Page 14 of Cold Foot Revenge
“It’s a coyote mask.” The shock on his face made her laugh.
“You’re a ‘yote shifter?”
Roxy shrugged. “I don’t usually talk about it.”
“Mmm.” He nodded his head thoughtfully, and then rattled off, “Bear, Komodo dragon, crocodile, phoenix, sentry dragon.”
Confused, she sat in the chair by the door and asked, “Were those your guesses for my animal?”
“No that’s some of the shifters I run with. Yote or wolf, makes no difference to me. You can talk about it. Coyotes are cooler than wolves.”
“Yeah right.”
“I’m not blowing smoke,” he told her as he kicked off his shoes. “I mean it. I’ve heard of werewolves before but you’re the first yote shifter I’ve heard of. You’re rare right?” He peeled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the corner. Well, this was distracting.
“Technically I don’t even think I’m supposed to exist. I think it’s an experimental shifter animal or something. I haven’t been able to find anyone else like me.”
He was really stripping down. He currently had no shirt on and that was a very chiseled six pack he was rocking behind that handgun he had in a holster in the waist of his jeans. He unclipped the holster and gun from inside of his waist band and set it on the dresser, aimed carefully away from her.
“Do you carry that a lot?” she asked.
“I carry it always.”
She frowned. “Is it dangerous being a human so close to the Cold Foot Crew?”
“Sometimes, but that’s not why I carry.”
“Why then?”
“For protection,” he uttered distractedly as he kicked out of his jeans.
Oh gads, he was standing here in a pair of tight black boxer briefs, and she had the perfect profile of his dick constricted in the thin material.
He busted her looking and gave a little smirk before she squeaked and turned toward the door to give him privacy.
“I’m not modest,” he told her.
“Maybe I am.”
“You’re a stripper.”
“Dancer,” she gritted out, “and if you’re going to keep flinging that in my face, it’s not fun to be around you.”
“Huh. Okay. Do you separate your job from your personal life?”
“I…” She frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
He was quiet, so she turned to take a peek at him, and he was standing there now clad in a darker pair of jeans. He was still shirtless, and his feet were bare, and he looked like one of those models on a big billboard downtown with all his damn abs. Good God, that man was too attractive for his own good.
“I’m going to say it plain. Are you ready?”
“Say what pl—”
“I don’t give a shit that you’re a dancer or a stripper or whatever it is you like to be called. I do like that you don’t fuck your customers, but clearly money is tight, and you are doing your thing covering bills. Right?”
“I’m four days late on rent, but everything else is paid up.”
Dylan pursed his lips into a thin smile. “I don’t think you’re going to be a dancer long-term. I don’t think you like it.”
