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Chapter Eleven
“So, this is…” Espie cleared her throat before reaching for another nacho chip drizzled in gooey, melty cheese. “Fun.”
It was actually super awkward. Espie had never been on a first date more uncomfortable than this one, and it was with her fated mate, of all people. They’d covered some of the basics, like the fact Luther was thirty-two, but after that, he hadn’t said much. She had always thought the first time they came together there would be sparks—fireworks, explosions, the works. Instead, it was just plain disconcerting.
“At least the nachos are good,” Luther offered, hands folded together and resting on the table. Their booth at Angel Fire’s one sports bar was situated close to the bar, which meant Espie had to really focus when he talked or she wouldn’t be able to hear him—and that was coming from someone with better hearing than ninety-nine percent of the people present.
“You aren’t really eating them,” she noted. Then, after taking a calming breath, she cocked her head to the side and grinned. “Worried all that cheese will go straight to your hips?”
Luther chuckled, not as exuberantly as she would have liked, and then loaded up a chip with all the scattered bits of ground beef, lettuce, tomato, green onion, sour scream, and salsa. He made sure to maintain eye contact as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth, to which she managed a half-hearted giggle when watching.
But seriously, if he hadn’t wanted nachos, why did he agree to order them? They had spent what felt like an eternity at the start of their date hemming and hawing over the menu, so when the waitress arrived, Espie had just made the executive decision to go with something that usually appealed to everyone.
Not so, apparently.
A few days ago, Luther had been so talkative on the street after they’d booted Willard Vesper away from Maida’s table. Here, he was just quiet. Monosyllabic answers. He was barely asking any questions about her.
He didn’t look nervous. None of the classic signs were there: no sweaty pits, no fidgeting, no shifty eyes. All things considered, he seemed relaxed around her—comfortable and stunning, as always. When they first met up in the parking lot, she had to stop herself from drooling over the way his collared shirt fit over his biceps and how it framed his muscular shoulders. It was too dark to see how well those black jeans hugged what she knew was a great ass, but she just assumed it looked great.
She let out a long sigh before stuffing a handful of nachos in her mouth. She couldn’t help but wonder why he’d agree to a date—not a casual hang out or meet-up; Espie had been very clear about that—if he wasn’t interested or willing to make the effort.
“So,” she started up again, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table on either side of the nacho platter, “a polar bear, huh?”
His eyebrows twitched up, as if surprised she would mention their shifter sides in public. After taking a quick sip of his beer, he managed a nod. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a polar bear before,” she admitted. “It’s all grizzlies and black bears down here for the most part.”
He seemed to hesitate before speaking, as if the topic wasn’t the bridge-builder Espie had hoped it would be. “There aren’t many of us, as far as I’m aware.”
“Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that? “Are there any cool things about being a polar bear?”
Luther laughed, and when he finished, she noted that his shoulders weren’t quite so stiff anymore. “Well, we’re pretty good swimmers. And I think my sense of smell is better than yours.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“More of an observational fact from experience, actually.”
She reeled in her competitive side, knowing it wasn’t her most attractive feature. After all, her first thought had been to challenge him to some smelling competition there at the bar, but that would probably end in a disaster; bars weren’t exactly known for their wonderful scents.
Her inner grizzly, meanwhile, just wanted to go sit somewhere quiet with him, a park bench or something, and nuzzle his neck.
Yeah, not happening, honey bear.
His inner bear huffed, just as miffed about the progress of their first date as Espie was.
“So, what about your clan?” She pulled a rather cheesy chip out of the pile, frowning when the string went on and on until Espie finally broke it with her fingers. When she glanced up, she caught him watching her with such open affection that it made her heart skip a beat. He seemed to realize she had caught him, however, and seconds later that cool, confident mask was back. Disappointed, Espie shoved the chip in her mouth and chewed in an annoyed silence.
“There isn’t much to tell about my clan,” he said once she swallowed. “Nothing interesting, anyway.”
They stared at one another. Neither had brought up the cougar incident yet, although she knew they ought to. Somehow it felt awkward—more uncomfortable than this date. After all, she had turned and fled from him, not once thanking him for what he had done. Now it was like too much time had passed and she had missed the opportunity, despite both of them knowing exactly what had gone down.
“Luther…” Just as she was about to launch into some poorly prepared speech about how weird this was, given that they were fated mates—he must have felt it too—he leaned across the table and swiped his thumb across her lip. Her mouth parted as she sucked in an unsteady gulp of air, still feeling the warmth of his skin across her sensitive flesh even as he sat back on his side of the booth.
“Salsa,” he said with a crooked grin, showing her the offending smear on his thumb before licking it clean. Espie watched, transfixed with the movement of his mouth, before reaching for her diet cola and chugging back half the glass.
“Thanks,” she muttered, all the while resisting the urge to touch her fingertips to her lower lip. His scent lingered, pervading her senses with every breath she took, and her inner bear finally perked up, pleased with the physical contact.
“No problem.” The rumble of his voice sent chills down her back, and the two bears resumed eating in silence.
