Page 15 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

His deep chuckle does things to me, like when I do the never-ending spins in salsa. It’s not unpleasant, just…strange.

“Let’s get to know each other,” he says. “Where do you fall in the birth order of your family? You’re the only girl, right?”

“I’m the second-youngest, only girl. Dec is the oldest, and he’s always been the leader. Patrick and Owen are best friends with each other and have the twin thing going. Ian and I are twins, but I’m the only girl, so I’m on the outside. We have dance in common and similar taste in guys—Ian’s gay—but it’s not the same twin connection. Seamus is the youngest, and he’s less than a year younger than me and Ian, so it was almost like we were triplets, with Ian and Seamus being best friends.”

Trevor cocks his head and studies me. What’s he thinking? Of course I’m on the outside because it’s obvious there’s something wrong with me and that’s why I’m kept in the shadows? But I want to shine. I want to be noticed.

“I get it. I’m the youngest of four. I’m almost five years younger than Mallory. Valerie and Mallory are only ten months apart.”

“Did people think they were twins because they were close in age and had rhyming names?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. Ethan is eighteen months older than Valerie. They were the closest. Mallory and I are close. We’re all wolf shifters except Mallory. She can’t shift. That made her an outsider. I was an oops baby. I’m eight years younger than Ethan, so we didn’t hang out. Our parents were heavily involved in their careers by the time I came along. Mom was a chemical engineer, and Dad was a patent attorney. That’s how I ended up involved with dance and cheerleading. I was with my cousins all the time, and my aunts and uncles would just include me in whatever activities their kids were doing. I didn’t want to do baseball because that was Ethan’s thing, and I didn’t want to be in his shadow.”

I hold my hand up for a high five.

“I guess you know about being in the shadows?” he asks.

“I’m in the shadows so much I never need sunscreen,” I joke.

Trevor stands and takes my hand, pulling me into a dance hold. “You, Sophie Mackenzie, should always be in the spotlight.” He twirls me around.

It’s very sweet of him and kinda romantic, but he’s doing it all wrong. I can’t help it, I have to correct him.

“Left hand up,” I tell him. Facing him, I place my right hand in his left and my left hand on the upper part of his right arm. “Your right hand at my left shoulder blade.”

Looking in the mirror, I see he’s close. “Just a smidge higher. And stand up straight. I know you’re tall, but I’ll be in heels. You’ll have a heel of either one or one and a half inches, depending on if you’re wearing a standard or Cuban heel.”

“I’m not wearing a Cuban heel,” Trevor insists, looking down at me.

“Do you even know what a Cuban heel is?”

“No, but I know I don’t want to wear them.”

I pull out of his hold and jam my fists on my hips. “You have a dance background. You know you must wear the proper gear. You wouldn’t play hockey without your pads. You’re going to wear Cuban heels on the show.”

He lifts his chin in the direction of my laptop, so I open it and restart the video.

“I need to move to learn,” he says. “I can’t just sit here and watch other people do it.”

We try the moves, and he usually gets them wrong. And we laugh. He’s trying, but he wasn’t kidding when he said it takes repetition for him to learn. Amazingly, I’m not as frustrated as I expected to be. I’m not a patient teacher. I can see clearly what I want the dance to be and can demonstrate it or show examples on video, but I can’t explain it clearly enough to teach it to someone who finds the moves unfamiliar. I know Trevor can learn the dances, given enough time and practice. My concern is if I’m going to be able to teach them to him.

He wants to try again, but I suggest we go back to watching the videos. Hopefully knowing what it’s supposed to look like will help him learn the dance. He gives me puppy dog eyes that I can’t resist, so I agree to try one last time, and then it’s back to video. I start the counts and…he does it. He hits every single step of the twenty-four counts I’ve taught him. I’m breathless when we hit the final count. Our bodies are pressed together. And he’s hard. How the hell was he able to dance with that happening? Our eyes meet, and we break apart like we were caught snogging by my parish priest.

My yawn is only partly fake as I check the time on my laptop. “Oh, shit, it’s after midnight.” I yawn again to punctuate my sentence. “I’m sorry, Trevor. You must be exhausted. You had a longer day than I did.”

“I’m okay. I’ll get a room, not a big deal.”

He worked up a sweat while we were dancing, and his scent is intoxicating. He smells like pine trees and vanilla. That’s unexpected. But there’s also the underlying notes of his natural scent. It’s not something I can narrow down to specific scent notes, it’s just him. Longing pools in my abdomen, and my nipples tighten with desire.

It’s biology, Soph, I tell myself. We’re both wolf shifters. Catching his scent all the time is distracting. He’s a good-looking man even without being a wolf shifter. But with us both being wolf shifters of an age where our mating drives are at their highest, we’re going to be drawn to each other. And that’s the problem. I’m nobody’s mate.

Maybe he’d be okay with a physical relationship. We scratch our itches, and when he finds a mate, or I tire of him, we move on. It’s possible that could help our connection on the dance floor. Rather than working to stay separate, we could lean into the attraction and bond. It’s only a couple of months, and then we’ll be apart anyway. He’ll travel with the team to finish their season. I’ll hopefully be invited on the tour with the pros from the other shows, and then I’ll be busy working with my next partner and filming.

“Or,” I say, trying to keep the hesitation from my voice, “you could just stay here. It’s silly to bother the staff.” Maybe he wants to be away from me. I know I can be a lot. Crap. I’m making things awkward. “Unless you’d rather have your own space.”

He quirks his lips at my babbling. “Is there a second room?”

My face flushes scarlet. There obviously isn’t. He can see everything from where we’re standing. “No. I was thinking you could stay in my room. In my bed. With me.” His raised eyebrows have me rushing to add, “I’m not saying we’re having sex, but we could fool around and cuddle.”

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