4
Snake Bitch
Artemis
T he phone ringing wakes me from a deep, alcohol-induced sleep. "Hello?" I say blearily into the phone, keeping my eyes shut. Work later is going to suck if I can't get rid of the pressure behind my eyes.
"Hey! So what about me moving to Timber Hollow?" Sam's obnoxiously bright voice cheerfully fills my ear.
This is not the first time we have had this conversation, lamenting the new long-distance nature of our friendship. Immediately, I groan, "Ugh, yes, please, I need my snake bitch back."
Using the heel of my palm, I rub sleep from my eyes, and before I can ask what happened, my friend speaks again.
"Great! My flight lands at two." Sam laughs.
"Wait, really?" Awareness spears through me like a bolt of lightning, and I sit up entirely too fast, making my head spin just a little.
"Yup!" She laughs again, and just like that, my day is looking better already.
"Where are you?" I ask, running through my day in my head.
"Ohio."
"Random?"
"My flights were switched around at the last minute, and I ended up with a weird layover."
"I feel like we've skipped over some details," I mumble, and Sam laughs. "If you wanna hang on the couch for a few days, you can move into my house."
"Why the couch first? Aren't you sleeping under Jay every night?" Sam jibes, though I can hear the smile in her voice.
"We're moving into the new house in a few days, and my cousin Marcus is back tomorrow, so he's taking his room–my room back. When we move out, you can have your pick of the rooms, Sassy ass ."
Sam snorts but says, "Sounds great."
"Do you need a job? I know it's not design work, but the bar is still looking for a new Coyote. You can slap people around with me." It seems weird to think that Aggie was setting me up here a few months ago, and now I'm giving Sam the same treatment.
"You know what, I think that is exactly what I need." Sam laughs, and I chuckle.
"Alright. Let me call Ivy and tell her I found her a bartender. You said your flight lands at two?"
"Sure did," Said flight announcements blare in the background, obnoxiously loud. The timing will be tricky since I'm supposed to be getting ready for work in about fifteen minutes.
"Wait, where's your Bronco?" I blurt. Sam loves that thing; there's no way she left it behind. She had the entire engine swapped a while back, replacing it with one that doesn't dump shit into the atmosphere with every press of the gas pedal. Give Sam a few gin martinis; she will boast that the pristine interior is vintage stock.
"Shipped it, I didn't want to drive the whole way."
"Wimp," I tease, laughing at my friend.
"Not all of us leave everything behind with only a backpack in tow," She jibes back. Even through the phone, I hear the hurt under the humor in her voice.
"You know what I deserved that." When I left California all those months ago, I hadn't even told her until halfway across the country. She'd berated me over the phone for quite some time while I sat in a dingy little diner just off the freeway for not telling her.
"Sure did." Sam agrees.
"When does your bucky baby Bronco get here?" I ask, listening to my friend grumble to herself about people walking like assholes in the airport terminal.
"Next week."
"Ahh, No worries. I'll take you wherever you want to go in the meantime."
"Thanks, girl."
"You betcha."
"Alright, I have to go; my terminal is in fucking Timbuktu , I guess. And I'm starving."
"Ooh, airport pizza." I agree, stomach rumbling.
"You get it."
"Of course. Don't die."
"I'll do my best." She answers, then hangs up the phone.
While I stumble into the bathroom, a quick text to Jay is all it takes to tell him about Sam taking over my lease of one of the rooms and staying on the couch in the meantime. I'll leave the duty of telling Magnus to him.
You know, since Jay's the Alpha of this little pack. And, since I don't have Marcus' number Jay will have to send him a message, too.
Before I do anything else, though, I need to wash the sweat from my skin. Cranking up the hot water, I step into the shower to do just that, and by the time I'm done, I feel clean— and clear-headed. Brushing my teeth makes me alive.
At least I have that going for me .
Still, I can't help but think about how Sam avoided telling me what happened to make her want to uproot everything and move all the way over here .
I dress for work in my favorite black jeans and a cropped tank top under a green long-sleeve so I can shed a layer at the bar when I inevitably get hot. Even in November, the bar can be outrageously warm—particularly on fire night. The bar hasn't opened yet, so I still have time to call Ivy. She has been so stressed with the bar lately, and I know she feels like she hasn't taken a break in a long time. Knowing she has a new bartender should take some stress off her shoulders…
Tell her we'll be late since we have to get Sam.. . My wolf's voice rumbles through my head.
Yeah yeah.
Ivy answers on the third ring with a cool "Wassup, bay-bee?" chirped into the phone, along with the sound system of Coyote Bills already playing in the background as she prepares the bar for opening.
"I have a treat for you," I reply, smiling to myself while pulling socks over my feet, phone pinched between my shoulder and ear.
