An hour later, basking in the heat of the flames crackling from the lodge…
“I hate it when they pee themselves.” His aunt Lenore was the one to start the lament. “Way too easy to track. Takes all the fun out of it.”
“Not to mention who wants to touch them once they’re marinating in it,” Aunt Lacey declared, having already donned her one-piece pantsuit.
Lawrence wore a pair of pants and not much else as he watched the lodge burn. There would be no more hunts, not here at any rate, but fighting poachers remained a full-time job.
Aunt Lena, who was quite fond of cousin Miriam—the one shot and dumped in a river—stood by his side. “Miri is going to be pissed we took care of this without her.”
“We couldn’t wait, and she needed more time to recover.” Because his cousin had almost died. Being a lion shifter made her strong, but even they had to give themselves time to heal.
“I am hungry,” Lenore announced. “Bring on the meat.”
“I know a place,” Lacey declared.
“Does it offer only fake meat?” Lena asked with a scowl. “I don’t want any of that weird vegan stuff.”
“It’s not weird. It’s choosing to not eat possible distant family members.”
“I am not related to cows. And even if I were, I’d still eat them because they’re delicious.” A deliberate jibe.
“Savage.” Lacey’s lips pursed, and Lena flexed for battle.
It happened all too often. He stepped between his aunts.
“Now, ladies,” he chastised.
Aunt Lena shoved him out of the way. “We don’t need you getting involved, squirt.”
Squirt.
They still treated him like a child. “I’m a grown man,” he declared.
“Really? I couldn’t tell on account you’re still getting into trouble.” That was a matter-of-fact statement from Lenore.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he blustered.
“Ahem.” Aunt Lacey cleared her throat. “The incident with the Russians.”
“Was fixed without incident.”
“Only by accident. What about the Canadian-border thing a few months ago?” Aunt Lenore had one of those memories that could bring up every wrong thing he’d ever done.
“A misunderstanding.” Apparently having sex in the interview rooms was a no-no.
“You need a keeper,” Aunt Lacey stated.
“Not us,” piped in Aunt Lenore. “No offense, you’re like a son to me, but it’s time someone else took on the task.”
“I don’t need a keeper. I’m thirty-five years old. I am a well-regarded member of the Pride.”
“And it’s past time you settled down and got domestic,” Lacey replied pertly.
“None of you ever did,” he pointed out.
“Because I didn’t need a keeper,” Lena pointed out.
“And not entirely true,” Lenore complained. “I’ve been married.”
“Three times. We know,” chimed in his other two aunts with a roll of their eyes. Which would have set off another argument if their phones hadn’t all pinged at once.
“It’s him again,” muttered Lenore.
“For a guy who was never going to marry, he’s awfully pushy about it now,” said Lena with a sniff.
“I think it’s cute,” exclaimed Lacey.
“Oh, please. It’s because he’s horny.” Aunt Lena wagged her finger. “I hear that Tigranov girl won’t let him have any until they’re married.”
“That’s because Grandma threatened to geld Dean if he touched her before their union was sanctified,” Lacey told them in a theatrical hush that probably everyone heard for a mile around.
All true. Lawrence had to listen to his best friend as he moaned about the lack of nookie.
“I never knew tigers could be such sticklers for propriety,” Lenore declared with a shake of her head. “In my day—”
“Woman wore stirrup pants and thought they were sexy.” Lena snorted.
“Don’t be snickering so hard. You had the same teased hair.” An arched brow went with Lenore’s rejoinder.
“But I had the good sense to never wear those fluorescent biker shorts,” Lena said with a tilt of her chin.
As the newest fight ramped up, Lawrence, being a shit disturber, just had to toss in, “Okay, boomers.”
It almost cost him one of his lives.
Luckily, the aunts loved him, and they all made it to the wedding on time and got to see confirmed bachelor Neville Dean Horatio Fitzpatrick get married. His best friend had chosen to bind himself to one woman—gulp—for life.
Despite what the married folks and others said, it gave Lawrence the shudders. He couldn’t even manage six days in a relationship. How the heck did forever work? He knew firsthand how the whole dating thing worked; the first date was always the best, sometimes he could squeak a decent second. By the third, it was all downhill.
Best to keep things short and sweet. He planned to be single forever. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the company of women.
And weddings were a great place to get laid.
The ceremony was thankfully boring, the grandmother having bribed some bishop or other to officiate. Apparently, it was a prestige thing. It meant standing in place, or kneeling, only rarely sitting, and there was singing. Lots of it.
As best man, Lawrence suffered it all. On a positive note, this time the bride didn’t try to kill him. A long story and the main reason why Dean and Natasha got together.
The reception after the wedding provided a massive buffet, a live band, and lots of bodies, a good number of them shimmying and swaying. They couldn’t resist a good beat.
Many of them he already knew. Cousin. Cousin. Second cousin—which still counted as family when it came to extracurricular bedroom activities. His aunts. Dean’s aunts. Then there were the ones he knew he shouldn’t go near. Daughter of a Russian mobster. Wife. More wives. A few grandmas who smiled at him. The prospects appeared rather slim.
And then she emerged.
Cute as a chipmunk, her hair swept into a ponytail, glasses dark-rimmed and rectangular. Her curves just right. Her humanity on display as she managed to trip over her own feet and go flying.
Chapter Two
The tray almost slipped out of Charlotte’s hands as the door to the kitchen swung open requiring she lean out of the way. The tray she carried—with a double layer of bacon-wrapped shrimp and scallops—tilted slightly, but none of the appetizers hit the floor. She managed to straighten herself without mishap and sighed in relief. Disaster averted.
Usually, she stuck to washing dishes because she was known to be clumsy, but they’d been short staffed on the floor, and she fit in the uniform of black slacks and white blouse. Clumsy or not, they wanted her serving food.
The tray seemed easy enough to hold on to, except for the fact it proved more unwieldy than expected. But other people did it all the time. She’d get better with practice. She’d learned all kinds of new skills since she’d left a decent-paying job in a marketing firm to come to Russia. Given she didn’t speak the language, her working choices proved limited. Currently, she had two jobs, one to survive, the other to save so she could go back home.