Foxfire

A small pop is my only warning before my soup explodes.

"Dammit." I rip open the microwave door. Only half my tomato soup is left, and the inside of my microwave looks like a murder scene.

Good thing I already ordered a pizza.

With a sigh, I shut the door on the gruesome red spatter. My stomach's gurgling like I haven't eaten in a day. Maybe I haven't. I barely know what day it is. Day Eight of the Breakup From Hell, and the only thing keeping me connected to the outside world is my best friend.

Speaking of best friends… I hit my one and only speed dial number. It goes straight to voice mail, catching me by surprise. Amber should be home, lying low after I rescued her from her own date from hell.

I give up the call and shoot off a text, Just ordered a pizza-come share half?

It's probably too soon to mention her dating disaster. She'd only known the guy a few days, but he was her neighbor. Awkward. And yeah, he was hot, but since when does that give a guy an excuse to abandon a woman on the side of a mountain in the middle of a first date?

My ex is a jackhole, and even he wouldn't do that.

Bring a picture of Garrett. I've got one of Benny, and a bunch of darts... I start to text, and delete it. Instead, I type, I'm giving up on men forever. Let's get fat and adopt lots of cats.

There. That'll make her laugh.

I pace around the house, noting piles of mail and takeout detritus that appeared over the past few days. Since the breakup, I've been practically a hermit. Benny still hasn't come by, even to pick up his stuff.

Not that I want him to. Rat bastard.

Amber still hasn't texted me back. Weird. It's six p. m. on a Saturday night, but my best friend is usually home, alone. Like me.

Geez, we're pathetic. Maybe we really should adopt some cats.

I text Amber again. Don't adopt any cats without me.

My mom was right. Men suck. I'll be happy if I never see another man for the rest of my life. Except the pizza delivery guy. I'll make an exception for him.

When the doorbell rings, I dash out to the living room and open it, perhaps a wee bit too eagerly.

"What do I owe…" My voice dies. I look up. And up. And up some more.

Damn, this pizza delivery boy is tall. And stacked. Like The Rock or something. Six foot and then some, with shoulders almost too big for the door. Military buzz cut. Mirrored shades on his face... at dusk.

Hey big boy, my foxy bits purr. No! Bad Foxfire!

"Foxfire Hines?" He looks a bit disbelieving, like he can't quite believe that's my name. I get that a lot.

"My mother is a hippie," I say.

"What?" His eyebrows shoot up over the shades.

"My name. It's because... my mom is a hippie. She thought it was pretty."

"Your mom."

"Yes."

"Your name is really Foxfire." He sounds almost resigned, like he can't believe the turn his life has taken, to deliver him to my door. I understand. I've never pledged my undying lust to a pizza guy. Both of us are having a night of firsts.

"Were you waiting for me?" he asks.

"Uh yeah." Then it hits me, through the cloud of longing. What my brain was screaming over my libido. "Wait... where's the pizza?"

~.~

Tank

Foxfire. Fucking ridiculous. The chick looks as crazy as her name. On paper, she's okay. Graphic designer, good client list, pays her bills on time. Lives in a respectable adobe brick house near the university. So far, so good. In person, she's a walking, talking freak show. Hair is dyed like a rainbow, something out of a cartoon. She's also tiny, a petite pixie in short shorts and strappy tank. I could pick her up and hold her in my hand.

Oh and she's stunning. Even with the clown hair.

This job's either gonna be easy, or a huge pain in my ass.

"Where's the pizza?" She peers around me. Before she can protest, I push inside, noting the explosion of papers on every surface, bean bag chairs on the floor, a few dream catchers in the windows, and a lava lamp in the corner. The cartoon pixie lives in La La Land.

"What are you doing?" She blinks at me, her starry eyes wide. Totally unafraid. A man twice her size just pushed into her house, and she's asking about pizza. Most women would be freaked.

Not this one.

Like I said, La La Land.

"I need to talk to you," I say.

"Okay." She adds in a hopeful tone, "Did you leave the pizza in the car?"

"No pizza. This is about Amber."

"Amber?" Her head snaps back, and she sucks in a breath.

"Miss Hines, you better sit down."

To my surprise, she drops onto the only decent seat in the place, a battered couch. She responded to my authority right away. If she was pack, I'd say she was a feisty, but submissive wolf.

Maybe this is going to be easy.

"Is something wrong? Is Amber in trouble?"

"Not yet. Not if you cooperate."

"What?" she whispers, the blood draining from her face. The scent of her fear fills the room, and my wolf raises his head. Because he fucking hates it.

It's my turn to suck in a breath. My wolf never pays any attention to humans. Not even pretty females with freaky hair.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Now, why did I promise that? I'm supposed to be intimidating her. My job is to get in, see what this female knows, and get her under control. Keep my pack safe. Easy. But now my wolf is all in a tizzy that we might be scaring her. Which is ridiculous. Since when does he care about a human's feelings more than the safety of the pack?

"I'd like this to be quick and painless, but it's up to you. Amber talked to you this afternoon. I need to know what she said."