Page 3 of Claiming Her Cougar (Shifting Pines #2)

SIX MONTHS LATER…

Mallory

Ugh, why did I decide to increase my water intake this week?

This is my third trip to the ladies’ room this morning.

If my department had laptops, I think I’d just make this stall on the far left my office for the day.

The flight to my parents’ home in Florida for Thanksgiving is going to suck if I keep having to pee every hour.

As I sit here, I run through the checklist of what I need to do to prepare for tomorrow’s trip when I’m distracted by a bump on my leg.

“What’s this? A dryer sheet?” I poke at the lump in the leg of my favorite pants.

The dark-gray-and-black houndstooth pattern is subtle, and the bootleg cut flatters my curvy size-fourteen self.

I lift my pant leg to snag the dryer sheet balled up there.

Oh crap. It’s not a dryer sheet—it’s a small gray mouse clinging to my trouser sock and staring up at me with beady black eyes.

“ Aaaghh !” There’s no holding back the shriek that comes from me. It’s a final battle cry before certain death. Mine, not Mickey’s. No one else is down here, so at least no one’s hearing me freak out like a goober.

The outer door to the restroom bangs open, and a masculine voice calls out. “Miss? Are you okay?”

Just my luck. The one time someone’s here, I’m having a close encounter of the rodent kind. “No, I’m not okay! There’s a mouse!” I’m still peeing. How big is the human bladder? Whatever the size, I think I have an extra-large one.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. Where is it?” The man’s calm voice comes from outside the stall door.

“In my pant leg.” I close my eyes, partly to avoid looking down at the vermin doing a barnacle impression on my calf and partly to pretend I’m home in my cozy bed and this is all a jacked-up, Dorito-induced dream.

“In your… The pants you’re wearing?”

“Yep,” I answer, popping the “p” while still peeing.

“Did you try shaking it out?” I know he’s trying to be helpful, but I don’t feel like playing twenty questions right now.

“Well, I’m a bit busy right now,” I say drily. “It’s clinging to my trouser sock.”

“Shake your leg, maybe it will come loose.”

My flow has decreased to a trickle. Screw hydration.

I’m drinking one glass of water a day from now on.

I shake my leg as much as this small stall will allow without ramming my shin into the door and smushing the little critter.

The mouse holds on like it’s going for eight seconds on the mechanical bull at the Mountain Bar. I swear I heard it go “Wheeeee!”

“It’s still there!” A slight edge of hysteria tinges my voice. What if it scampers up the rest of my leg and bites me on the hoo-ha? How would I explain that at the ER? Oh no. Do mice carry rabies? Is this a rabid mouse?

“I’m sure it’s not rabid. It’s just scared.” His voice holds the calm, measured tone of someone trying to talk someone off the ledge or convince them not to cut their bangs.

Oh crap, did I say that out loud?

“Yeah, you did.”

“What do I do now?” I ask in the echoing room. My bladder’s come to the end of its six-year odyssey to empty itself.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to touch it, otherwise you would have already plucked it off?” That’s a reasonable assumption on his part.

“No, I don’t want to touch it! And I’m sitting here on the toilet with my pants down. What the heck would I do with it once I got it?” I’m not in the mood for reason. I want action.

“If I promise not to look above your knees, can you open the door so I can get it off your leg?” He really has a nice voice.

It’s deep and soothing. And familiar. I’m assuming it’s one of my coworkers, but no one else is usually down here.

Oh no. Please don’t let this be my boss, Mr. Morgan.

I would have to quit and move out of New Jersey.

I wonder if they need real estate paralegals in Florida.

“It’s not like I have a choice.” I know, I’m so gracious.

I unlock the stall door and ease it open so that my left leg is visible.

My little gray hitchhiker is still there, clinging to my sock, trembling.

If it wasn’t attached to me, maybe I’d think it was cute.

Speaking of cute, my rescuer is a big hunk of a man.

I can’t see his face clearly, but I’m assuming he’s in his late twenties, like I am.

The fluorescent lights pick up some dark copper tones in his rich brown hair.

His eyelashes are so long, they look like they brush his cheeks as he keeps his gaze downcast, reaching out a large hand toward my leg.

“Oh, it’s just a baby,” he croons, plucking the little critter from my sock. Cradling it gently in his palms, he turns away from the open door of the stall and walks to the main door of the bathroom.

I quickly put myself back to rights and call out over the sound of flushing, “What are you going to do with it?”

“Feed it to the snake in the file room,” he replies.

“ What? ” I shriek, wrenching the stall door open all the way.

Chuckling, he opens the main door to the restroom and says, “I’m taking Mickey outside and letting him loose in the tree line.”

My rescuer’s gone before I have the chance to thank him.

After washing my hands, I look for him in the lobby, but don’t see him.

Maybe he left for the day? He seems familiar.

I assume he works for the company that services the building and not Morgan Development directly.

I think we have a service company…or do we handle cleaning in-house after-hours?

Normally, when there’s an issue, my co-worker and friend, Daphne, tells Betty, the sixty-something receptionist upstairs, and it gets handled.

I’ve never had to do anything in the almost- year I’ve worked here.

I resolve to ask Daphne about it when she’s back in the office on Monday. She took off this holiday week to surprise her boyfriend in France. Logan’s a travel photographer, and he’s visiting a bunch of Christmas markets throughout Europe. I hope she’s having a wonderful time—she deserves it.

After my ordeal, I’m embarrassed and want to keep it to myself.

However, I need to let the powers that be know we have mice so they can be dealt with before they overrun the office.

When I get back to my desk, I call Betty.

It doesn’t matter who the CEO is, everyone who’s ever worked in an office knows that it’s usually the receptionist that runs the show.

