just a novella, huh?”

“You know it?”

I gestured to the book. It was quite kinky, which was a word I could butcher not once but twice, so I said, “It’s hot. Sexy.”

Scratching his neck, Hunter let out a nervous chuckle. “Very. I didn’t expect that.”

I gave him my best smirk. C’mon, you can do this. Easy words only, and flirt for your life! “I enjoy erotica.” I tapped a finger on the cover. “Well-written.”

“It is.”

It was a choice, though, to read that kind of book here. If I remembered correctly, the hero was a young man who preferred much older lovers, and the preface included a laundry list of content warnings. At the same time, the author was an omega, and I’d perceived his erotic writing as empowering.

“Are you into…” I touched the paperback again, and he understood.

“I like reading about kink. But I’ve never experienced anything like that myself.” He took a gulp of his drink. “Do you think it’s strange I brought a book to a bar?”

I shrugged. “A b-book can be taken anywhere.”

His eyes twinkled. “Right?”

“You look like…” I swallowed. There was no reason to be shy about that. “Are you a bear shifter?”

He gave me another sad smile and a nod. “Yes. Forty and unmated. Tired of it.”

His honesty was refreshing. “I’ve only heard about what that’s like.” My words were starting to flow unrestrained. I really liked how at ease Hunter made me feel, but maybe it was the third drink I was working on.

“What brings you into a pickup bar late at night?”

“Chronically single,” I said. “Tired of it.”

He frowned. “Why? I’m waiting for a lightning strike that’s never coming, but you’re beautiful. You must have alphas vying for your attention wherever you go. How come you’re single? Chronically.”

Beautiful? I hadn’t felt beautiful in a very long time. It must have been the dim lighting.

Hunter observed me with interest, and it felt easy to confide in this handsome, kind stranger. “I don’t have heats.”

His frown deepened for a second, then his face morphed into pure compassion. I already regretted telling him.

“Did you have it diagnosed?”

I nodded into my glass. “T-took me five years to p-pay off those me-dical b-bills.” My stutter was back, but fuck that. I liked talking to this guy, so I would talk. “Mysterious hormone insuf-ficiency. There’s nothing they c-can do.”

“I’m sorry, Martin.” He looked even sadder than when I first noticed him. “Did they at least inform you of other possibilities for conception?”

The question sounded oddly specific.

“Yeah. If I ever want to have a child, IVF and syn-thetic hormones should work, so that’s something.”

He was quiet for a moment, swirling the contents of his glass.

“But not having heats, why should that stop you from dating?”

I gave him a look. Really? Did he need me to explain how most alphas reacted to that kind of information?

He waved a hand in front of his face. “I’m sorry. Stupid question.”

Suddenly, the whole situation struck me as hilarious. “We’re d-doing such a shitty job of flirting,” I said, laughing.

He grinned with surprise, his eyes roaming my face. “What?”

“We’re here to find someone for sex, and we share sob stories and me-dical con-ditions. A winning strategy.”

Instead of laughing with me, he looked me over with heated eyes. “I’d very much like to have sex with you.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Oh?”

He gestured to my neck. “Can I?”

Heat pooled in my underbelly at the mere notion of Hunter scenting me.

“My scent’s weak.”

He studied me and waited. I turned my head away, giving him access.

His breath tickled the sensitive skin on the side of my throat. I inhaled deeply, trying to get a whiff of him too, and wow. I was so into this man.

“You smell great to me,” he murmured, his lips just barely brushing my cheek.

I angled my face an inch closer, and his beard brushed the corner of my mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

The huge, warm hand on my neck was enough to send a jolt of arousal down my spine.

I always loved big alphas, but I was scared of them too. Hunter made me feel safe, which again…silly.

When his lips touched mine, I opened for him, letting his tongue slide into my mouth. I could taste the bitter ale he’d drunk, but underneath it was something else. Heat and desire.

He was tender but not hesitant. He licked inside with just the right depth and pressure, and our tongues tangled. His fingers spread on the side of my face, and I loved how huge his palm felt, cradling me, his thumb stroking my cheek. He hummed into my mouth, retreated a little, and I thought that was it, but he just changed the angle and dove back in.

The give-and-take felt easy with him. He was insistent one second, then gave me space and invited me in, his gentle nips and licks asking clear questions: Is this okay? Do you like this? Do you want more?

Yes, I did. I grazed my teeth over his tongue and pushed inside his mouth, my hands exploring his broad chest. A low rumbling moan resonated through it.

He broke the kiss, but not before he gave me two deep fucks of his tongue. A dirty promise.

“Damn,” he murmured. I kept staring at his wet lips, as if hypnotized.

“Yeah.” That had been one epic kiss.

“Come to my room, Martin. I want to fuck you.”

Simple. Easy. Not smart.