Page 50 of Labor of Love

“Why not?”

“Fiancé’s gonna kill me.”

“Max?” Tanner asked with surprise. “Isn’t he a dryad? Not exactly the murdering type.” They were, in fact, a notoriously peaceful species.

“I lost track of the moon,” Butch said, staring listlessly at the ground. “Shifted in the living room. Broke the couch.”

“Yeah?” That answered Tanner’s unasked question: Butch was a werewolf, tied to the lunar phases. He was just a very, very large one.

“It was brand new.” Butch’s brow furrowed as he sighed. “He loved that couch.”

“And you think stumbling home drunk is gonna help the situation?”

Tanner’s question was greeted with more blinking. Well, damn. Tanner hadn’t planned to stretch his wings as a couples counselor tonight. “Hey, Butch,” he said conversationally. “Contracting’s going well, right?”

“Right.”

“Go buy your fiancé a new couch.”

“Oh.” Butch blinked a few more times. “Right.” He stood unsteadily and lumbered out the door.

“I’ll put it on your tab!” Tanner called after him. But he wasn’t exactly worried about it. The town was small, and Tanner could easily track Butch down if he needed to. Or better yet, Max. One stern word from the sweet dryad and Butch would come running to settle his debts, his proverbial (or literal) tail tucked firmly between his legs.

Tanner cleared away the empty pitcher and glass. That left two patrons in the bar tonight, both humans who looked ready to clear out soon. Maybe Tanner would close up early, pour himself a beer, and watch some sports replays.

He turned to start capping the liquor bottles, only to hear the door open not two seconds afterward.

There went Tanner’s plan to close down early.

“Anywhere you like!” he called out without looking.

There was a singular haughty sniff. “I see I’m not starved for choice.”

Tanner froze, one arm outstretched to the top shelf. He was lucky he didn’t drop the bottle.

Tanner knew that voice.

He knew that voice intimately. The fae that came with it too.

At least, Tannerhadknown him, almost four months ago now. For one glorious night, he’d known him quite well. He’d known how he sounded when he was crying out in pleasure. He’d known how he sounded when he was sobbing hisrelease. He’d known how he sounded when he was recklessly demanding, “More,” “Faster,” “Harder, damn it!”

Tanner turned to face the front of the bar, wiping his palms on his flannel.

And there was Bracken Riverstone, in the flesh.

Tanner only even knew his name from his bar tab. When Tanner had asked for it directly, the prickly fae had scowled at him, asked, “Whateverfor?” and promptly gone back to trying to eat Tanner’s face off.

Figuratively, that was. Tanner was pretty sure all fae were herbivores.

They’d been making out, was what he was trying to say.

Bracken looked gorgeous. Hewasgorgeous, with golden skin the color of rich honey, and long light-green hair with little braids at the front to keep it out of his beautiful face. A face with pretty pink lips, delicate features, and pointed ears adorned with equally delicate gold jewelry.

A face that was now contorted into a look of complete and utter disdain.

At least Bracken was consistent. He’d had that same look on his face when he’d first walked into the bar four months ago.

The thing was, Tanner didn’t fuck his customers. Not ever. The town was too small, and he had no interest in being known as the lecherous barkeep always down for a good time.

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