Page 14 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

“Between our mother judging and Ian dancing, they kind of had to give me a shot.” I shove my laptop onto Trevor’s lap and rise so I can pace. I’m too aggravated to sit still. “I’m a good dancer. Yeah, I can be bossy, but I can dance! I deserved to audition based on my own merits and not as a favor or a condition. But that’s how it worked out, and now everyone thinks of me as some sort of nepo baby, the dancer who can only get jobs because of her family connections. Not my talent.”

He puts the laptop on the coffee table in front of him, rises, and walks over to me. Trevor doesn’t say anything, but when he pulls me into a hug, he doesn’t have to. His compassion and understanding are clear in his embrace. Our height difference may make dancing together a challenge, but the way his big body cradles mine makes me feel cherished and protected. I’m always around men much larger than I am. My father and brothers are all large men. All my potential dance partners and former romantic partners have been too. I’m used to big guys. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. As a wolf shifter, I can protect myself if necessary, so the size disparity usually isn’t an issue in terms of safety, but it’s something I’m aware of.

But Trevor’s size doesn’t overwhelm me. It comforts me. Just like waking up in his room this morning, I felt safe knowing he was there even though he was across the room from me. I want to burrow into his heat and his solid body, but I can’t. We need to focus on dancing. Reluctantly, I pull out of his embrace.

“As someone who hears that he only has his spot on the team because of his sister’s relationship with one of the owners, who also happens to be my coach, I know how you feel.”

My nose scrunches like I’m smelling bullshit. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a talented player. You played in the All-Star Game. You didn’t get picked for that honor because of who your sister’s shagging.”

His shrug is half-hearted. “That’s what I tell myself, and I know I’m good. But it’s still disheartening. I feel like I need to work four times as hard to prove that I’m at least half as good as everyone else.”

“Yes!” He gets it. When I’ve tried to explain it before, I’d get placated.Don’t be silly, they’d say, with a side ofboo-hoo, poor little rich girl not getting what she wants.

The look we share is one of understanding. I haven’t had that with someone before. And I can’t have that now. We’re dance partners. A team for two months, and then he’s focused on hockey and I need to focus on my career as a pro. Get a spot on the tour they usually do after the shows. I’ll be the Mackenzie in the spotlight for once.

But first, we need to learn the cha-cha.

“Come on,” I say, retaking my seat on the couch and picking up my laptop. “Let’s watch these dances so we can start learning counts tomorrow. We go to New York for the morning show the day after tomorrow for the announcement and introduction. They’ll take measurements so they can start on costumes. Yours will be basic pants and shirts. Unless you drop a ton of weight or gain massive amounts of muscle, they won’t bother you much except for final fittings. And spray tans.”

That stops his descent to the cushion next to me. His thigh muscles are incredibly impressive in the semi-squat position he’s frozen in. “Spray tans? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely, we all get them. No one wants to have tan lines or pasty skin. It reflects the lights weird, plus they can do wonders with shading to enhance muscle tone.”

He finally sits next to me and quirks a brow.

“Not that you’d need any enhancements, I’m sure,” I say, both placatingly and honestly.

Predator shifters like wolves normally have superior muscle tone naturally. If that shifter works out regularly, especially at an intense level like that of a professional athlete, their body looks like they’ve been sculpted by Michaelangelo. No need to fake a six-pack with strategically placed darker stripes of tanning spray.

He runs a fingertip along my arm, and goosebumps erupt. His brows lift. I’m wrong. I keep calling his eyes hazel, but they’re so much more than that. Besides green and brown, there are shades of gray in there too. They’re beautiful.

“Is this your tan?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’ve been getting spray tans for so long I think I’m permanently stained.” I hold my arm next to his. He’s about the same shade as I am.

“Turn your arm over,” I direct.

He does as I say. I can see the blue veins under his skin. And a scar.

“What happened?” I trace the ten-centimeter scar. It’s old, a smooth white line now, but it doesn’t look like it was a minor injury.

Trevor sighs, and I raise my gaze from where it’s studying his arm to his face. Now there are gray clouds where there was green previously.

“I got slashed by a skate blade when I was a kid. I was lucky. It could’ve been so much worse, but I had to have a bunch of stitches. Having shifter genes helped immensely. If I was only human, the scar would’ve been a lot more gnarly.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

Tears flood my eyes. He was a little boy. That must have been so scary.

“Hey,” he says softly, cupping my cheek and using his thumb to wipe away the tear that escapes. “I’m okay. It worked out great. Mom invented a cut-resistant fabric that’s now standard. All the kids in our junior hockey program are provided it for free.”

My heart melts. “Your mother loves you so much she invented something to keep you safe.” I give a hiccuping sob. “And it protects other children so they don’t get hurt like you did. That’s beautiful.”

“It made her company a shit ton of money, she got a promotion, and the value of her stash of company stock skyrocketed. I wouldn’t call her selfless.”

Being a pragmatic soul, I shrug. “No reason everyone can’t benefit.”

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