Mysteria Nights

how ridiculous, she had a date with a twenty-six-and-a-half-year-old man.

It took forever for it to be evening. Candice had chosen, vetoed, and rechosen what she was going to wear. Then she’d cursed herself over and over. Why the hell hadn’t she agreed to a normal date? One where she could drive up in her chic Mini and meet him at a nice restaurant somewhere out of town. (Way out of town.) She’d have chosen her sexy little black dress that displayed all of her assets and hid most of her imperfections. Her makeup would have been meticulously applied. And her hair would have been Truly Big and Ready for Flirtatious Flinging About. She could have dazzled him with her experience and good taste in choosing excellent wine, and then ordered from any menu with the confidence and flair that can only be earned through maturity and experience. She, in short, would have had the upper hand.

Instead she was trying to figure out which of her rather old sports bras was the least tattered, and which cotton panties weren’t totally grandma-ish. As if there was such a thing as an un-grandma-ish cotton workout panty. Why, oh why hadn’t she bought new sports bras at the last Victoria’s Secret sale? Oh yeah, she remembered . . . they don’t have real, usable sports bras at Victoria’s Secret!

Oh, God. Would he see her bra and panties? Just the thought made her feel like she wanted to puke her guts up.

No! Of course he wouldn’t see her panties! She was meeting him for a quick jog, not a quick fuck.

Regardless, somehow she found herself in the bathroom. Naked. Staring through her fingers into the full- length mirror at her body as if she was watching a horror flick.

Looking at myself totally naked and under fluorescent lights just can’t be healthy. But she continued to stare and criticize.

Sure, she wasn’t awful looking. Candice forced the shielding fingers from her eyes. Okay. She wasn’t really that bad. She’d been thinner and tighter, but her skin was soft and smooth, and she was definitely curvy. Maybe even lush. She shook her head, as if to clear the bizarre notions from it. “Lush” and “curvy” were not “young” and “tight-assed.” There was just no way she was going to get naked in front of and have sex with a twenty-six-and-a- half-year-old. No. Fucking. Way.

Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He probably wouldn’t be there. Why would he want to be there? He could have just been being polite yesterday. He probably was just being nice. She had misinterpreted. He hadn’t really flirted and come on to her. It was silly, really. He was so damn young. Sure, she was attractive, but please. She was almost fifteen years older. No way was he interested in her. Not like that.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

She’d told herself that she was ready to see him—or ready for him to stand her up. Either was fine. Really. Whatever. Who cared? But then he was there, calling her beautiful and smiling his sexy, boy/man smile, and she felt the same dizzying rush of excitement she’d felt when he’d sent her the message the night before. And, dear sweet Lord, he was even more handsome than she’d remembered. Had she been blocking? Was it temporary amnesia? How could she not have been obsessing all day over his height and the incredible width of those shoulders, and that amazing jawline. . . .

“Hi,” she said breathlessly, glad that she’d agreed to meet him at the creek so that she had an excuse other than just the sight of him to be breathing hard.

“How do you feel about trying something new today?”

His flirty smile made her stomach tighten. Oh, God, if only he knew.

Never mind. It was probably best that he didn’t know.

Be normal! Talk to him!

“What do you have in mind?”

His eyes sparkled as he jerked his head, pointing his chin away from the road and into the forest. Then, with a confident, deep voice he recited, “‘I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by.’”

He was actually quoting poetry to her. Again. Her cheeks felt warmed by more than the short jog through the graveyard. “A little Robert Frost?”

“A very little, I’m afraid. And don’t be too impressed. I freely admit to memorizing it this afternoon.”

“You know, I don’t remember you being this interested in poetry in high school.”

“Would it help if I made my voice crack and stared, slack-jawed, at your boobs?”

“Only if your intention is to scare me out of the forest.”

His smile was intimate. “That is not my intention.”

She almost asked what his intentions were . . . but she didn’t want to know. What if he gave her a blank look and said, “I thought we’d be friends”? She’d fucking die. But whether it’d be from relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. She only realized that she’d been standing there silently staring at him when his smile faded and his tone became more serious.

“Candice, if you don’t want to go off into the woods with me, all you have to do is say the word. I’ll understand. I just thought that you might like exploring a hiking path I know about. That way we could get our exercise and still be able to talk. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never mastered the talent of jogging and talking at the same time.”

She met his eyes. His gaze was open and honest—vulnerable, even. Could he be as nervous as she felt? And then came the startling revelation—he had to be more nervous. She was almost fifteen years his senior and his ex-teacher. She was more experienced and more confident. She could reject him with a neatly turned phrase and a patronizing, disdainful look. She definitely had the high ground, even if she wasn’t perfectly coiffed and perched on a posh chair at an elegant restaurant. Disregarding the rather ridiculous question of whether or not this was a real date, Justin had put himself in a position where he could be thoroughly humiliated and ultimately rejected by her, yet here he was, with a sweet smile on his handsome face, looking for all the world like a man who was doing his best to woo a woman.

“Do you remember the rest of the quote?” she asked, smiling softly at him.

“The Frost quote? No—I just memorized that far.” His cheeks flushed a little with the admission.

“Frost concluded it, ‘I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.’ How about we take your path—the one less traveled by?”

Refreshingly, he didn’t attempt to hide his relief with a suave turn of phrase or a knowing look. Instead he just smiled and said, “I promise that it will make all the difference.”

Justin took her hand and led her into the forest.

Five

“All this time I’ve been jogging by the creek, and I had no idea a hiking path like this was so close.”

“That’s one good thing about being a werewolf. I have definitely gotten to know these woods.”

He’d spoken nonchalantly, but she could feel his look and the expectant silence that screamed, “I’m waiting for you to freak out because I’m a wolf!” So she didn’t respond right away. Instead she picked her way carefully over a large log that had fallen across the trail.

“You’re right. Knowing the secret paths in the woods is one good thing about being a werewolf. What’s another?” she asked, matching his nonchalant tone.

He hesitated only a moment. “The physical power.”

“You mean when you’re in your wolf form?”

Justin slowed down and studied her face. “Do you really want to know, or are you just making polite conversation?”

“I’m intrigued,” she said honestly.

“There’s physical power in both forms, and in both I can tap into the magic in these hills pretty easily. In this form I’m stronger than a human man. And not just physically. My senses are more acute. My memory is better.” He grinned a little sheepishly. “I guess that means I should have made better than a C in your class.”