The Mating Game by Lana Ferguson - 17

“I can’t believe you were in a hot tub with an actual mountain man with washboard abs—”

“I never said he had washboard abs.”

“Of course he has washboard abs, Tess, but still I—”

“You’ve never even seen him, how do you know—”

“All wet and steamy and close together—”

“We were sitting across from each other I already told—”

“—and you didn’t let him clean your pipes.”

“Sorry for disappointing you,” I huff.

“I’m kidding,” Ada says. “I’m glad you got to relax. I just wish you would’ve done it, you know, naked. Preferably in the afterglow of some hot lovemaking. Maybe on a bearskin rug. Oh my God, is there a bearskin rug there?”

“I feel like it’s not in my best interest to answer that question.”

“ There is ,” she hisses with glee. “So spill. Did anything salacious happen? I haven’t had a real date in six years, Tess. You have to give me this.”

I feel my face flush as I remember what happened in the hot tub. I still haven’t told Ada everything —and at this point, I’m not even sure why. Maybe it’s because I’m still figuring things out when it comes to my new life, or maybe I’ve just wanted to keep the bubble Hunter and I have made for a little while longer.

But I know I can’t stave Ada off forever.

“Well… something might have happened.”

“Oh my God. If you don’t spill right now…”

I chew at my bottom lip. “Well…there have been some…weird things happening.”

“Penis-related things?”

I roll my eyes. “You know, for someone so anti-dating, you sure do think about penis a lot.”

“If you’d sworn off chocolate, you’d think about it a lot too. Now spill.”

“I mean, the doctor said there might be some weird side effects, right?”

“Right.”

“Well…there have been.”

“I swear to God if you don’t start making sense soon…”

“It turns out that Hunter is actually an alpha.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

“That’s gotta be hell on your hormones.”

“You can say that again,” I huff. “Not long after we met, I started having these…mini heats.”

There is silence on the other end of the line for several seconds before: “ I swear, if you fucked the hot innkeeper and didn’t tell me— ”

“I didn’t!” I protest. “I mean, not really.”

“Not really ?”

“We may have done…some things.”

“But not sex.”

“Not sex.”

Not yet , my brain taunts.

It’s something that has been playing on a loop in my head since last night. Thoughts of how close we got, how much we have done—and what more we might do if this continues.

But mostly…I can’t stop thinking about how much the thought appeals to me more and more every time I touch Hunter.

“Oral?”

“I’m not telling you that,” I scoff.

“At least tell me you touched his penis.”

“Please stop saying ‘penis,’ ” I grouse. “But…yes. I did.”

“Fuck me. That’s perfect,” she sighs. “Did you see his knot? That’s really the only thing they have going for them in my opinion.”

“Wait, you know about the knot thing?”

She goes quiet for a moment, her voice softer when she says, “Perry’s dad was an alpha.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I don’t exactly like talking about him. You know that. And it wasn’t really relevant until now.”

And I do know that. I feel guilty for bringing it up, even inadvertently. I know how sore a subject Perry’s dad is for Ada. I try to steer the conversation away from him.

“I didn’t even know knots existed until last night.”

“And? How was it?”

I blush furiously, remembering the way I touched him.

“It was…” My face flames further, thinking about how unbearably hot it was to touch him like I did. “It was interesting.”

“You’re going to have to get me a picture of this guy soon. I need a face to put to the fever dream.”

“Sure, I’ll just ask my hookup shifter teacher for a selfie so I can show him off to my friend. That won’t make me look like a weirdo at all.”

“But a very cute weirdo,” she teases. “You said you talked too, right?”

“We talked about the lodge a bit,” I tell her. “I get the sense things aren’t doing as well as they could be.”

“I mean, I don’t have to remind you that it’s basically Nowheresville.”

“But I was thinking about my friend Nate at Travel Quarter ,” I venture. “He covers places like Hunter’s lodge all the time. Little hidden gems.”

“And you’re thinking of saving the day, huh?”

“I don’t know…I just thought it’s the least I could do. He and Jeannie are so great. I don’t want to see this place fail. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night if we did all this work and the place still went under.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

“Well, yeah. What other reason would I have?”

“I think you like Hunter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I deny quickly. “We’re…friends. Who help each other.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

I bite my lip briefly before I groan, “Maybe both.”

“Fine, fine. You only want to help . So call Nate.”

“I think I should.”

“And when you land Hunter an interview, you two can celebrate with another romp in that hot tub. Preferably with more penetration next time.”

“Don’t say ‘penetration’ either.”

“Seriously. It’s got to be some kind of sexy serendipity that the same day someone tells you that you’re suddenly an omega and your hormones go haywire, a bearded hottie alpha walks right off the cover of one of those romance novels you read to save your God-tier vagina.”

“It’s hard enough to look him in the eye after everything we’ve done without that in my head,” I groan.

“Let him save you, Tess,” Ada says dramatically. “Let him save you with his pen—”

“Liking you less and less by the second.”

“Whatever. You know you lo—Shit.” There’s a bit of activity on the other line before: “Grace is looking for me. Call you later?”

“Fine, fine. Go kick ass. I’ll still be here.”

“Hiding, daydreaming, thinking about Hunter’s huge—”

“ Go .”

“Okay, okay.”

I lean back against my bed’s heavy wooden headboard and let out a sigh, eyeing the outfit I still need to put on to meet Cat and her boyfriend tonight. Despite my protests, I guess there’s really nothing better to call what I’ve been doing today except hiding —feigning a headache to stay holed up in my room so I can avoid seeing the object of all my confused feelings.

