Page 2 of Gorilla in the Groove (Shamrock Safari Shifters #3)

Mick's fated mate was right there , walking out of the wildlife park without him, and he was stuck in the damn enclosure, watching her go.

She was so sad and nervous, and all he could do was make stupid gorilla faces at her and try to cheer her up.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and he was going to throw himself out of the enclosure, chase her across the wildlife park, and?—

—hang out here, his gorilla said mellowly. Our mate is less sad than she was, and those small primates want to see a gorilla.

'Those small primates' were a group of children between about five and twelve who were running full-speed toward his enclosure. Mick groaned and flopped over on his back, staring wistfully at the sky. But I want to meet our mate!

We will. The gorilla was the calmest shifter animal Mick had ever met.

Absolutely nothing bothered it. Which made sense, because despite all the hundred-men-vs-a-gorilla memes, there was really very little that could take on an adult gorilla with any hope of success.

As a general rule, Mick knew his gorilla would gently invite them to give it a go, and gently bounce them on their heads a few times to get the point across.

That, of course, was because his gorilla was a shifter gorilla. A true gorilla would get his point across with a great deal more…enthusiasm.

Aoife Gallagher, the park worker who'd been talking to his mate, made a sympathetic sound before the tourists actually got to his enclosure.

She'd been introduced as one of the handful of employees who knew about shifters, and was clearly on his side.

"You could go into the back and I could let you out," she offered quietly.

As she said it, the first of the children arrived with shrieks of excitement.

Little kids were so loud , Mick thought.

But they were also so excited to see a gorilla.

He sighed dramatically and climbed to his knuckles and feet, shaking his head heavily.

The kids squealed, and Aoife raised her eyebrows in question.

Mick waved her off, and she chuckled. "All right. If you say so."

We say so, his gorilla said calmly. Our mate will be at her dance show tonight. We can meet her then, without making these small primates sad by hiding from them.

The kids shrieked, waving back at Mick, even if he'd been waving at Aoife, not them. He settled down to stare at them, which made them laugh and hide behind each other.

"It's like he knows exactly what he's doing," one of the adults said.

Aoife immediately spoke up, giving her talk about the intelligence, social awareness, and endangered status of the great apes that Mick was currently representing.

The kids started asking questions, and Mick put on a little show, getting up to pace back and forth, putting his big hands against the glass again so the kids could measure theirs against his, grooming, and generally being accessible.

He'd been coming to the Shamrock Safari Wildlife Park since he was a kid, himself.

When he'd been small , he'd actually been allowed to roam free in the African Plains part of the park.

Technically he could have gone anywhere in the park, but even a kid-sized gorilla was incredibly strong, and staying inside the fences kept true human adults from worrying too much.

These days, as a full-grown adult male, even just the visual risk of him being outside a proper enclosure was too much, so he was stuck in the much smaller space when he visited the park.

On the other hand, the glass-fronted enclosure meant he could be right there , sharing space with humans, and they didn't feel threatened, which was grand craic, as the Irish said.

Good fun, in other words. He spent the afternoon pacing the enclosure, interacting with kids and a few equally delighted adults, but Mick was glad when the bells rang, announcing the park's closure.

Aoife opened the back door of the enclosure once the tourists were gone, and Mick-the-man emerged, brushing a bit of straw off his knees. "Thanks, love. Will you be coming to the gig tonight?"

The park employee made a face. "I'm trying to get Elliot to agree, but you know Americans. They go to bed so early."

Mick laughed. "Hasn't he been in Ireland long enough to get over that?"

Aoife leaned in like she was imparting a terrible secret. "He still gets up at five-thirty to go to the gym. Do you know how long it took him to even find a gym here that was open at six in the morning?"

Mick, who went to 24/7 gyms whenever possible, which basically meant 'never when at home in Ireland,' gave a solemn nod. "I've an idea of it, yes. But you've free tickets," he reminded her. "So show up. I need the audience."

"I doubt that! Sure and we'll see though," Aoife promised. "I might just come without him if he won't go."

