Page 4 of Little Etheldreda Riding Hood

The Black Raven County Trailer Park is an all-day drive from Mae and Jim’s house. After a phone call to confirm that she actually has room for me, I give my boss notice and start to scan the job websites for anything available in that part of the state. I’ll need to look for a job pretty soon after I get settled. My savings will only get me through another month, maybe two, if I’m careful. I pack my tiny car and set off first thing the next morning.

On the backroads I have to take to get there, clean restrooms are few and far between, and by the time I cross over the county line into Black Raven County, I’m dying to find a place to stop and hit the bathroom. There isn’t much “in town”— a vet clinic, a vape place, a tiny Korean restaurant, and a gaudy strip club.

I’ve still got thirty minutes until I get to Darla’s. I could chance it, but I really don’t think I’m going to make it. Cursing myself for the two twenty-ounce sodas I downed to keep myself awake, I pull into the nearly empty strip club parking lot. It’s only seven on a Wednesday night. It’s probably a slow night for any kind of club, especially in this part of the country where Wednesday night church is the main midweek event for most guys. You can’t claim it’s guys night out and sneak out to a strip club when there’s church services at six and the potluck at seven.

A bright neon pink sign lazily flashes between the name of the place–The Wild Hare Ranch–and a picture of a rabbit that looks like it’s on the bad end of a chase. The pink light is eerie in the dark as it reflects against the slushy snow.

With a sigh, I step out of the car and into the cold. I’m not dressed for a club at all–I’ve got on jeans, boots, my pink puffy winter jacket, and a plain crocheted beanie Mae made me for Christmas.

Doubtful they’re going to let me in, I reluctantly walk up to the door. A short man, with more muscles than I’ve ever seen on a real person, is standing at the door. He’s not dressed for the weather at all but doesn’t look cold. His arms are crossed defiantly across his chest, his body still as a statue. Maybe the muscles give him extra warmth? In the glow of the pink lights his skin looks off, but it’s not until I step closer that I realize it’s not the lighting. He’s actually completely dark red and has small horns on either side of his forehead.

He barely looks at me, just nods me in. “No cover for ladies,” he grunts.

“Thanks,” I say and hurry inside.

I have been many places with Morgan, but a strip club is not one of them. I’m not sure what I expected, but it’s not the sheer boredom of almost every man in the room. It’s slightly depressing. Maybe it’s the early hour?

I step closer to the bar and look around, not sure of who to ask for directions to the bathroom. There’s an attractive wolf behind the bar in partial shift, his ears high on his head and the hair on his arms and face out of control. He smiles as I step closer, his white teeth glinting in the lights from the stage. I suddenly feel very much like Little Red staring into the giant eyes of the big bad wolf.

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” he asks. His voice is deep and rich, and his eyes flick across my body as he leans across the bar to get a better whiff of my scent.

He can probably smell my anxiety, but pride forces me to pretend I’m not uncomfortable at all as he undresses me with his eyes.

“I was hoping to hit the restroom first,” I tell him. Honestly, I desperately just want to pee and escape, but the people pleaser in me demands I buy something if I’m going to use the restroom. “Which way?”

He nods towards the end of the bar. “Follow the hallway past the “employees only” sign. Ladies’ is on the left.”

On stage a beautiful topless woman shimmies about the pole seductively. Not sure where it’s appropriate to look, I quickly skirt the long side of the L-shaped bar. Three men sit at the end–an old Gobelin, a human, and another creature that I can’t quite identify–he’s green and frog-ish. Their backs are to the pretty blonde girl dancing on stage, and they’re deep in discussion about something that’s got them riled up. The frogman turns as I pass, politely nods in my direction, and then goes back to his conversation without missing a beat as I head toward the hall with the promised bathroom. Maybe I’ll sit next to him when I order…he seems like a safe, friendly person to make conversation with.

Once I make it out of the main room, I do my best not to run. I head into the surprisingly clean ladies’ room, take care of my business, wash my hands, and head back out.

The door to the restroom opens out into the hall which seems like a bad design for potentially drunk patrons, but it’s not my club, not my liability insurance. I push it with my backside, not wanting to touch the handle with clean hands, only to hear a grunt and a soft curse from the other side.

Quickly, I step around the door to check on the victim of my enthusiastic butt swing. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

On the other side of the door, a tall man is standing with his hand to his nose. Our eyes meet, and I suddenly lose all ability to speak. The man staring back at me is jaw-droppingly hot. I never knew that jaw dropping at the sight of someone was even a thing until now. I’ve never, in all of my twenty-five years on the planet, felt a pull toward someone quite like I do in this instant.

Most human women I know love the slick bare chest of human men, but I’ve spent my life around wolves. The bits of hair that stick out here and there from the bottoms of his rolled-up sleeves and the collar of his shirt are incredibly sexy. I cannot stop starring.

He’s definitely a werewolf, too. He’s got the telltale body-hair-gone-awry look that gives him away. Instead of annoyance, his ridiculously gorgeous dark brown eyes shine with amusement. He meets my gaze for a long moment, and I can tell he’s about to say something obnoxious.

I’m waiting for the cringy “Hey baby, how you doing? Can I get your number?” when something changes in the air between us. He sucks in a breath.

“You smell…amazing,” he says, which is funny because his hand is still holding his busted nose. He drops his hand absentmindedly and a gush of blood runs down his face.

All sexy thoughts leave my mind in an instant. “Oh my God, are you okay? You’ve got blood–” I start digging in my purse, pulling out receipts, candy wrappers, and then finally manage to come up with a package of tissues.

I’ve got a few of them balled up and I’m wiping up his face like he’s a small child before I even realize what I’m doing. He chuckles and wraps his hand around my wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and brushing the underside, where the blood runs closest to the skin, with his lips.

“Thank you for cleaning me up.” he says, plucking the tissues from my hand and throwing them in the trash can of the ladies’ room. “Will you let me buy you a drink for all the trouble I caused?” His eyes meet mine and I can’t stop the shiver that runs through my body.

“I, uh, should be the one buying you a drink. I could have broken your nose,” I argue.

He huffs a laugh. “Touché, but I never let a lady buy the first drink.”

I laugh. “Fine, but the second one is on me.”

He holds out his arm as if we’re in a Jane Austen novel and not some hole-in-the-wall strip club in the middle of nowhere, then turns his thousand-watt smile on me.“I like how you think. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet. I’m Zach.”

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