Sleeping was almost impossible last night, given that every time I almost drifted off I would remember Hunter’s hands and Hunter’s body and just… Hunter , and I’d get flustered in a way that I’ve never been before in regard to a man.

I think back to my past relationships, and I cannot for the life of me remember feeling so… giddy over them. I feel like a damn teenager with the way I can’t seem to get my hormones under control.

I think you like Hunter.

I mean, that really is ridiculous, isn’t it? I mean, sure, I like him, but I don’t like him like him, do I?

I snort at myself mentally. What am I, fifteen?

I think back to Nate and the way Hunter was so sure the lodge would hold no interest for him or the magazine, and it makes me question what exactly my reasons are for wanting to help. Is it simply for the sake of being nice, or do I want to help because it’s Hunter ?

Sometimes I don’t even know how we’re keeping the lights on.

I decide the why isn’t important—or rather, I don’t want to know the why right now—and before I can second-guess myself, I’m scrolling through my contacts in search of Nate’s office number.

“Good morning,” a receptionist greets me when the line connects. “Thank you for calling the business office of Travel Quarter . How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if Nate might be available to talk right now.”

“I can check on that for you,” she says sweetly. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Tess Covington.”

“Hold one moment, please,” she answers.

The seconds that tick past while I sit on hold feel much longer than they actually are, and each one that goes by only makes my heart rate pick up that much faster. Nate and I have always been on good terms; I’ve sent him plenty of material and photos over the years that he’s used in past articles—and honestly, he’s just a cool guy in general. He and his husband, Glenn, host a Christmas party every year that I never miss, but I’ve never called to ask him for a favor like this. Is it unprofessional somehow? Is he going to see right through me immediately and know I’m pulling strings for a guy I’m hooking up with?

Right as my anxiety is starting to get the better of me and I’ve nearly talked myself into hanging up the phone and giving up on this whole thing, I hear the line connect once again on the other end, and a familiar voice comes through.

“Tess. Hey. I’m so sorry I haven’t checked in. It’s been crazy over here.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “No problem.”

“How are you? I’ve been following your channel as best I can with work. Everything still good?”

“Everything is great,” I tell him. “We’ve been talking to HGTV about a possible show.”

“You’re kidding,” he says excitedly. “Glenn is going to lose his shit.”

“How is he doing?”

“Oh, you know. Same old. Terrorizing my editorial department.” Nate laughs. “Never work with your spouse.”

I smile, remembering all too well how high-strung Glenn can be. “I miss you guys,” I say honestly. “We need to get together when I’m back in California.”

I ignore the sudden pang in my chest when I think about leaving Colorado.

That’s new.

“We do,” he agrees. “But wait, where are you? Are you not in Newport Beach?”

“Well, actually…that’s why I was calling you.”

“Oh? I’m intrigued.”

“So I’m working on this little ski lodge in Pleasant Hill, Colorado…”

“Googling now.”

“It’s very small.”

“I’ll say,” he laughs. “Jesus, you can barely see it on the map.”

“It’s so pretty here though,” I assure him. “The lodge needs a little TLC—which we’re already working on—but the area is gorgeous, and the town is practically Hallmark-worthy.”

“People do love that seclusion factor,” he remarks.

“It’s the picture of seclusion,” I urge. “I mean, seriously. It’s basically the old country out here. A while back, they built some highway straight to Denver that bypasses the town, and ever since then, it’s been like this little hidden gem tucked away in the mountains.”

“What kind of reno are we talking?”

“Mostly cosmetic at the moment. We’ve already gotten underway on a lot of the main area—I think we could have it spruced up enough for pictures in another week, maybe.”

“Hmm.” I can practically hear Nate thinking over the line, a faint tapping sound coming from what I assume is his pen against his desk. “So, we’re actually doing a piece in the next issue called ‘Secret Getaways.’ ”

“Oh my God, that’s perfect.”

“ But .”

I frown. “Oh no.”

“ Technically …it’s already getting ready for print. I don’t know if I can squeeze in another location.”

I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Damn.”

“ But ,” he says again.

I perk up. “A good ‘but’?”

“ Maybe I could convince my editor.”

“Nate. You’re an angel.”

“I know,” he laughs. “I mean, no guarantees, just in case—but I’ve been known to be pretty persuasive. Do you have any pics you can send me?”

“Yes! I can text them to you.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll get it done, don’t worry. Call it an I’m-sorry-I-haven’t-checked-in gift.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I know how busy you guys are at the end of the month.”

“I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can,” he assures me. “Keep me updated about HGTV, yeah? We’re rooting for you.”

“I will.” My face splits into a grin. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Talk to you soon, doll.”

“Bye, Nate.”

I squeal giddily when I hang up, flouncing sideways to lie across the bed as elation wells inside me. It feels so good to be doing something again, even if it’s for Hunter’s benefit and not my own.

I’ve got to tell Hunter.

I imagine he’ll be excited, right? I think back to what he said last night and his attitude about the whole thing, and surely he’ll be grateful to find that someone is actually interested in this place, right? Of course free publicity will do nothing but good for the business.

Unless he thinks it’s none of my business, that is.

Oh shit.

I hadn’t even considered that. What if he gets angry that I would try to do something like this without his actual permission? I mean, it’s not like we’re old friends. We’re barely even friends with benefits. Is it weird that I would go out of my way to help him like this?

I think you like Hunter.

I roll face-first into the quilt and make a frustrated sound.