Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,45
minutes picking out a black button-down shirt, dark-wash Wranglers, and a black belt buckle with—you guessed it—a longhorn on it.
“I think you should wear this all the time,” she said, patting the belt buckle as Linda rang them up. “The cow looks like me.”
“Possessive woman. You just want me wearin’ your picture over my dick.”
“You’re Dead of Winter, aren’t you?” the Linda asked.
Dead looked startled but recovered fast enough. “I sure am.”
“Um, can we get your autograph?”
“We?” he asked.
“Me and all my co-workers.” Linda gestured to a trio of ladies behind a rack of leather wallets, trying to look busy. “We were trying to figure out if it was really you.”
“Oh, hell yeah, we can take a picture.”
“I can take it for you,” Raven offered.
“Really?” Linda asked.
“Oh, absolutely.” Raven took her phone and waited for all the workers to pile in beside Dead for a picture. She clicked the photo a few times, just in case anyone blinked, and handed it back to her.
“Is this the girl on your Instagram page?” Linda asked, gesturing to Raven.
“Me?” Raven asked, pointing to her chest.
“Hagan’s Lace,” Linda said, aiming the phone at her.
Sure enough, she had Dead’s Instagram pulled up where there was a picture split in half. On the left side, it was her face, speckled with mud, a slight frown furrowing her dark brows as she looked at the camera. In the other, it was her animal, looking straight at the camera with fury in her eyes. The spliced picture was all gritty. She looked like a half human-half animal monster.
The caption read, I run with beasts. #HagansLace #MooCrew #Lubbock #sheiscomingforyou
“When did Cheyenne even take those?” she whispered. “That’s a picture of my animal.” She pulled a face at Dead and repeated it, “That’s a picture of my animal. For the world to see. On a page with”—she checked his follower count—“a million followers! Is this okay?”
Dead was grinning at the picture and nodding his head. “It’s more than okay. People should see her. They should see you.”
Her mind was spinning as Dead finished paying for all their wares, and as they walked toward the door, he threw his arm around her and drew her in close, kissed the side of her head. “Are you overthinking it?”
“Of course.”
“That picture is you, Raven. Own it.”
“But Cheyenne put it on your page. You have so many followers who will see it.”
“So? I’m proud of you. That picture belongs there.”
And that was what Dead did. He made things okay. He settled her. He rolled with the punches and never, ever, made her feel hidden.
That man made her feel comfortable in her own skin, whether woman or beast.
The second she made it through the door Dead held open for her, she pranced. Pranced! Because she got her some new boots, and there was something magical about having a brand-new pair of boots to break in. She squeaked and jumped around him as he laughed and tucked the bags closer to his sides so she didn’t knock them.
“Cow shifter named Raven raised by humans who hops like a bunny.”
“Thank you thank you thank you!” she crowed.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Raven peeked in the biggest bag and pulled out the boot box. “Whatever it is, my answer is yes.”
“In that case, we doin’ doggy style toniiiight.”
Raven cackled. “I’m in.”
“Technically speaking, I would be in. You. I’m in you. Get it?”
“Perv joke,” she called and offered him her knuckles to bump, which he did.
“Are you going to put them on right here in the middle of the parking lot?” he asked.
Indeed, Raven was squatted down, pulling the gorgeous boots from the box. Her butt cheeks were probably hanging out of her short shorts.
“Your ass looks really good right now,” Dead murmured, and when she looked up, his eyes were glazed over as he stared.
Raven waggled her eyebrows at him over her shoulder. “Did I just put you in a booty trance?” she asked, bouncing it a little.
“You did indeed,” he whispered.
An older lady with gray bouffant hair, a western print button-up dress, and some brown boots walked past them through the parking lot and said, “Uh, uh, uh. You young’uns are too much these days.”
“Sorry!” Raven called.
“She ain’t sorry,” Dead called after her. “I’m always trying to get her to stop being so scandalous because I’m a gentleman, but she’s just built like this.”
The lady disappeared into the store, but Raven could’ve sworn she said the word “floozie” under her breath. Cow shifter hearing was very good.
It probably