“Hi, Betty. It’s Mallory. We have a little problem downstairs.”

I tell Betty about the mouse, then lean back in my chair.

Where do I know that guy from? Big guy, good-looking, with pants that fit real good.

A voice made for whispering in a woman’s ear and hands just right for wrapping around a woman’s…

Oh, no. I sit upright with a gasp. No, no, no, no, no. Not him .

* * *

Liam, the same day

My mind keeps drifting to the woman I rescued in the bathroom.

Mallory. It has to be. I kept my promise and didn’t look anywhere other than her shapely calves and her little gray friend when I was helping her, but when I turned away to exit the bathroom, I caught a glimpse in the mirror of auburn curls tumbling down her back, brushing the ivory column of her neck.

I know that neck. Know that I’ve kissed it.

Wanted to bite it. Wanted to claim her. But I didn’t.

I’ve been hearing her husky voice in my sleep for six months.

Has she been here the whole time? Does she recognize me?

I go to my favorite local pizza place to get lunch. My stomach gurgles at the comforting scents of Italian hoagies and cheesesteaks. My takeout plans change when I see Mallory sitting at a table, looking at her phone.

“Pack my sub to go, please, but I see a friend, so it’s possible I may sit with her to eat,” I tell the guy manning the counter.

He glances over at Mallory, gives me a smirking smile, and nods.

“Good luck, man. I’ll bring it over to you.”

I grin back. “Thanks.”

I approach Mallory’s table. All the other tables are taken, so hopefully my plan works. “So we meet again, Mallory.”

Her beautiful green eyes widen when she looks up at me. “Um, hi.”

“I’m Liam.” I hold out my hand.

“I remember.” Her creamy skin flushes prettily. “Thank you for coming to my rescue this morning.”

“Happy to have helped.” I chuckle and look around the restaurant. “Looks like it’s a full house. Okay if I join you?”

She glances down at her meal then looks back up. “Sure.”

I put down my water bottle and pull out the chair across from her. “Thanks. Ooh, chicken parm. Good choice. I ordered a sub. Please keep eating. Mine will be here in a moment. So, have you worked for Morgan Development long?”

“Almost a year. How about you? I haven’t seen you around before.

Do you work at multiple locations?” She takes a bite of her meal and closes her eyes in pleasure.

I remember that look, and the last time I saw it, some chicken parm didn’t put it there.

I did. Can’t blame her. The sex was exceptional.

So is the chicken parm. She opens her eyes and raises a brow at me.

“Yeah, I travel all over for work,” I answer.

My sub arrives. I unwrap it and take a bite.

“Are you based here normally?” she asks.

“Uh-huh, I’m from here, but most of my time is on the road. I’m home for the holiday. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“I’m flying down to my parents’ in Florida.”

“Oh, are you from Florida?”

“No, I’m from here. They moved down there when my younger brother started college. I’m the third out of four kids.”

I nod. “Cool. I’m the oldest. I have a younger sister in college. Is your boyfriend going with you to Florida?”

She gives a slight smile. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Yes!

“Is your girlfriend going to your family’s Thanksgiving?” she asks in what I consider a flirting manner.

“No girlfriend. I’m single.”

I know we’re technically adhering to the adage ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ but it is driving me crazy.

I never wanted to leave it in Vegas. Once we were together, I knew I didn’t want it to be a one-time thing.

I’ve thought about her often in the months since that night in the club.

I don’t know that I believe in the fated mate nonsense that the romantics of the shifter community try to convince us exists, but I believe sometimes you click with someone unexpectedly.

I’d hoped to run into her again as I traveled the country, going to my family’s outlets.

Every redhead garnered a second glance, just to leave me disappointed.

I’d imagined I’d turn a corner, and she’d be walking out of a store, laden with packages.

She’d run into me, drop her bags, and as I helped her pick them up, she’d realize it was me and admit she’s been thinking about me and our time together too.

It’s like one of those fricking romance movies that my mom and sister make me watch with them, but it would have been cool.

Instead, while I’ve been traveling coast-to-coast practically nonstop, she’s been here.

I tried to get info from Teagan since she could access the reservation from the bachelorette party, but she refused, saying to trust in fate. Well, fate is a crazy bitch.

Mallory glances at her phone, I assume to check the time. “I’ve gotta get back to the office. I’m sorry.” She closes the to-go container she had her meal served in. She must have expected leftovers.

“No worries. I need to get going too. Um, any chance I could get your number?” Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Her jade green eyes widen slightly, and she bites her bottom lip. Is she trying to be seductive, or am I making her uncomfortable?

“Oh, um, okay.”

I hand her my phone so she can put in her number. When she hands it back, I shoot her a quick text that says, “Thanks for letting me eat lunch with you.”

Mallory smiles slightly as she saves my contact, then rises from her chair, picks up her to-go container, and locks gazes with me. “It was nice having company. Have a happy Thanksgiving, Liam.”

I quickly wrap the rest of my sub and stand. She’s not wearing sky-high heels this time, so the top of her head reaches my chin. That’s a good height.

“You too, Mallory. Safe travels. Maybe we can hang out when we’re both here?”

She chuckles. “We’ll see. Take care.”

“Bye, Mallory. Take care.” I watch her walk away, admiring the curves her pants lovingly caress. I smile when she gets in a cute green MINI Cooper, glad she drives something fun and not something boringly practical like a Honda.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but having lunch like two strangers was not it.

We aren’t strangers. Okay, yeah, we don’t know each other very well yet, but we have a connection.

I felt it in Vegas, and I feel it now. Fate wouldn’t have brought us back together, living in the same town and working for the same company, if it didn’t mean something.