Page 6 of Delivered to My Fury

For good reason.

It made me foolish. At least that was my excuse for “the incident” in college. Grad school, to be specific. Having entered university at fifteen, I was always younger than everyone else and socially behind them in matters of things like dating and drinking. Ceci took me under her wing and tried to help me navigate the difficulties of those years. She was three years older than me and more in tune with everyone else and eager to show me what I’d missed by being a nerdy teenager when everyone else was rapidly becoming young adults.

To celebrate my twenty-first birthday, we went to a local watering hole frequented by our fellow students. Looking around, I had my doubts that everyone present was actually old enough to be there, but what business was it of mine, really? I was more concerned by the fact that my friend had just announced to all present that it was my very first day as a drinker, and they all wanted to buy me a shot.

The bartender lined them up in front of me, a row of small, innocent-enough looking glasses, all waiting for me to drink them down. And first, Ceci then other friends who were present followed by the rest of the patrons sang “Happy Birthday.” After she drifted away to speak to someone, the others around me launched into a chorus of “Drink. Drink. Drink.”

I’d never come with them before because watching others drink hadn’t appealed, and technically it was a twenty-one-and-over establishment, so this was all so new to me. They had one of those weird doorways where you couldn’t see inside because of a curtain hanging to block the view from the sidewalk. So, I’ll admit, I had been curious. Sitting at home while everyone was out having a great time made me want to share in the fun. Sure, they seemed a little stupid when they got back to the house I shared with several other students, and they sure didn’t look great the next morning, but from the stories they told, most of the time was just fantastic.

Walking in the door, I’d gotten a little woozy at the fumes, and my common sense was shouting at me to leave. But no matter how intelligent I was purported to be, no matter how young I’d have my PhD…I was still twenty-one and wanted to be part of the group. Being younger than everyone finally shouldn’t matter.

If I had drunk all those shots, I’d have ended up in the hospital…or maybe dead of alcohol poisoning. At least I knew enough to understand that. But the four I did manage to down were enough to have me leaving with a man I’d never met before. A stranger who tossed me a few lines and took me to his hotel room. But at least it wasn’t with a killer, as Ceci reminded me when I made my walk of shame up the front steps of our home the next day.

“What were you thinking?” she demanded, dragging me inside and into the bathroom where she stood me in front of the mirror. “Are you all right? Why were you crying?” I would have denied it, but the tear streaks down my cheeks. “Someone said you left with a guy, but nobody knew who he was. You could have been killed. Did he hurt you? Is that why you cried?”

“No.” It wasn’t that at all. He was probably fine—not that I had any experience to compare it to. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did he at least give you a ride?” She’d seen me walking up the steps but probably not coming down the block. Of course, I couldn’t be sure, so opted for honest, even if it made me look worse than I was.

“No. I snuck out before he woke up.”

Ceci soaked a washcloth under the faucet and passed it to me. “Can you explain the tears, then? Regret? Because we’ve all made mistakes, and it’s okay.”

I couldn’t even tell her. Scrubbing at the mascara streaks on my cheeks, I used the cloth to hide as much of my face as possible when I said, “Probably more hungover than anything. It’s fine. I don’t have to see him again…right?”

“I am so sorry I stepped outside to talk to Jenny. She had a bad breakup and…well, that’s not important now. You didn’t drink all those shots?” Her wide eyes met mine in the mirror. “Not sensible, Opal.”

“No, I didn’t. But more than I should have. I feel like crap.” Laying the washcloth over the side of the sink, I puffed out a breath. “I’m going to bed.”

Which I did. And nobody—except the guy who was must have woken to find my blood on his sheets—ever knew I lost my virginity to a stranger instead of as I’d always planned to someone I loved.

That was the last time I got that drunk. From that day forward, it was beer and wine only, and not a ridiculous amount of those. The bourbon I was downing on this night years later had only been in the house because I watched a video about making vanilla extract and thought it would be a nice holiday gift for my friends. Thought it might be a funny quirky gift from a chemist. But after imbibing more of it than was good for me, I found myself online and filling out the questionnaire for the Mail-Order Matings app. I had nothing else going on. Maybe I should marry a lion.

Chapter Six

Eero

Zyon and Shay decided to come in late, mostly because they were often at the brewery until dawn. When I got up to make the morning coffee, they were coming in the front door.

My wolf valued his sleep and I did as well. I was one grumpy son of a you know what if I didn’t clock my eight hours. But for the other sixteen hours of the day, I worked as hard as possible.

Our brewery was gaining more interest each day. Zyon did most of the brewing and Shay worked on flavors and bottling, but I was in charge of schmoozing the customers and trying to get us more contracts and handling the social media side of things.

I stopped outside the tasting room just before noon, putting my best smile on. There was a group of women on a girls’ trip on the other side of the door. I could hear them giggling—scent their vanilla-and-sugar human scents.

If they left with a good impression and a case in their hands, then I would consider it a job well done.

“Good morning, ladies. Welcome to the Furious Brewery and Tavern tasting room.”

They all said hello, and some clapped a little.

I set up the tavern and the tasting room as well with soft music from another time. I kept the lights low, and the wall sconces that resembled real oil lamps were flickering, giving the place a golden glow. I’d learned early on that atmosphere was a big part of the sell.

We filled these group tastings on a regular basis, but I treated each one like a major event. A few weeks before, we were approached by a buyer for a small chain of local grocery stores, but her first visit was to a tasting party with her friends.

We never knew who would walk through those doors at any given minute.

“Do you like the berries and cream?” I asked, walking over to a group of girls. Two of them were taking pictures of the glass under the light from a sconce and another one was talking about a date she had that weekend.

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