2
Nate
Standing outside the bar where Ollie had told me to meet him, I double-checked the name and address. Dicky’s Bar. This was definitely the place. A nice place that was doing its best to look like a ritzy upscale bar. It was the kind of place where business executives and stock traders went when they wanted to pretend they were gangsters in some old movie while staying in a nice part of town. I was more of a dive-bar person myself, but it did have some charm.
I knew the Toronto area well. Most of my youth had been spent in and around the place. As nomadic as my life was, I somehow always ended up back here, almost like the place had its own gravity pulling me in. I had associates and contacts here, and the only real friend I’d ever had—Ollie. I wasn’t the kind to settle down, but if I had to call someplace my hometown, this would be it, even though I hadn’t been back in several years.
I stepped in and glanced around to see if Ollie was here yet. Sniffing the air, I tried to catch his scent—hard in a place like this. The overwhelming smells of alcohol, bitters, citrus, andcigar smoke made it nearly impossible to differentiate the more subtle smells of a specific shifter.
A visual check gave me nothing, either. Ithadbeen several years since I’d seen him, so he could have a shitty new haircut or a beard. After I scanned the bar, I didn’t see anyone here who looked like Ollie, new hairstyle or not. Of course. He wasn’t known for punctuality and never had been. Not sure why I’d expected that to have changed. I ran a hand through my silvery brown hair—the same color as my wolf’s fur when I shifted—trying to tame it after my helmet had mussed it up.
Strolling to the bar, I glanced at the liquor shelves. It was an impressive selection. At least I could unwind with a nice glass of something while I waited. I sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish serving the group farther down.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?”
I turned and found a cute little number smiling at me. Grinning, I looked her up and down before locking on her eyes.
“What’s the best kind of whiskey you have?” I asked.
If she was offended by me checking her out, she didn’t let on; if anything, she seemed to like it. Already, I could smell her arousal—one of themanybenefits of enhanced shifter senses.
“We’ve got Pappy Van Winkle,” she said with a flirtatious smile.
I barked a laugh and shook my head. “Honey, I’m not made of money. What do you have that isn’t three hundred bucks a shot?”
She chuckled and bit the corner of her bottom lip. “We have Macallan 12 and Glenfiddich if that’s more to your liking.”
I winked at her. “Sold. Macallan. Neat.”
She placed a beverage napkin on the bar before me, brushing her hand against mine. She’d done it on purpose, and I suppressed my smile.
“I’ll have Dave set you up in a minute,” she said, nodding toward the bartender.
“Appreciate it.”
I pulled my phone out. Ollie hadn’t responded to my last two texts. Rather than send another, I brought up his number to call him.
A belligerent voice from across the bar stopped me.
“How’s about you sit that pretty little ass here on Daddy’s lap, baby girl?”
A muscular, red-faced man of about forty was addressing the cute server who’d been helping me. My first instinct was to go over and tell him to watch his mouth, but she seemed feisty in her own right.
“Sorry, that’s not allowed,” she told him. My shifter hearing allowed me to hear her over the conversation in the bar. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to hurt that little thing between your legs.”
She set a mug of beer down in front of him and walked away as his two buddies guffawed. The guy looked pissed but threw his beer back, chugging half of it in a couple of seconds.
Going back to my phone, I called Ollie.
He answered on the third ring. “Hey, Nate, sorry about not responding to your messages?—”
“Hang on,” I said, cutting him off as the bartender approached.
“Whiskey, neat,” the man said, setting the glass down in front of me with a faintclink.
Nodding thanks to him, I said into my phone, “I swear to God, Ollie, if you aren’t here in a minute, I’m out.”
“Calm down, bro. I’m not even five minutes late; I’m literally almost there. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I had some paperwork for a case that took longer than I thought. Get me a gin and tonic, top shelf. See you in a second.”
