Dead Over Heels

“Don’t expect me to help you hook up with some random jerkoff!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“I’m not staying here another minute!”

“Fine!”

“Except they towed my car this morning so I need a ride!”

“Fine!” He snatched his keys off the table and stomped toward the front door. He’d imagined this scene a thousand times, but never quite like this. In his mind, she confessed she secretly loved him, too, and they ended up in bed, and he eventually knocked her up, and they lived happily ever after.

Not this—this screaming awful fight.

Fuck.

Chapter 11

Five days later, Cain was still fuming, bewildered, and betrayed. She’d ignored Saul’s calls and e-mails. She’d watched 300 nine more times.

And over and over again she thought about dates one through seven, thought about the fact that Saul had cold-bloodedly set her up with the worst Pack members he could find, men he knew (because he knew her as no one else did) she would find repulsive.

She hadn’t thought he had it in him.

And the love thing? Ridiculous.

There was no way.

Right?

Right.

Because this was Saul. Sweet, stammering, beta Saul. Geeky, engineering, workaholic Saul.

Saul, who’d given her his teddy bear at age five when she’d accidentally (okay, maybe she’d lost her temper a little) ripped the head off hers.

Saul, who gave her his ice-cream cone when she dropped hers the summer they were six.

Saul, who had comforted her when her parents died the fall she was fourteen, as she had comforted him when his mother died a year later, rapidly followed by his father.

Saul, who listened impassively the spring she was seventeen when she told him about losing her virginity, then suggested she dump the guy.

And she had. She had.

Looking back through the years, she could see his subtle maneuverings, the way he always made sure she stayed single, the way he gently discouraged her from pursuing certain men, men she might have fallen for.

Sneaky treacherous bastard!

If she ever saw him again (fat chance of that) she would punch his face in. Repeatedly. Until he was a big bloody mess on the ground. He and Geoff the asshole could share a hospital room.

By the fifth day, she had heaved herself up off the living room couch, hosed herself off, dressed in fresh, clean clothes, and bopped down the street to the nearest bar.

She moved easily, without pain; the damage Geoff had inflicted was long gone—although she had called the Cape Cod Hospital two days ago and established he was still an inpatient. That had put the first smile on her face in seventy-two hours. She hoped his balls still hurt.

After pushing her way past the waiting crowd, after being waved in by the bouncer, she headed straight for the bar. Never had she wanted a drink so badly.

Now she was slumped on a stool, sucking down Coronas and thinking about all the ways she would mutilate Saul if she ever saw him again (fat chance of that).

“Excuse me?”

First, she’d break his nose. Then, she’d break out all his teeth. Then—

“Excuse me?”

She turned to look; a cute redheaded, green-eyed werewolf had slid onto the stool beside her. That was a relief; at least a monkey wasn’t about to put the moves on her. “Yeah?”

“Don’t I know you?”

“I dunno. Do you?”

“You’re Cain, right?”

“Right.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it. He really was cute, with those sparkling green eyes and that big grin. And freckles!

“I’m Darrell.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned, and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter 12

I don’t have an STD. Contrary to rumor.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Buy you another one?” he asked, gesturing to her beer bottle, which was almost empty.

“Sure.”

“So,” he said, while they were waiting for the bartender, “Saul got it wrong, huh? That’s not like him.”

“Oh yes it is. He got it wrong on purpose. He’s been steering guys away from me for years. He just stepped it up this month.”

There was an awkward pause while the bartender plunked down their drinks, then Darrell said, “Jeez, that’s—uh—weird. Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s gone insane?”

“I dunno, sounds like a description of a man in love to me.”

“Please,” she said, furiously chomping on her lime.

“That would explain,” Darrell said thoughtfully, “why I also heard that you were anorexic, hooked on marijuana, and a nymphomaniac.”

She nearly choked on her lime. “I haven’t gotten laid in two years! And all that other stuff isn’t true, either,” she added belatedly.

“You’re right. He has gone insane. Saul, of all people! Crazy over you, at least.”

“Please,” she said again.

“Wow,” he said cheerfully, slurping his Bud. “I heard you were a little slow on the uptake, but does he have to paint it on your forehead?”

“I am not, either!” she said furiously, resisting the impulse to break the bottle over his stupid red head. “And he does not! And he better not. I can’t believe you’re on his side. Men,” she snorted. “You all stick together.”

“We sort of have to,” he said apologetically. “Mars and Venus and all that stuff, right? Guys have to stick together. Otherwise, you’d destroy us all.”

“That’s an interesting worldview. Creepy, but interesting.” She finished her beer and made up her mind. “So. You wanna go out? Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I won’t.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because Saul’s in love with you and you’re probably in love with him, you’re just too pissed to see it. And