At least her interview would be amusing, and even more importantly to Weston, distracting.
Chapter Three
Avery’s beat-up old Civic wheezed and coughed around the final mud pit before the clearing. The hand-carved sign above the dirt road read Big Flight ATV Tours, Welcome.
Thank God, because her GPS had basically laughed at her a few miles back and then refused to guide Avery an inch farther. No surprise since the building looked just barely finished. A man balanced on his knee on a half-built porch where he was sawing off the end of a board.
She’d expected an older gentleman from how gruff the voice was on the phone, but this guy looked like he was around her age. Maybe he was the owner’s son. He wore sunglasses, and a good thing too because sawdust was spraying everywhere. Safety first, she always said. A camouflage baseball cap covered his head and, holy macaroni, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His powerful legs were hugged by jeans that were riddled with strategically placed holes. Tattoos covered his arms and part of his chest, and if she wasn’t severely mistaken, Mr. Sexyman had his nipples pierced. Real piercings! She’d never seen a man like him, all tanned, gleaming with sweat, and tatted up. Raven culture didn’t condone body modification, but suddenly she was thinking her community was a gaggle of morons because this fine specimen of a human was sexy as hell. His sweat probably smelled like evergreens and tasted like sugarplums.
When he looked up suddenly, she remembered herself and squeaked, slamming on the brakes a few feet away from the porch.
Great first impression, Avery. You almost destroyed the building.
“Were you planning on stopping, or no?” he asked rudely as she got out of her car.
“You aren’t wearing a shirt,” she said dumbly, like that was a valid excuse. “Uh, is your dad around?”
The man set the saw on the porch and stared at her with his mouth hanging open. “No. Why?”
“Because I have an interview today.”
The man shoved his work glove down and checked his watch. “We agreed on noon.”
Shoot, he was interviewing her? She hunched under his angry glare. At least she thought he was angry, because his sunglasses hid his eyes. “I wanted to be punctual,” she admitted in a voice an octave too high.
“You’re an entire hour early.”
The tattoo on his chest said something too small to read from here, and a single drop of sweat slowly trickled down between his defined pecs. Down, down to his perfect little belly button between his perfectly flexed abdominals.
“Lady!” He covered his dick with his gloved hands and cocked his head.
“I wasn’t looking at that.” Just your belly button like a normal person. Avery turned her back. In a murmur, she pleaded, “Can you put on a shirt? It’s r-really unprofessional to conduct an interview like this.”
“Again, you’re an hour early.”
“Right. Sorry.” She turned and looked at him over her shoulder as he was pulling a white T-shirt over his head, and this time she could see a faint trail of dark hair leading down into his jeans. Holy hell, she wanted to ride it down like a Slip ’N Slide. Forcefully, she turned back around. “Should I go and come back in an hour?”
“No. You almost drove through my porch once. You’re good.”
Geez, he sounded testy.
His work boots echoed hollowly on the porch, so she peeked around again. He picked up a half empty beer bottle from a table between two rocking chairs. Whoo, his man-butt looked good in those jeans, too. She opened her mouth to begin listing her good qualities as a future employee, but he entered the building and let the swinging door slam behind him.
Okay. Carefully, she padded up the stairs and around the power tools, lifted her knuckles to knock, decided against it, and stepped inside. “Hello?”
“Back here,” the man said in an irritated tone. Her heart sank to the floorboards under her feet. She was definitely not getting this job.
Buck up, Avery. You need this. Win him over!
Most of the building was a single, large room with a counter along the back wall and a souvenir shop at the front. It looked like there was a gear room through the side door, and on the opposite wall was a room with a sign that read Office in hand-painted yellow letters above the door. That was the one Mr. Bitable Nipple Bars had disappeared into.
Avery scampered in behind him, determined to have a good interview from here on, but he’d taken off his glasses and hat and, holy shit, it was him. Weston Novak, the Novak Raven himself.
Avery slammed back against the wall beside the door.
“What’s wrong with you now?” he asked, looking completely baffled.
His face was the same, just older. It was his body that had thrown her off and made him impossible to recognize on first glance. His bright green eyes were still the same, the color of his father’s, but she knew from experience they turned black as night when his inner raven was worked up. He had a dimple on one cheek when he smiled big enough, and he was naturally quiet. He was a dominant brawler, which was at complete odds with his raven nature.
Weston’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Avery blurted out.
“What’s your name?”
“Beth. Bethany. Bessie.” She was panicking!
“Well, which one is it?” he asked, hands on his hips as if he wasn’t buying anything she was selling.
“Hey, boss,” a redheaded man said from the open doorway.
He’d appeared out of nowhere, and Avery startled hard. Oh, she knew him, too. He was none other than the Air Ryder. He had a huge online following, had spent half his dang life in the news conducting interviews, and was one of the rarest shifters on the planet, a snowy owl. He and the Novak Raven were the two most famous, most battle-proven, and most volatile flight shifters in the entire world, and here she was, caught right between them. Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.