ALPHA’S PREY

Collective noun for chickens.”

“Fuck.” The table next to us isn’t doing well at all. I smile to myself and fill in, “Clutch.”

“A collective noun for fish.”

“School,” I write, and turn to Caleb and add, “Or shoal.”

“Lions.” Easy. “Pride.”

“Dolphins.”

“Pod,” Caleb whispers to me.

I nod and grin and scribe.NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

“Bears.”

“Bears are solitary animals.” I frown at Caleb.

He sets down his beer with a thunk. “A group of bears is called a sloth,” he murmurs and taps the scorecard. “Write it.”

I do, my mouth hanging open. “How did you know that?”

“I was bored and looked it up.” He taps the scorecard again and I bend my head to get to it.

“Have you ever seen a group of bears?”

“No. We’re solitary animals.” He winks.

“A group of crows” is next. The scribe at the table beside us throws down his pencil. I write ‘murder’ and whisper to Caleb, “I learned that from a Sting song.”

“Final. Buzzards.”

“Yes,” I hiss. I write ‘committee’, but second-guess myself.

“What is it?” Caleb leans close.

“This is the answer,” I tap the paper, “Unless they’re in flight-then they’re called a kettle. When eating, they’re called a wake.” I gnaw my lip. “What should I put?”

“Go with your gut,” Caleb advises.

“When you’re ready, turn in your scorecards,” the host says and I race up to drop mine off. We’re the first to turn our card in, which gives us a ten point lead.

Caleb’s eyes crinkle when I return to him. He throws an arm around me, pulling me deep into his hard body and giving me another beer-flavored kiss. The tables next to us hoot and I tap out to gasp and come up for air.

“Proud of you,” Caleb says, tagging my wine and handing it to me.

“Really?” I suppress a thrill. I’m sitting in a hunky man’s arms, one who went out of his way to give me a great night. He’s sexy, and he’s not intimidated by me.

“Oh yeah, watching you get into the game… hot.” This time I let the thrill roll through me. Caleb’s lips hit my ear, “Only thing, babe. It was too easy. Next time we play, I’m making it more of a challenge.” His free hand strokes up my inseam, and I almost drop my wine.

“Th-that sounds interesting. I’d be willing to try it.”

“Mmhmm,” Caleb removes his hand but not his arm. I settle back and gulp my drink. Screw Trivial Pursuit. I’ll play any game with Caleb, as long as he makes the rules.

I win the prize, a plaque that says “Purveyor of Useless Knowledge.” Joe himself, the proprietor, comes out to award it to me. I pick at the logo for Joes’ Bar, sighing over the apostrophe placement until Joe leans in and lets me know: “I heard you earlier and yes, it’s Joes’, plural.” I squint at him and he continues, “He was an army bud. Died in the war. We always talked about when we got out, we’d open a bar together. So the apostrophe is in the right place.” He pauses. “Not that anyone gets the reference.”

I give Joe a hug and turn to Caleb and bug my eyes out.

“A GROUP of owls is called a parliament. A group of seagulls is called a squabble. A group of sharks is called a shiver,” I chant, my boots propped on Caleb’s truck dash.

Caleb parks, comes around to my door and helps me out.

“A group of tigers is an ambush or streak.” My feet hit the ground and Caleb lifts me in his arms. I hook one of my around his neck and inform him, “A group of parrots is panda… pando…” I smack my lips and try again, “Pandemonium.”

“You drunk?”

“Maybe. Sorta. A group of wombats is called a wisdom.”

“You’re so fucking smart,” he tells me and tosses me on the bed.

“You think I’m smart,” I murmur happily. I watch as his coat, shirt and boots hit the floor and then he’s on me.

“I know you are.” He unzips my coat, vest and peels them both off. “You don’t know you’re smart?”

“I do,” I assure him as he pulls my shirt up. “It’s just easy to forget when my colleagues talk down to me.”

“They’re idiots,” Caleb says in his macho man way before stripping my shirt over my head. “Miranda, you gotta know, you’re smart and kind and beautiful. Fuck.” He cups my cheek and just looks at me. Under his gaze, I try not to squirm. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Caleb,” I whisper, and he lowers himself on top of me. His beard brushes my neck, planting delicious, scratchy kisses down to my collarbone. “Caleb,” my whisper turns into a moan, and I wriggle under him as his lips nuzzle the tops of my breasts. He tugs my bra down with his teeth and leans back to take me in. The look in his eyes is everything. I could orgasm right now, just from him looking at me. He sees me. He gets me. He cares. He always has, right from the start.

It’s scary.

I turn my face away. “A group of porcupines is called a prickle.”

“Miranda,” he calls. His fingers, gentle on my jaw, turn my face back to him. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

Yes. I bite my lip so I don’t blurt out, I know this is temporary, but I’m falling for you.

“Miranda?”

“A group of rhinos is called a crash,” I whisper, and tighten my arms around his neck as he slides inside me. I suck in a breath. His hand cups my breasts, thumb teasing my nipple. My inner muscles tighten around him as he moves, surging deeper and deeper, hitching my leg up so he can hit places inside I’ve never felt before. I close my eyes, hurtling towards orgasm, mind going white. Caleb’s cock hits the spot and my thoughts blank so I don’t have to face the truth: This isn’t forever. It’s gonna end.

But not yet. Not tonight.