"That'll teach him." Mick waved and headed for the main exit, driving out the two-lane road back toward Cork City.

Everything was green, even the shadows from branches that bent over the twisty road, making a tunnel to drive through.

Traffic was slow, too many cars on the small country road, but it left Mick free to think.

Not about the gig he had this evening, but the dance competition that his mate was participating in. He'd never been to one.

Tonight is a good time for a first, his gorilla said placidly. Our mate will be magnificent.

"I'm sure she will," Mick agreed. "I think I'm parking at the Marquee and walking over to the opera house, though. There's no way I'm finding parking there with a show going on."

His gorilla gazed at him with an overwhelming lack of interest in the day-to-day details of how humans moved around cities. Mick laughed, said, "Yeah, okay, fair enough," and drove into town, amused at himself for running plans by his gorilla.

The plaza outside of the opera house wasn't exactly heaving with people, but the crowd was thicker than he'd anticipated. He muttered, You should have told me to buy a ticket in advance, as if it could possibly be his gorilla's fault that he might not make it in.

His gorilla lifted its eyebrows at him, an expression that worked just as well on a gorilla face as on a human one. There will be a way to see our mate, it promised, but Mick was shaking his head dubiously as he went up to the ticket booth.

"Sorry, mate," the guy in the booth said. "The only tickets left are up high. You still want one?"

Mick didn't particularly like heights. Gorillas, despite being apes, were not renowned tree-climbers, and Mick had such a clear idea of how hard he would thud if he fell from somewhere high. Still, he nodded. "I'll take one, yes."

"Grand." The guy rang up his ticket, handed it over, and sent Mick into the already-moving queue of people being seated.

He went up, and up, and then up some more, gritting his teeth with every staircase, and handed his ticket over to a slender man in a tux who glanced at it, started to direct Mick to his seat, then suddenly grinned in a flash of teeth.

"Here now, you're never Mick the Mouse?"

The absolute last professional name Mick had ever wanted was Mick the Mouse. The fact that he'd been saddled with it was testimony to how sticky names granted in school were, in Ireland. His so-called best friend had given him the name in sixth class and Mick would take it to his grave.

On the other hand, the usher looked thrilled to have identified him, and Mick couldn't help a rueful grin. "I am so."

"Come on then," the guy said, delighted. "I know heights aren't your thing. Let me get you a better seat down on the floor."

"I wouldn't want to put anybody out," Mick said, although a terrible part of him wouldn't mind it all that much, either. His gorilla said, We will not put anybody out, with great finality, just as the usher was saying very much the same thing.

"Not at all. There are seats available for the friends and families of the competitors, but not everybody, especially those coming from overseas, have people to fill those seats.

Come on with me so." The usher led him back downstairs, all the way to the main floor and said something to one of the other ushers.

She looked at Mick with absolutely no recognition at all, but shrugged and checked her seating chart before pointing out a seat he could take.

"Sorry about that, Maeve wouldn't know a DJ if he bit her on the arse," Mick's usher said, clearly embarrassed by Maeve's lack of recognition. "But we've got you a fine seat now, so we have."

Mick chuckled. "Thanks, and that's fine. Most people don't recognize DJs. But since you did, would you want a selfie?"

Sheer relief exploded across the man's face. "I didn't want to be rude and ask!"

Mick grinned. "Not at all." They got a couple selfies before Mick was shown to his seat, and his usher disappeared back up the aisle as the lights came down.

It opened with a speech from the emcee, an Irish dancer so famous even Mick knew his name.

For a while Mick thought that would be the whole show: this one man, so in love with the sound of his own voice that he would just drone on all night.

Finally, though, the real competition started with the whole group, showcasing a few of them at a time doing the same steps in fast-paced tandem.

The truth was, Mick knew feck all about Irish dance.

That was about as much as anybody had known about it, prior to Riverdance , and he hadn't caught up since then.

But it was clear that everybody on the stage had talent, skill, and long hours of exhaustive practice behind them.

