Page 5 of Snarl (Primal Howlers MC #9)

“That’s an excellent question,” the doctor would reply.

“You must never let your kitty go without being petted for too long. That was Ms. Whitman’s tragic mistake.

She ignored the desperate cries of her starving beaver.

She let her muffin go unbuttered, causing it to become stale and dry.

She failed to water her flower. Dear students.

I beg you all to hear and heed my words on this very day.

Do not let your box go unbeaten for more than a season lest you suffer her fate. ”

As I made my way to the entrance, I could see Snarl waiting for me. Even though he was a biker and not a cowboy, he still managed to look perfectly in place leaning against one of the old west style hitching posts next to the front door. Damn, this man even made leaning look sexy.

“Wow. You look beautiful,” Snarl said as I approached.

“I feel like maybe I overdid it just a little,” I confessed.

“What? You kiddin’? You’re gonna be the belle of the ball in this place.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “You really do look great.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I said, which was the understatement of the year.

Even though he was still wearing his leather biker’s cut, everything else he was wearing had been greatly upgraded.

From his designer black denim jeans to his tailor fit dress shirt and all the way down to a gorgeous pair of cowboy boots, this man knew how to dress.

Not to mention, a freshly manicured beard and hair that would make a super model jealous.

If GQ ever wanted to do a feature on motorcycle clubs, Snarl would be a shoe-in for the cover.

“Shall we?” Snarl asked, opening and holding the door for me.

“Such a gentleman,” I said, as I slid by his massive frame. “I promise I won’t out you to your club brothers.”

Snarl gave me what looked like a polite smile just before we were greeted by a pretty, young hostess.

“Good evening, welcome to the Saddle Rack. Two for dinner tonight?”

“I made a seven o’clock reservation for a booth under the name Snarl.”

The hostess ran her finger down the reservation list on the podium. “Okay, right this way. I’ll show you to your booth.”

According to the giant billboards lining the interstate for ten miles in both directions, the ‘world famous’ Saddle Rack promised homestyle southern cooking, twenty craft beers on tap, and live country and western music three nights a week for our listening and dancing enjoyment.

The place was much larger than it looked from the outside, and housed a stage, framed by a massive PA system and lighting rig.

In front of the stage was a large dance floor which was thankfully empty.

I’d been quietly dreading the dancing part of Snarl’s invitation and was relieved to not have to embarrass myself in front of our fellow patrons, as the dining area was set up in a horseshoe shape around the dance floor.

To the left was a miniature rodeo ring with a mechanical bull at its center.

I immediately made myself a promise that no matter how much I drank tonight I would not, under any circumstances, get on that mechanized demon.

Once at our table Snarl waited for me to slide in first, causing me to let out a quiet chortle.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s just that no one’s ever actually done that for me. I thought it was something guys only did in old black and white movies.”

“Well, it’s not like I could pull out a chair for you,” he pointed out.

“Would you have done that?” I asked as I slid across the bench seat.

“Absolutely. My old man would come back from the grave and slap me upside the back of the head if I didn’t show you proper manners,” he said, taking his seat beside me .

Once we were seated, our server came by and took our drink orders.

“I’ll have a vodka martini, dirty as possible please,” I said, earning myself one of Snarl’s sexy smirks.

“If you’ve got a pilsner, I’ll take a pint of that please.”

“We have a Bierstadt pilsner on tap,” our server replied.

“Perfect,” Snarl said.

As soon as a server left the table Snarl reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box.

I raised an eyebrow and he chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a smile. “I’m not proposing. It’s just a little first date gesture. I would have brought you flowers, but I didn’t know what we’d do with them, and I couldn’t exactly bring a vase with me. Sorry about that,” he said.

“No, it’s okay, really. To tell you the truth, I’m not particularly crazy about flowers.”

“Really? I thought just about every woman loved getting flowers.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “I’m one of the ‘just abouts.’”

Snarl smiled wide. “Of that, I have no doubt. You’re certainly not like any woman I’ve ever met.”

I felt my face go flush as I studied the details of the box. “This is beautiful.”

“I carved it for you.”

“You made this yourself? For me?”

“Yes, go ahead and open it.”

I opened the box and inside was an origami wolf. “Snarl, this is amazing. Did you fold this as well? ”

He nodded. “Made of Japanese silver foil.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. These might be the most beautiful gifts I’ve ever received.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

I settled my chin in my hand. “I have to admit, you’re not at all what I expect a biker to be, and it’s throwing me for a loop, big time.”

“You mentioned ‘outing me’ to my brothers back there, but believe it or not, my club doesn’t tolerate the disrespect of any woman. It’s actually written in our code.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious. Most of our guys have wives, girlfriends, families. That sorta thing. Some of ’em even have daughters.”

“Ah, I see. Your club is full of the modern, elevated man type, huh?”

Snarl chuckled. “Yeah, well. Most of ’em are anyway. But even the worst of our knuckle draggers would take a knife to the liver before they ever laid hands on a woman with evil intent.”

“So, you hand carve ornate boxes and fold silver foil for every woman you meet?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Those gestures are only for the ones I find irresistibly fascinating, brilliant, and beautiful.”

“And how many of those have there been?”

“The lifetime grand total?”

“How about you narrow the count down to the past five years?”

Snarl paused briefly before producing his answer. “One. ”

I snorted. “That’s a big fat lie.”

He cocked his head. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re telling me you’ve only been on one date over the past five years? I’m about ten degrees shy of being a total shut-in and even I’ve been on more dates than that.”

Snarl laughed. “I didn’t say I haven’t dated, just that I haven’t found a woman who’s struck me like you have in a long time.”

I felt my face go flush. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but I’m still not buying that you’ve been a monk for the past five years.”

“Oh, you’re talking about sex,” Snarl said. “Usually, I wait until at least the second drink to talk about sex, but we can do that now if you want to. ”

“Uh…” I stammered.

“Are you blushing?” Snarl teased.

Mercifully, our server returned just then with our drinks and to take our order. I opted for my usual, predictable and boring Cobb salad, and Snarl ordered a thirty-ounce bone-in tomahawk steak.

“Oh, and two dozen oysters please,” he said before turning to me. “Do you like oysters? Should we get three dozen?”

I laughed. “I’m sure two dozen will be plenty.”