Page 12 of Accidentally Joining His Cult

“Want to come back to the bar at my hotel?” I ask. I don’t know any other bars around here, and I’m hoping he isn’t done hanging out, either.

“That sounds great.”

* * *

“You did not sneaka dog onto an NHL team’s private flight,” I say, laughing so hard my face hurts. I feel like I haven’t stopped laughing since Beck and I arrived at the bar over an hour ago.

“Well, believe it or not, werewolves aren’t real. And I wasn’t sure where to get an actual wolf when I was only ten years old,” Beck replies cockily.

“But you could get a dog that looked like a wolf?” I still can’t tell if this is a true story, not with how good his poker face can be. “When you were only ten?”

“People will do strange things when you offer them a lot of money, even if you’re still a kid. I was convinced we’d win our next game if we had a more realistic mascot to motivate the team,” he explains, as though this is a totally rational story.

“What happened when they found the dog?”

“I could tell that my dad was amused, and a little impressed, but that he knew he needed to act like a parent and scold me.” Beck looks proud of himself as I continue laughing. “Then the players took turns holding and petting the dog. One of them really bonded with him. He ended up adopting the dog and everything.”

“That’s adorable.”

“It worked, too. They won the next game, so a few of the more superstitious guys insisted that the dog keep coming. My punishment was being in charge of him during the games for the rest of the season.”

The bartender checks if we need anything, and we politely decline. Beck and I are sticking to water since he mentioned not wanting to drink too much, but the bartender’s frequent visits seem excessive, given how little we’re ordering.

“I think the bartender has a crush. He won’t stop looking at you,” I tease.

He’s shorter than Beck, a smaller man with purple dyed hair and a nose ring. I could never pull that off, but he’s rocking the look.

“Punk rock twinks aren’t really my thing.” He laughs. “What about you? What's your usual type?”

I think back to all the girls I’ve dated, considering their similarities. “I guess I tend to go for brunettes with blue eyes.”

Beck seems to like that answer, his blue eyes gleaming as he grins at me. “Thatisa hot combination.”

My phone startles me, making the special chiming noise that indicates a text message from Viktor.

“I’m so sorry. I try to stay off my phone when I’m with someone, but that’s my boss’s alert tone.”

VIKTOR

Five minute warning: full update on week requested.

Cody

Ready.

I lookup to find Beck glancing at me with disappointment. I show him the text as I explain. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t had a chance to update my boss all week. He’s so busy with everything that when he calls, the expectation is that you answer it.”

“I get it. I just wish that we didn’t have to cut our night short,” he admits, standing up from the bar as I do.

“Me too. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun just talking with someone.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you again?” he asks as we exit the bar and head into the lobby.

“Let’s exchange numbers and make it happen!” I can’t explain why, but I feel like I need to make sure that this isn’t the last time I see him. Beck tells me his number, and I send him a text so he has mine as well.

“A black cat emoji?” he questions.

“It was the first thing that popped into my head.” I shrug. “You remind me of one, with your tattoos, dark hair, and clothes. Plus, you’re quiet in big groups, like today. But one-on-one, you open up and show your true self. Don’t worry—it’s a compliment. I think black cats are cool,” I add with a smile.

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