Free Curves for the Werewolf Cowboy (Paranormal BBW Erotic Romance, Alpha Wolf Mate) by Cassie Laurent Page A

drink order into the computer behind the bar. Then I chanced a glance back at him. He was still staring, but this time I noticed him tapping a finger against his empty glass.
    I went over and took his glass from him, my hands shaking all the while.
    “Another d-double?” I stuttered, forcing a smile across my face, as I tried not to show my nervousness. Why was I so damn nervous?
    “Yes,” he said seriously.
    I walked away and the glass slipped through my hands, shattering on the floor into a hundred little pieces as my face blushed red hot in seconds. I motioned to one of the other bartenders to grab the broom while I found another glass and poured the man a drink. I brought it over to him, steadying it with both hands.
    “Thanks,” he said gruffly, not a hint of sympathy in his voice or on his face. He’d said nothing when I’d dropped the glass. Was he incapable of seeing how nervous I was, did he even care? He seemed so inhuman right now.
    I walked away, feeling more self-conscious than I’d felt in years. Why was I so nervous around this man? Why the hell did I give a damn about what he thought? I’d never seen him before, for all I knew he was just a man passing through town. In all likelihood I’d never see him again in my entire life.
    I kept pouring drinks, but my mind kept wandering back to that man. The more I thought about it the more indignant I got. I was starting to get fired up. This was my bar, what right did he have to make feel like this? I had an inkling to go over to him and give him a piece of my mind. I slammed drinks down on the counter for two customers and stomped back over to him. His eyes were plastered on the TV again as the Astros turned a double-play, but as soon as I walked over he turned his eyes to mine, maintaining eye contact as he took a slow, purposeful drink.
    His eyes were grey, a cold grey like a Wyoming winter, like wolves roaming around the flats of North Dakota. The chill was back, and suddenly all those sassy things I’d planned on saying disappeared from my mind.
    “Yes?” he said, folding his arms in front of his broad chest and leaning back on his barstool.
    “Um,” I hesitated, my mind completely blank. Then I noticed the empty glass in front of him. “You want another bourbon?”
    “Please,” he said, a smirk on his face.
    I felt violated. It was like he could read my mind, as if he was subtly mocking me for not having the strength to give him my mind. I poured another double shot into his tumbler and then slammed the glass down in front of him. Suddenly, I’d found my courage.
    “What the hell’s your problem?” I demanded, unwilling to leave until I had an answer.
    “I don’t have a problem,” he said gruffly.
    “Yeah? What the hell are you doing in this bar?”
    “Drinking, same as anyone else.”
    “You’re not the same as anyone else in here, ‘cause none of them are makin’ me this angry. You from town?”
    “No, just passin’ through on business.”
    “What’s your business?” I asked, trying my best to stare him down.
    “None of yours,” he said curtly, not breaking eye contact. I didn’t know what to make of this man. The chills were gone, but still something lingered, some suspicion as to who he was. His story made enough sense; we get a lot of people passing through town. But I didn’t trust him, not one bit.
    Just then a commotion broke out. The sound of glass shattering and people yelling. Two men were fighting at the far end of the bar. Someone was trying to break it up and I went over to help. After the men had settled down I went back to the bar, only to see that the man was gone. Two crisp fifty dollar bills lay on the bar counter where he’d been sitting. And a number hastily scribbled onto his a napkin. I took the napkin and slid it into my pocket. I don’t know why, but it just made sense.

There was something about this cowboy that had a hold on me. I tried to pinpoint what it was as I sat there in my apartment,