Tropical Bartender Bear (Shifting Sands Resort 3)

The bartender’s face, when she snuck a look, was a hilarious mixture of jealousy and confusion. Laura might have laughed out loud under different circumstances. “This is Fred,” she introduced casually. “We work together.” She wasn’t actually that sure where in the hierarchy of the law office Fred fell, or for that matter, what Jenny’s exact position was, which did nothing but complicate her acting efforts.

The bartender tipped his hat automatically to Fred. “Pleased to meet you,” he drawled. “I’m Tex.”

Of course he was. Laura had to keep her eyes from rolling.

“We met a few years back when I was in Austin for spring break,” Laura offered.

Fred extended a sweaty hand for a handshake. “Did you go to college down there?”

Tex looked abashed. “No, sir. I’m not a college man. I’ve been a bartender since the law let me.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Laura snapped in his defense before she could stop herself. She’d never managed more than a semester or two of college herself, and Tex’s embarrassed look hit her in several ways.

“Of course not,” Fred said jovially. “It’s not for everyone.”

Laura gritted her teeth as his patronizing tone, but couldn’t say anything. She was supposed to be Jenny, who’d done seven or eight years of higher education, so she shrugged and took a sip of her drink, nearly stabbing herself in the cheek with the stupid umbrella.

She let Fred and Tex fumble through a conversation without her, sipping at her drink like it would save her. A “Shifter’s Mate,” it was called, and just like the real thing, it was sweet, with a kick of intoxication and a twist of sour.

Her mate. She’d found her mate.

Our mate, her wolf corrected, practically purring in her ear. She, for some reason, did not seem to consider the cowboy hat a deal breaker. Nor did she mind that Tex was a bear, something that they both seemed to instinctively know.

These things don’t matter, her wolf said dismissively.

How about the fact that we’re masquerading as our twin sister, and he’s already met her. That might confuse the issue.

Aren’t you humans used to confusion by now? You certainly seem to thrive on it.

Sometimes Laura felt like Jenny was the lucky one, not being a shifter.

She caught herself watching Tex out of the corner of her eye. He was telling Fred his choices of high end gin for a gin and tonic, and Fred was trying to look knowledgeable about the selection.

Laura emptied her drink, wishing it had been four times as strong, and ate the fruit off the umbrella stick. “I have to use the ladies,” she said, hopping down off her barstool. Fred would probably wait here for an hour or more before he figured out she wasn’t coming back.

“Wait,” Tex said too loudly. Other patrons of the bar turned to look curiously, and a pause in the tinny Spanish radio music gave the moment a surreal edge.

Laura turned back, and gave what she hoped was a cool stare back at him.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have to pay,” she said dryly. “This place is supposed to be all-inclusive.”

“No, of course, it’s just…”

He was adorable, fumbling through his obvious confusion. Laura could not get over how expressive his mouth was, or how perfect the line of his jaw was. She’d been turned on by men before, but none of them had ever made her as literally weak in the knees as this. Between the tropical heat and the sanity-eating lust this man was igniting in her, she thought she actually understood why heroines in dirty novels sometimes swooned.

“Can I see you, later?” he finally stammered.

She wanted to say yes. She honestly didn’t want to leave his presence; every move away from him felt like betrayal.

But he was a complication in a plan already made painfully complex by Fred. A mate wasn’t a mandate, and she was past the point in her life where she let her loins lead her around.

“I’m not interested,” she lied. She was entirely too interested. “Sorry,” she softened it, hating the lost look in his eyes.

Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel and left.

Chapter 6

“Mr. France was disqualified because he was a dragon,” Bastian said with a snarl. “Everyone knows it. Specism is a thing, and mythical creatures get the short end of every stick.”