his big brother, but he was also pack alpha. Right now Jason was being genial. If he decided to put his alpha authority into the order, then Michael wouldn’t have a choice. At least if he went along with it, then it appeared he’d made the choice himself.
Jason wasn’t wrong, anyway, and Michael knew that. If the bar went into the red and had to close, then the pack would go elsewhere to drink. Here, the pack protected their own. Out and about, a wolf could go off alone and get into a lot of trouble.
It hadn’t exactly been his choice to take over managing the bar. He was a mechanic by trade and a smartass by nature, two things that didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand with slinging suds and dealing with customers and employees. So far, though, he wasn’t doing a bad job. He just didn’t want the job.
* * * * *
Three weeks into June and Michael wasn’t having a good time of things. He rubbed his temples and glared at the call sheet. He’d placed the ad a couple weeks ago in local papers around Kentucky and on an online posting website for bands. They were offering very little in the way of perks to start, but they’d had a good response to the ad:
“Small town bar needs house band for weekend gigs. $200 per show plus all the beer you can drink.”
As the bands trickled in over the weeks to audition, Michael grew steadily more disappointed. Were there no decent bands not already house bands elsewhere?
Thursday afternoon, as the deadline for finding a band before the end of June hovered over his head like a battle axe, the first band of the day took the stage. One look at their punk clothing, and he knew that even if they played amazing, the town wouldn’t go for them. He knew what would fly here. A band that could play both rock and country, would do covers on request, and had a nice looking girl as part of their entourage. Maybe that last part was all his thinking. He was damn lonely.
The last girl he’d been with, well, that was a long while ago. He flirted around with the females because that’s just the kind of guy he was, but he hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time. Tired of the get-out-before-dawn fucks that most of his friends enjoyed, he’d figured out that none of the females in the pack were a mate for him, and then he’d soured on the whole casual sex thing.
He wasn’t the only one going through a dry spell, but the numbers were dwindling. Linus, fourth in rank, had found his mate in Karly, who was a supernaturally perfect mate for him called an Angel Mate. Bo was still single. As third in the pack, he was moody as hell because of an old injury that caused him to limp, but he also didn’t go for the few she-wolves in their age group or any of the human groupies. That was the hard part. If you went human, you had to figure out if she liked you for all of you or just because she was fucking the big bad. Michael had been disappointed every time.
So for all intents and purposes, he was currently celibate. The first month was hardest, going through the full moon cravings that tended to make a wolf think about nothing but hunting and fucking. But that first month had happened a while ago.
Shuttering the all too depressing thoughts that he was twenty-seven now and still single, he cringed through the band’s very British punk sounds and mentally cursed Jason. Three hours later, after sucky-punk-band, all-girl-hate-men-band, and screaming-not-singing-metal-band were gone, his ears were still ringing.
One more band to go. He hoped to hell they didn’t suck. They were the last band that had responded to the most recent ad, named TrayneWrek. It appeared to be an all-sorts kind of band, boasting to play anything, anywhere. Judging from the picture, the four men and one woman were related somehow, maybe siblings. From the picture, she was pretty, but it was hard to tell for sure. And he couldn’t exactly hire them just
Jason wasn’t wrong, anyway, and Michael knew that. If the bar went into the red and had to close, then the pack would go elsewhere to drink. Here, the pack protected their own. Out and about, a wolf could go off alone and get into a lot of trouble.
It hadn’t exactly been his choice to take over managing the bar. He was a mechanic by trade and a smartass by nature, two things that didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand with slinging suds and dealing with customers and employees. So far, though, he wasn’t doing a bad job. He just didn’t want the job.
* * * * *
Three weeks into June and Michael wasn’t having a good time of things. He rubbed his temples and glared at the call sheet. He’d placed the ad a couple weeks ago in local papers around Kentucky and on an online posting website for bands. They were offering very little in the way of perks to start, but they’d had a good response to the ad:
“Small town bar needs house band for weekend gigs. $200 per show plus all the beer you can drink.”
As the bands trickled in over the weeks to audition, Michael grew steadily more disappointed. Were there no decent bands not already house bands elsewhere?
Thursday afternoon, as the deadline for finding a band before the end of June hovered over his head like a battle axe, the first band of the day took the stage. One look at their punk clothing, and he knew that even if they played amazing, the town wouldn’t go for them. He knew what would fly here. A band that could play both rock and country, would do covers on request, and had a nice looking girl as part of their entourage. Maybe that last part was all his thinking. He was damn lonely.
The last girl he’d been with, well, that was a long while ago. He flirted around with the females because that’s just the kind of guy he was, but he hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time. Tired of the get-out-before-dawn fucks that most of his friends enjoyed, he’d figured out that none of the females in the pack were a mate for him, and then he’d soured on the whole casual sex thing.
He wasn’t the only one going through a dry spell, but the numbers were dwindling. Linus, fourth in rank, had found his mate in Karly, who was a supernaturally perfect mate for him called an Angel Mate. Bo was still single. As third in the pack, he was moody as hell because of an old injury that caused him to limp, but he also didn’t go for the few she-wolves in their age group or any of the human groupies. That was the hard part. If you went human, you had to figure out if she liked you for all of you or just because she was fucking the big bad. Michael had been disappointed every time.
So for all intents and purposes, he was currently celibate. The first month was hardest, going through the full moon cravings that tended to make a wolf think about nothing but hunting and fucking. But that first month had happened a while ago.
Shuttering the all too depressing thoughts that he was twenty-seven now and still single, he cringed through the band’s very British punk sounds and mentally cursed Jason. Three hours later, after sucky-punk-band, all-girl-hate-men-band, and screaming-not-singing-metal-band were gone, his ears were still ringing.
One more band to go. He hoped to hell they didn’t suck. They were the last band that had responded to the most recent ad, named TrayneWrek. It appeared to be an all-sorts kind of band, boasting to play anything, anywhere. Judging from the picture, the four men and one woman were related somehow, maybe siblings. From the picture, she was pretty, but it was hard to tell for sure. And he couldn’t exactly hire them just
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