Page 3 of Love That Sass

“Shoot,” Sheila said.

“What is with the disco? Did we fall into a hot tub time machine and zap back to the 70s again? Lord, it was hard enough the first time,” Weylin teased.

Dire Wolves aged slowly, and though his true age was nearer to seventy, he looked all of thirty to anyone else. Sheila was younger by far, and he was honestly curious about the whole direction of this bachelorette party.

“Ha! That was my future step-mama-in-law’s doing,” Sheila confided with a snort.

“I see,” Weylin replied, and shook his head.

The Goldens had arrived a little while ago, toting a couple of male exotic dancers wearing platform boots and bell bottoms, but not much else. Patricia, their matriarch, led them, as usual.

The older, golden-haired female was Sheila’s soon to be step-mother-in-law, having mated and married Leo’s dad, the King of the Blue Valley Pride, Donovan Crowley. She had a gaggle of daughters, like four if Weylin could count, but he was not promising anything, and one son named George.

The crew of outrageous Lionesses were regulars at Serious Moonlight. Three of them were mated now, one to a member of the Dire Wolf MC. Brock and Ariella had a rocky start, but the sweet Lioness made his friend happy, so he didn’t see a problem with it.

“Uh oh. Patricia is fondling the strippers again!” Sheila wailed.

A ruckus ensued, but before Weylin could do anything, Thor was on it. The male was a fucking giant, even among their kind. He had the stripper over his shoulder and was hauling his skinny ass outside before King Donovan could kill the bastard.

“Dammit Thor! Bring back my stripper!” Patricia wailed.

“You sure you want to marry into that family?” Weylin asked, only half-joking.

Sheila’s smile was so wide as she watched the Goldens and Crowleys tug-o-war over the Lion matriarch. She grabbed the shot he offered and downed it with a shrug.

“I am sure. Leo is all mine, buddy. The Fates picked a good one,” she said and winked.

Weylin just shook his head and continued mixing alcohol. Fated mates were like unicorns in his world. Shifters believed the Fates were the only ones responsible for delivering matches made in the heavens—literally.

Weylin never bought into all of that, but he had to admit. Something was happening among their Pack.

The Dire Wolves were dropping like flies, getting mated, and in some cases, married, too. And wasn’t that just fucking redundant? Being mated meant more to Shifters than any human piece of paper. But what did he know about it, anyway?

He was more than happy to remain footloose and fancy free. Able to sample the wares of many a female without shackling himself to any single one.

Yep. That was the life for him.

Lonely, you mean, his Wolf grumbled, and Weylin frowned.

The fuck? No.I do not mean lonely! I mean awesome.

“Come on, dude. Where are my blowjobs?” Sheila asked impatiently, clearly, she wanted to join in the fun.

“On it,” he said, and got to work double time.

Sheila started tapping her fingernails impatiently. She was giggling, sure, but that didn’t mean anything. Weylin knew a hunter on the prowl when he saw one, and his Pack mate was on the hunt for a good time.

No way in hell was he standing in the way of that. He looked at her hands while he shook up the shots she’d ordered, noting the dayglo pink paint. Weylin wondered if she did that on purpose to match their logo. The Serious Moonlight sign was the same shade of neon. Sheila’s design, of course.

“There you go, a dozen blow jobs for you and your ladies,” Weylin said, handing her a tray filled with the silly little cocktails served in the extra-long shot glasses and topped with a dollop of whipped cream.

“Oh, and that one is a virgin for Lucy,” he added with a wink, mentioning their Alpha female, who was currently pregnant and none too happy about being excluded from the more randy shenanigans.

“Perfect. Thanks, Wey,” Sheila said and snatched the tray.

The disco continued to pound through the speakers and after another hour, he was ready to strangle someone. Good thing the boys weren’t around, since the exotic dancers were on stage, gyrating their man bits in scandalous glitter thongs with banana hammocks in front.

Oh, it was just a bit of fun, but Weylin would hate to see what would happen if Derrick walked in and found his pregnant mate stuffing singles in some dude’s panties. Let’s face it, they were panties.

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