"Treats? I like treats."
"Everybody likes treats."
"So what is it?"
"I found you a bartender." I sing, grinning.
"Ooh, you did?" Ivy answers, skepticism apparent in her voice.
"Yep. My friend Sam is moving in from California. She's trustworthy. Shifter. She's also a graphic designer. Maybe she can help with your plans for the bar." I rattle Sam's qualifications off like a rap sheet, suddenly nervous Ivy will say no.
My friend hesitates for all of a heartbeat. "Alright. I'll give her a shot. What's her name?"
"Sam Dainae. She lands at two today, so I will be a little late, but I'll bring her with me, and you can get a feel for her," I hesitate before adding, "I know she will do slap shots with me."
"When does she want to start?" Ivy asks, and I hear her shuffling papers, likely looking over the schedule.
"As soon as possible? Probably?" I wince, realizing too late that I should have asked Sam that.
Ivy snorts at me, then says, "Thanks, Artemis," softly.
"Of course. And I'm sorry about being late. Sam literally just called me; she's in an airport in Ohio, of all places." I chuckle, trying to bring back the lighter mood Ivy had been in.
"Ah, that's okay. George can run bottles while Angel and I mix. We'll manage while you're getting…Sam, right?" I murmur a mhm before she continues, "From the airport."
"What's Cook's special tonight?"
"Taco Night! Like a street style with a few different options."
I laugh, picturing the little dance I know Ivy probably did in place, knowing the food will be amazing. "Make sure he saves me some."
"Oh, I'm sure he will."
"Well, I've got to get going unless you want me to be super late and hangry."
"Nope! Goodbye ." Ivy laughs, hanging up immediately.
The house is empty; the boys all have gone to their various places of work already, so I have to fend for myself for something within the depths of the fridge. Jay and Dante go to the Forge, And Saint runs off to the Packhouse for a few hours daily. Luckily for me, he also always has a few meals prepped and ready to go in our fridge. Today's options include a salad or something that looks like a soup. The soup is practically green, so I chose the salad.
If I'm going to eat bunny food, I might as well eat it the satisfying way.
Saint's food prep containers are glass, so I can see the salad is absolutely stacked with ingredients without lifting the lid. I can practically hear him listing the items, telling me why they're there as he's at it. The bowl is loaded with fresh greens, cucumbers, sunflower seeds for crunch, juicy tomatoes, feta cheese for tang, onion, pepperoncini for zing, and a pile of freshly shredded rotisserie chicken to one side.
"That'll do, Chef. That'll do." I hum to myself while I choose a vinaigrette dressing to drizzle overtop, digging in without preamble standing at the island. I swear food only tastes this good when Saint makes it.
Another five minutes later, I'm out the door, noting that the film of ice has already been scraped off my windshield. While I wait for the Stingray to warm up, I text Jay again.
Thank you, darling boyfriend, for clearing my windshield.
Wasn't me, Gorgeous. Thank Saint.
I rescind my gratitude, peasant.
I adore you.
Likewise, Big Guy.
My mouth feels stretched to its limit as I type out a different message, chuckling to myself while my Corvette rumbles beneath my butt. I discovered the seat warmers last week in a mild stroke of genius. What I had thought was the rear defrost button is actually the control for the tushy warmers. The rear defrost is next to the four ways.
Thanks, Chef, for feeding me even though you weren't home and clearing my windshield.
Anytime, Tiny.
Before I go to the airport, I stop at the store, looking for a poster board and a marker to make a quick sign for Sam. After that, it's just me, the Stingray, and the open road. The airport isn't too far, and the open road is nice.
The forest is no longer colorful, full of beautiful reds and oranges like when I came home. Now, it's just the random flock of evergreen pine between the barren, brown branches. The gorgeous blue sky is the cornerstone of a good day. We haven't gotten any snow coverage that lasted longer than a day or so, melting off in what little heat the sun provides in the middle of the day. Already, green grass is peeking through the melting frost cover.
Pulling into a parking space, I devise the perfect idea for my sign.
The airport is small, considering some of the ones out in California. There are only a few terminals, a handful or so airplanes out on the tarmac; I've arrived with enough time to get bored while waiting for her flight in the baggage claim area, poster board sign eventually leaning against the chair, my ass painfully numb. I've already eaten the peanut butter M I love it."
"It really does it for me. If I wasn't obsessed with this wolf, I know I'd tap that ass."
Sam rears her head back and lets out a loud cackle, making me laugh along with her. "Fuck, I missed you."
"Me too, me too." I agree, pulling into the parking lot of Coyote Bills, entirely too soon. Obviously, we'll be able to talk at the bar, but not about the important stuff. And if she's taking a page out of my book, then who knows what she's hiding behind that broad smile on her face.