Bro and the Beast (The Wolf's Mate, #1)

by L.C. Davis

By this point, RIP the main character’s panties.

Snort

take a few gulps of beer to

The bartender gave you whiskey?

I pick up the phone and dial Devon's number, which gives me hope, since I usually can't figure out how to dial a number in a dream,

ME TOO!!!!!

"Brad Miller," I murmur, mulling over the subtle poetry of his name. That's a name I could growl during sex.

If I scoff anymore I might die

"Catalina?" My nose wrinkles. That's not a very growlable name at all. Not like Brad. "Isn’t that a salad dressing?"

Stop! 💀

fleabitten mofo."

Especially not when I'm currently the stand-in for Unsalted Butter, as far as I can tell.

Hopefully 911 actually works in this dream, which I'm beginning to worry is never gonna end. Usually, I just mash buttons only to realize I’m holding a banana rather than an actual phone or something, but this dream is weirdly consistent with its own reality, fucked up as it is. And it’s way too real for comfort.

I don’t know how I feel that I relate to Brad so much. But why is 911 so hard to dial in a dream?!

I haven’t considered for more than point five seconds. And now that I am, I really don't want to.

But you thought you were Unsalted Butter?

Fuck me.

That's the plan, are you even paying attention, Butter?

"Great," I mutter. "Just what I've always wanted. A magical, lube-dispensing asshole to turn alphas on."