G 8:30 a.m.

Oh shit. Am I dead?

Because that would really, really suck. Nobody wants to wake up dead after the first time they ever have sex.

Because, as it turns out? All the fuss, all the songs, all the heartache, all the drama? It happens for a very good reason.

Because, G decided upon waking up, sex was good.

Better than good. Pretty fucking great.

Now, if only he could remember who she was and how it all started.

He opened his eyes in hopes that it wouldn’t all disappear like a really amazing dream. The sun was still mercifully obscured by the trees.

The fuzzy events of the night did not disappear like an amazing dream that he wanted to close his eyes and get back to. Things had actually happened. Some really fucking sublime things.

It was all real. At the nearly freakishly old age of 25, G had finally lost his virginity. All of his buddies at Ashton Boudreaux’s bachelor party would be very happy for him.

Except they were not there right now. And neither was she. Whoever she was.

Curious.

Even more curious was the fact that he was lying on the grass in the woods. Naked. Alone.

And his belly was full.

He had the taste of fresh blood in his mouth.

So he had shifted to the wolf last night. How in the hell did that happen? It wasn’t a full moon. Besides, no pack of wolves like Ash, Bobby and Vann would ever plan a bachelor party on the night of a full moon. Not unless they all wanted to end up dead or in prison or both. Alcohol and full moons do not mix. Especially not when it comes to shapeshifters.

Sure, he wasn’t always the best at keeping track of his moon cycles, but that’s pack mentality. You depend on each other.

But where was his pack now?

He went through the list. Ash was probably at Rosemary’s flat, sleeping it off. Vann West, their boy who was now a celebrity chef, had just last night come home from a shoot in Seoul, South Korea, for the week of wedding festivities. He was probably off boning his new girl GiGi, whom he hadn’t seen since March. G wondered if that would last, knowing what he knew about them both. He also wondered if those two ever did stuff with icing.

Focus, man. Focus.

Where was Bobby? Bobby was known to get melancholy toward the end of the night, whenever the pack partied together. G wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with his past. It was so long ago, but Bobby would carry that cross to his grave. Poor guy. G hoped sincerely that his friend would one day be able to get his mind off of it. Of course, G and Ash and Vann knew exactly the only person who could help Bobby with all of that. The only one who could not see that was Bobby.

Look at yourself, G. Lying naked on the ground in the pre-dawn hours and all you can think about is your friend’s happiness? No wonder you were a virgin until last night.

Get it together. Find your clothes. And then find the girl.

G carefully sat upright. He looked to his left. There was the lake. He and the boys had probably gone for a dip to sober up at some point. Had he brought the girl with him for that? Was she still here?

The next second, the only thought he had was about the annoying pain in his hip. What the…

And then he turned and looked down and saw the bandage. Oh no.

It was exactly the kind of bandage he used at his tattoo parlor to help his customers protect fresh tattoos. But G didn’t have a fresh tattoo on his hip, because that would be ridiculous. Right?

So ridiculous, only a drunk asshole would agree to this. For fuck’s sake. He carefully peeled back the tape and took a look. It was a heart with the letter “C” in it. The heart looked like it had gashes in it and blood flowing out. The way the “C” was inked, calligraphy-style, was the most telling part of all. That was his own ink. As in, G had literally given himself a tattoo.

“That explains how a tattoo artist would agree to do ink on a drunk asshole,” he said aloud.

But the mystery remained, why could he not remember any of it?

He remembered most of the bachelor party. Club hopping all over the French Quarter, then riding the party bus back to their neighborhood. He vaguely recalled running into one of his employees, Manny, at Bobby’s Tavern, but could not recall the conversation. That was about the time things started to get fuzzy in G’s memory.

The upside was, at least he knew his shop and his equipment were clean.

Full marks for that, dipshit. Now go find your clothes.

He stood up and leaned against an oak tree to shake the cobwebs out of his brain.

He looked around, but his clothes did not show themselves.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ended up naked in the woods with no sign of his clothes. Whenever he wolfed out, there was no telling where his clothes ended up. Some shifter wolves, like his friend Penny, always stripped down in an orderly fashion and neatly placed their folded clothes near her favorite tree. That was the difference between men and women, he supposed. He and his boys mostly just got naked, howled at the moon and ran like hell to the rabbit warren, the gopher holes, or to the clearing, or to the water. They just loved to run.

And that’s probably how G ended up passed out, naked and clueless. Best-case scenario, he had felt himself turning, for whatever reason, and decided to run away to keep his girl out of danger.

He followed the trail back out in the direction of the parking lot, hoping maybe he could call someone to pick him up. If not, well, he’d figure it out.

About a tenth of a mile down the trail he saw his undies and jeans, but there was no sign of his shirt or shoes. The good news was, his smartphone was in his jeans pocket. Score! Surely, there would be some clues about his girl in his phone.

He unlocked the screen but did not see any text notifications. He felt himself become a little bit disappointed but not at all surprised. Drunk people were not the most reliable in letting their friends know where they were.

At the top of the list of text conversations, there was a contact just called “C.” Perhaps the “C” who was inked on his hip? Strong possibility, Einstein.

Tapping on the convo, he saw it was all 100 percent from him to her, no replies.

Huh.

He looked at the messages he had sent to this C. The first one was sent at 2:34 a.m.

Hey, this is Gavin. Friend of Ash. I heard you were a bridesmaid. I think you’re cute.

Fuck, what kind of a dork had he become? “I think you’re cute”? He may as well be passing notes in the fourth grade asking girls to “check this box if you like me-like me.” Reading his drunk missives made him cringe, so he skimmed them only for clues.

Then came this charming one about five minutes later:

I saw you dancing on the table. Do you need a ride home?

OK, points for being a gentleman. And at what point did the sex happen?

He figured it would have been at some point between 2:37 a.m. and 4:30 am. because the third and last text he had sent to her said,

Had to take off. Better for your safety. Be back as soon as I can. DO NOT MOVE. Please reply that you’re OK.

He looked at the time. It was now 8:45 a.m. Gavin trudged up the trail and eventually came to the parking lot. No car. No keys. No shirt. Not even any shoes anywhere. How had he gotten here?

He sent her a text just before calling for an Uber.

“I feel like a jackass. I’m not totally sure what happened, but I need to see you so we can sort this out. Please stay wherever you are. Are you at my place? Let me know.

And then before he could pull the trigger on Uber, he heard a low rumbling sound and the squealing of tires. Ash’s GTO was roaring across the lot and screeching to a halt right in front of him.

“Get in.”

“Listen, man, I blacked out and I need to find this girl.”

Ash cut him off. “Get in the car.”

Gavin obeyed. What choice did he have? He must have reeked of blood and alcohol. And also: no shirt or shoes.

Ash, however, looked freshly showered and was as chipper and charming as ever. How did he always manage to do that?

“Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“I do not and it does not matter. We gotta go find Bobby.”

“Bobby’s not at his place? Dude, the party ended at his bar. He lives above the bar. Why would he not be there?”

“I already checked, he’s not there. He took off kind of surly last night… this morning…whenever it was. I’m just worried about him, you know how he gets.”

Gavin was getting frustrated. Bobby was a grown-ass man who could take care of himself. “OK, look, let’s just get to my apartment and see if this mystery girl is there. Then we’ll go find Bobby.”

Ash shook his head. “No, man. If she’s out there, she’s hungover as shit. Give her time to pull herself together. No girl wants to see you first thing in the morning after a bachelorette party.”

“Where are we going, then?”

Ash smiled. “What else does Bobby like besides making girly drinks? Same thing we do. Coffee.”