Page 3 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

The corner of her mouth twitches as she winks over at the parents, who mouth a quiet thank you before finally placing their own order. An Americano and a green tea. With their goods paid for, the family settles in at a table and chairs in the corner of the store. Alana observes them as they do so; taking in the details in the woman’s face while they continue their conversation on an upcoming home renovation or whatever it was that she heard them speaking about when they first walked in. And as Alana works on preparing their drinks, she can’t help but indulge in a game of customer speculation. What kind of life does a family like that return to at the end of their day?

The Satyr projects an energy that makes Alana believe he’s a working type. The oddly traditional type. The type who leaves for his corporate office job in a fancy suit and tie and comes back hoping for a barefoot and pregnant wife to have a hot meal ready for him as he enters the door. An unappealing thought, in Alana’s opinion. But there’s a shift that she catches in the woman’s body language while they talk; the way she leans into him, and how she seems smitten, smiling with her hand on his knee as though whatever he’s saying is the most interesting thing in the world. It’s a look that screams she can’t wait to get home and make another baby right after this. And judging by the way he looks at her in return, he feels the same.

Alana chuckles. Well, at least someone out there is getting some.

If only other people were so lucky.

Her phone becomes a heavy weight in her back pocket. It’s been a few days since she sent that inquiry, yet each passing minute without a response feels like an entire lifetime. There’s a part of her, a pessimistic part, that hopes it was a scam—something she can put behind her and chalk up to being too horny for her own good. Because she can’t actually go through with this. Hiring a man to fuck her? She has no idea who he even is.

What if this is a trafficking scheme? What if he’s not even a werewolf, but just some guy in a detailed fur suit?

The bell at the door rings, and it snaps Alana out of her momentary spiral. She shakes her head and puts on her best customer-ready expression, though it softens when she recognizes the man stepping up to the counter.

“Oh, hey.” The lines by her eyes crinkle with her smile, bright despite the exhaustion of the early morning. “Let me guess…large dark roast with three creams, three sugars?”

The man dips his head with a crooked smile, one pointed canine poking out from the corner of his mouth. “Yes, please. Thank you kindly.”

His voice is reminiscent of somewhere down south. Low, rumbly in its quality. Much like the thunderstorms they often get during the summers; the ones that bellow from high above the mountaintops. “I don’t suppose I can add a shot or two of bourbon to that coffee order, can I?” he asks with a humorous look in the light of his eyes. He gets his wallet out from his back pocket—old, worn-out leather that’s seen better days.

Alana huffs a quiet laugh and reaches across the coffee maker to grab a cup. “Boy, please. I’m not that kind of bar. Rough night, I take it?”

“Not rough, just, uh, long. Busy,” comes his hesitant reply. Alana lifts a brow at that response before shaking her head.

He’s always been the one customer that was hard for her to pin down. In fact, she’d mark him as a tourist if it weren’t for the fact that she’s seen him every other day for the last few months. Most of the regulars that walk through her shop end up sharing random blurbs about themselves to one degree or another, charmed enough by her approachable smile and friendly demeanor to feel comfortable doing so, unprompted. But the only thing she knows about him is that he comes into town to work, just like her. He’s always kind, tips well each visit, and often stays to catch up with people who Alana can only assume are either his friends or possible lovers. Sometimes she’ll recognize them, though there are other cases where he seems to be with someone new each time.

Men, women. Monsters, humans.

She’s almost jealous.

Maybe the karma from kissing her bully’s crush behind the swings in 3rd grade was finally catching up with her. What other reason could exist for romance coming so easily to everyone but her?

“Here you go.” Alana slides a sleeve over his cup and grabs a chocolate chip muffin. “It’s not a shot of alcohol or anything, but hopefully the extra sugar will do you some good.” She flashes him a teasing smile, one that seems to momentarily surprise him before he recovers with a laugh.

“Mighty kind of you, but I’m, uh, afraid I’m actually allergic to chocolate.” He swipes his card to pay and offers an apologetic look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Doesn’t really agree with my stomach, you see.”

Alana’s smile shifts into momentary panic. It would be her, of all people, to send her nicest customer into an allergic reaction of some kind.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! I should have asked!” She snatches the muffin away like it could have killed him where he stood, before scrambling for a blueberry cream cheese one instead. She sets it on a small serving plate and hands it to him like a lowly peasant presenting an offering of forgiveness. “Is blueberry okay? Again, so sorry, um—Cyrus right?”

“That’s right,” he says, sliding his wallet back into his pocket. “And you’re mighty pretty when you panic like that, but it’s quite alright, sweetheart. I promise. Ain’t gonna kill me or nothin’. Although I have to say, if I were to go by the hands of your baking? Well, I’d die a happy man.” He chuckles, honeyed in its sound, and slips a generous tip into her tip jar.

Alana blinks. Slow, stupid. Did he just say he thinks I’m pretty? Red blooms across her skin, and there’s a moment where she may have legitimately forgotten the English language. The words refuse to form, no matter how hard she tries.

It’s at her bumbling that Cyrus laughs again, just as quiet and sweet as earlier, before tipping his hat towards her. “You have a good rest of your day.” With that, he makes his way over to the bar stools by the window.

“You okay, girl? You look like you’re two seconds away from jumping that guy’s bones right here in the shop.”

Alana jolts as hard as a cat being thrown on a foiled surface. She whirls around and swats at the woman’s shoulder in retaliation for the scare. “Citlalli! You dick, don’t scare me like that. When did you even get here?”

“Just clocked in, like, five minutes ago. Not my fault you were too busy being a horny bastard to notice.” Citlalli sticks her pink, barbed tongue out, and when Alana flips her off for it, she snorts.

“You shouldn’t call your boss a horny bastard. I could have you fired,” Alana grumbles. She steps aside to let the other take over the register, taking a moment to make a latte for herself now that things have slowed down. Her eyes linger on Cyrus while she does, eager to observe the way he sips his coffee and types away at his phone. The light from his screen illuminates his face in pale blue, and the corner of his mouth twitches as he responds to a message of some kind.

“Okay, first off, I’m your friend before your employee? Let’s get that straight. And second, I’m not wrong.” Citlalli flashes a sharp-toothed grin and leans against the counter, her jade green eyes tracing Alana’s line of sight. Her feline nature comes forward in the way she purrs, staring at Cyrus like a tiger who’s found something she wouldn’t mind pouncing on. “I can’t blame you. He’s a cutie! You should talk to him. Ask if you can bounce a coffee bean off his ass,” she humors as she ties her thick black hair into a ponytail.

“Girl, I swear to Gods.” Alana pinches the bridge of her nose. As blunt as she is, Citlalli certainly wasn’t wrong. She’s seen it, the way it fits perfectly in those worn-out jeans. That booty is hardly the only thing fine about him, either. It’s mahogany waves that are always kept hidden underneath a cowboy hat, and warm, rich skin that seems a little darker each time he comes in. A result of days spent out in the sun, she imagines.

Regardless, Alana is miles away from being bold enough to approach him. Someone like that? Not a chance. She wasn’t like Citlalli, who walked this earth with an air of confidence that Alana could only hope to achieve. It’s ironic, really, just how opposite they were. Citlalli was always so headstrong and outgoing, with immense sexual prowess. If she saw something she wanted, she went for it with little hesitation. There’s no question how she ended up with two partners equally obsessed with her.