Watching people be good at stuff was one of Mick's favorite pastimes, and this was no exception.

His gorilla also watched intently, fascinated by the speed at which the dancers' feet flew.

Once the first number ended, the dancers broke up into smaller groups, into individual dances, into freestyle competitions that Mick hadn't even known could exist in Irish dance, and then back together for another big showcase piece.

He burst into applause at the end of each dance, genuinely enthralled by the talent on display, but he also truly didn't think he was biased when he saw his mate as among the best dancers on the stage.

Her name, according to the program, was Irina Zarabaka.

She was American, from a town he'd never heard of, and had been dancing since she was old enough to put on shoes.

She was slim and athletic, and although her hair was the same dark brown it had been earlier, she now sported a head full of bouncing curls that hadn't been present at the wildlife park.

Like everybody, she wore a square-shouldered short dress with a very full skirt.

Hers was red, white and blue, with spangled stars sparkling on the skirt.

All the competitors were dressed similarly, which was to say, everybody seemed to be wearing the colors of their nations' flags.

That was most of what reminded Mick it was a competition: otherwise they seemed to just be living for the performance, not trying to win anything.

He was startled when the emcee came out again, surrounded by judges this time.

They began calling out scores, and he waited with anticipation for his mate's ranking, sure it would be among the top few.

To his surprise, the scores got lower and lower before Irina Zarabaka's name was called. The competitors had to stay on stage for all of it, their smiles turning to glass. Mick was certain he saw tears in Irina's eyes, though she kept a brave face and nodded when her name was finally called.

Indignation rose in his gorilla. Our mate deserved better than those numbers.

I think she did, too, Mick answered in bewilderment. But maybe there's something I just don't understand about the scoring. Maybe she missed some things I can't see?

His gorilla huffed dismissively. Mick couldn't help agreeing with it.

He didn't know anything about Irish dance, but he did know Irina had been fantastic.

And even if he'd doubted it, there were murmurs of surprise and confusion not just among the audience, but even a few of the other competitors on the stage looked between one another like they hadn't expected that.

Someone—another American, judging by the costume—gave Irina a hug, which obviously surprised her.

Then everyone was being shuffled off stage by the emcee, who looked as if he thought they should feel honored to be herded by him.

Mick rose with the rest of the audience, waited politely to leave his row, and made his way through the crowd easily.

He knew where the opera house stage door was, and went to hang around in its general vicinity, not wanting to lurk right there, but also hoping to see, and meet, his fated mate.

A lot of the other dancers left before she did, clinging to each other and giggling as they congratulated each other, or walking by themselves, heads down, shoulders hunched against disappointment.

Mick waited, hoping he hadn't missed her, and finally caught a glimpse of her slipping out behind a larger group of dancers.

Her hair is small again, his gorilla said in astonishment.

Mick chuckled. The curls were probably a wig. He took a brief moment to explain wigs to the gorilla, who then had to sit with the astonishing idea of adding more hair to its own considerable amounts, while Mick prepared himself to meet his mate.

He was suddenly nervous. She was so tiny and perfect, her face oval with a firm jaw, and stage makeup that left her already-large eyes absolutely huge, especially framed with high-quality false eyelashes.

Her mouth was stained pink from lipstick, and her cheekbones glowed with both the effort of the evening and blush.

She wore a black lace dress with a gold underdress almost the same tone as her skin, and an uneven hem not much longer than an Irish dancing costume.

Unlike the costume, though, it was sleeveless and halter-necked, showing off slim muscular arms. Mick was sure it was a party dress, that she'd chosen it because she expected to be celebrating after tonight's competition, but instead she wore it like she was embarrassed by having been so bold.

He wanted to tell her she'd been flawless.

That she now looked flawless, like she'd stepped off a red carpet.

That he would fight anybody who made her look and feel as sad as she currently was.

That he would hug her and keep her safe from the world.

That he would do anything she asked him to. Anything at all.

Instead, awkwardly, he called out, "You were robbed," and watched his mate nearly startled out of her pretty, pale skin.