Page 2 of How I Met My Mate

Chapter Two

Alexis

Wowza. The shifter who’s been assigned to show me around is ridiculously handsome, if you like muscular lumberjack types with huge biceps and perfect cheekbones, and who doesn’t.

Behind him, the tiny downtown of Cedar Run, Arkansas, looks like a postcard come to life. Brick storefronts with striped awnings, hanging flower baskets spilling over with petunias, a coffee shop with a swinging sign that says “Has-Beans”,

At the far end of Main Street, tents and tables from the Saturday farmer’s market stretch across a wide open space, glittering with jars of honey and lush with pyramids of plump red tomatoes. The air hums with the sound of chatter, country music, and the faint scent of barbecue drifting in from somewhere nearby.

My gaze snaps back to him, drinking in every inch.

He’s six-five of broad shoulders and lean muscle, all wrapped up in jeans and a dark Henley that’s working way too hard to contain him. His brown hair is artfully messy, like he just rolled out of bed after doing very wicked things.

I immediately don’t trust him.

Want him? Yes.

Feel my nether regions aching at the sight of him? Embarrassingly, yes.

Trust him? That’s a laugh.

The Moonstone Pack is being hilariously transparent, assigning me this walking thirst trap in the hopes that I’ll be too distracted to notice whatever they’re hiding. Newsflash, guys — I can drool and dig for dirt at the same time.

I paste on my sweetest, most professional smile and stalk up to him. I have to tilt my head way back to meet his gaze. His eyes are brown, rimmed with gold — like sunlight glinting through whiskey — and right now, they’re fixed on me with a terrifyingly intense focus.

A long, loaded moment stretches between us.

“Hello, I’m Alexis,” I chirp, sticking out my hand. “And you’re my babysitter.”

Yes, I’m being sassy. I think it’s because I’m annoyed that the pack thinks so little of me that they’re trying to distract me with this giant Himbo.

And I’m annoyed at myself because it’s kind of working.

His mouth curves into a slow, amused grin. “I’d think of it more as a tour guide.”

“So…I can go anywhere I want, then?” I challenge.

“Well, Miss Alexis, where do you want to go?” He stares at me steadily, his mouth still quirked in that lazy smile. There’s a gleam in his eyes that says he knows exactly where I want to go. His bedroom.

“Uhh…” I stammer, and my mouth goes dry. Great. I’m a journalist. Words are my thing. They used to be my thing. Now I’m an ogling fangirl who’s one step away from asking him to autograph my boobs. “Well, before I drop my suitcases off at the Cedar Run Motel, I uh…I wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

I point down the street at the wooden sign that says Has-Beans Coffee and Baked Goods.

He glances that way, then shakes his head. “Let’s check out the farmer’s market instead. That’s only on weekends, so I’d hate to have you miss it. They’ve got a coffee booth there. We can go to the coffee shop some other time.”

And just like that, he turns and strolls away, long-legged and maddeningly confident, without even checking to see if I’m following.

I thought he was supposed to be trying to charm the pants off me.

Now why did my mind have to phrase it like that? Pants will be staying on, thank you very much.

Annoyed, I scamper after him.

We step into the farmer’s market, which is buzzing with shifters. You can tell by the way they move: too graceful, too alert, too predator pretending to be casual. A few of them glance my way, looking friendly, nostrils flaring slightly.

Cole keeps his hand on the small of my back, steering me like I’m an errant shopping cart. It’s annoyingly hot. His hand, not the market. Although, okay, both.

“So,” I say, trying to sound breezy instead of flustered, “is this where you guys buy all your organic, free-range, gluten-free wolf chow?”