Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,13

busy, but he was just staring at her with this thoughtful look in his striking green eyes. “You’re different.”

“You mean weird. It’s okay to say it. That’s what I’ve heard my whole life.”

“No, I said what I meant. You’re different. In a good way. Interesting. Unexpected. Fun. You’re like a puzzle where all the pieces fit just fine, but the picture is something different than was on the box.”

She froze because her chest was doing something strange. It was fluttering, and her insides were turning, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. “I…I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Mmm, well that’s sad. I complimented your tits earlier, and you weren’t nearly as grateful.”

She laughed and poured olive oil over the veggies. “I respond better to the sweet stuff.”

“Well, I read magazines on what women like, and from my extensive research—”

“Research?”

“From my extensive research, I have come to the conclusion that you like a man to be both a gentleman and a monster. You want a little spanking in the bedroom but for us to hold doors open. A little chokey-choke time during sex but then buy you flowers.”

“Oh, you would never have to buy me flowers. I work with flowers all day long.”

“You’re a florist?”

“Kind of.” She poured the lemon pepper seasoning he handed her onto the veggies. “I do flower arrangements for a few funeral homes. I work at a specialty shop that doesn’t have customers come in or anything. It’s just a warehouse type building where online orders come in from the funeral homes, and we bring the arrangements and set them up the day of the funerals.”

“Wow. What made you want to work with something so morbid?” he asked quietly.

“For me, it’s not morbid. I’m helping. These families go through great grief, and they’re supposed to pick out flower arrangements on top of everything else they’re dealing with. The funeral homes I work with try to streamline it and make it easier on the grieving families. They have our brochures there and put in the orders a couple of days before the events, My boss and I make sure those families have a seamless setup the morning of. I don’t think it’s a sad job. To me, it’s fulfilling. I’m getting to help people when they are feeling at their lowest. Make their day just a tiny bit easier.”

“Puzzle. Such a surprising puzzle.”

She grinned. “Most people back away slowly when I tell them what I do for a living. Funerals are one thing people don’t enjoy thinking about or talking about, but for me it’s just a part of my work. A part of my day.”

“So you’re good at flower stuff. What else do you do for fun? Besides getting tattoos, stalking champion bull shifters—”

“Oh, I set my sights lower than that, Dead of Winter. I only go for third place bull shifters.”

He chuckled. “I know I’m supposed to be offended, but I’m not. You came in at my lowest. I won’t stay there for long. And call me Dead! I’m serious. It’s weird hearing my whole name all the time. Spill your guts, woman. What do you do for fun?”

“Uuuuh…oh geez, I don’t know. I haven’t been asked this in a long time. Let’s see, I like going to the King River with some of my friends on the weekends. I drink White Claws and trashcan punch, and I like jumping off cliffs into water. I went sky diving once. I’ll try anything. I want to live while I can.”

“Because you work for funeral homes?”

“Yes.” She frowned and repeated, “Yes. How did you know?”

Dead shrugged and took pans of chicken wings he’d been seasoning and the veggies outside. “I just guessed. I bet you have a healthy respect for mortality.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Huh. For a big, gruff and tough man, he listened. Paid attention.

“Who are your friends?” he asked as she followed him out with their orange sodas. “More specifically, who is your wolf shifter friend, and is he hot?”

She snickered. “You jealous?”

“Well, we’ve been dating for a very long night, and I’m possessive,” he murmured, opening the lid of his grill parked right at the corner of his camper on the gravel. “I want to know his name, height, how many fights he’s been in, pack name, rank in his pack, address… You know, the basics.”

“Mmm hmmm. Height, five-foot-four—”

“Oh, he’s a shrimp shifter,” he muttered.

Raven hid her smile and took a seat in one of the two lawn chairs near