I was distracted. I could feel fluctuations in Dallas mood, which was surprising, given how little time we'd spent together. Was that part of the imprinting? It must be. I just hadn't expected it to be so clear and so strong. I might not have noticed it if Kurt had been watching a Hallmark movie, but he was watching one of those gritty police procedurals. The yearning and happiness I sensed was definitely not a reaction to the television.

What was he talking to Asher about? The emotions I felt from him seemed to echo my own when I had been talking to Kit. Could he be talking about me? What was Asher telling him? I hoped it was something like, "You better knot and claim that omega hard and fast before he slips out of your clutches." Not that I was going to, but if Dallas was ready for that kind of commitment, I was all about getting that show on the road.

"Do you want me to put something else on?" Kurt asked.

"What?" I'd been so wrapped up in my thoughts about Dallas, I might as well have been on a different planet.

Kurt gestured to the television. "You don’t seem to be enjoying it. I can change it."

"No, sorry, I was just thinking."

Kurt nodded and went back to his silence, and I turned my bartender's gaze on him. Being a bartender was one part waiter, one part bouncer, and three parts therapist. You learned how to read people. The silent ones were sometimes easier to read than the loud ones. You can cover a lot of emotion just by being loud. I could read the majority of quiet folks just with their first order: depressed, shy, sad, stressed, anti-social and—only very occasionally—just content with being quiet. 

Kurt was definitely content with being quiet, but he wasn't that simple. Maybe a little anti-social. With his styled hair, his leather jacket, black jeans and white t-shirt, there was a definite don't-give-a-fuck air about him. Maybe it was because he was a cat, I realized. Yeah, that was definitely a huge part of it. He reminded me of a gray alley tabby my sister had semi-adopted for a while. He was an asshole, and he didn't care who knew it. He went his way, and if you didn't like it he didn't give a damn. Kurt definitely had that air about him.

"I can feel you thinking too hard from all the way over here," Kurt said. "Don't hurt yourself."

Yep. Definitely an asshole.

"How did you end up here?" I asked, the bartender therapist rising to the top. Step one: get people talking about themselves.

"I drove," Kurt answered, not playing along.

"Thank you, Mr. Literal." Two could play... or not play. "I meant how did you end up as part of this pack? You don't really seem the type."

That got his attention, if for a moment. "Oh? And what exactly do you think my 'type' is?"

"You're a loner."

"Oh really? You get that from your book on stereotypes, Mr. Personality Test?" Kurt's look and tone were more dismissive than harsh.

"Nope." I smiled. He couldn't deter me. I'd made customers ten times surlier than him smile. "I got it from your eyes."

He snorted and looked back at the television. "Yeah, whatever."

"But really, why hook up with a pack?"

"You're nosy."

"I'm a fox. We tend to be that way. Also, trained since birth in the art of short sheeting beds, and that's just the start of it. I've got a third degree black belt in prank-juju."

That got a real laugh out of him. "You're all right, fox. I'm not telling you shit, but you're all right."

"Fair enough. I'll tell you something though, if I'm actually paying attention to the TV, we've got to change the channel. How do you feel about westerns?"

He slid a wary look out of the corner of his eyes. "Wayne or Eastwood?"

"Wayne, all the way."

Kurt shook his head with disappointment. "I should have known you couldn't trust a fox. Eastwood all the way."

"I should have figured. He's just as much of an asshole as you are."

"And Wayne isn't?" Kurt was flipping through the channels.

"He's grumpy," I clarified. "Not an asshole. He'd yell at kids to get off his lawn, maybe brandish a cane at them, but Eastwood would just shoot them."

"At their feet, maybe. Just to scare them."

I spread my hands. "You're making my point for me."

Kurt stopped on a channel and brought up the info. They Call Me Trinity. "Can we settle on Terence Hill as neutral ground?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Terrence Hill is acceptable," I agreed, and settled in to actually pay attention to the movie, pushing the distraction of Dallas's emotions from my mind.