Tonight we’re having a party at the house, for Tibba and Trent. They’ve FINALLY got around to celebrating their Mating properly, and it’s Trent’s 28th Birthday. (We figured that 28 was as much a landmark as other number, so why not make it a big one, right??)
We’re also celebrating Colt’s birthday – which was last month – and Emma and Connor’s birthday’s because they’re next week. (At the rate we have birthdays, it’s silly not to condense them all. Otherwise we’d be eating cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner all year round.)
(Not that a years supply of cake is a bad thing… It’s just that my ass can’t handle that much cake.)
Anyway, I’m not out there celebrating with everyone, because I had to put myself in time out… (I’ll explain that in a minute.)
Rex and Ally Update!
Well, I was chilling with a bunch of people, and watching the party action going on earlier this evening. Rex comes up and chills with us for a bit, and jokes around with Becca about spiking the spiked punch (it’s kind of an inside joke… We once had a party where almost everyone dumped alcohol in the punch bowl. It got messy.)
Anyway, I look up, and Ally’s arriving, BUT she doesn’t look like ‘I am a wallflower’ Alexandra. She’s wearing this AWESOME swooshy (What, that’s a word!) dark purple dress, and she had her hair down for once, and she looks AMAZING.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a complete makeover or anything – Ally never wears makeup, and she didn’t start trowling it on tonight or anything, she just looks like herself, but more…. Relaxed. (Swooshy, even!)
Becca and I immediately jump up and tell her how amazing she looks, and she’s smiling, and blushing. Matt comes in behind her and gives a wolf whistle (er… tiger whistle??) and is all “Ally Cat! Looking HOT.” and he’s joking round with her. I glance over at Rex, who – for a totally chilled out dude – looks pretty tense.
Then Colt comes by and gives Ally a glass of something pink and alcoholic, and starts up with some mild flirting.
Becca frowns at him and is all “Dude. What the hell happened to not sleeping with every beautiful woman in the Pack?”
Colt is all “What? I’m just talking with Ally – there’s nothing wrong with that! We haven’t chatted for ages, have we Ally.”
(From the skeptical look on Ally’s face, I’m betting Colt had never said more than two words to her before tonight.)
Ally for the most part just looks uncomfortable. She tries to gracefully excuse herself, and colt is all “Hey, don’t go! You haven’t told me what you think of my new cocktail!”
Ally doesn’t get a chance though, because all of a sudden Rex is looming behind her.
He kisses the side of her neck, and wraps one of his arms around her waist, and is all “Alexandra, you look beautiful.”
Ally finally relaxes, and smiles like she means it, and they disapear to see if they can find a bottle of red somewhere (it turns out both of them are red wine drinkers.)
*
Update on the resident man-whore
After Ally leaves with Rex, Colt looks a little put out, and Becca generally looks disgusted at him. She’s all “So? What in the hell was that then? ‘Oh Ally, taste my totally alcoholic cocktail while I flirt and make eyes at your boobs’ You’re an idiot! What the hell have we been talking about for the past month an a half, huh? ”
Colt shrugs and says “What?! I wasn’t going to sleep with her anyway. I was just talking. Anyway, I didn’t know she was with Rex.”
To which Becca scowls and walks off.
Now. When I first met Becca she was having a minor break down over Colt being a total womanizing asshole, and leading her on. She got over it, and Colt went on to be a bigger, and better man-whore, before totally getting his heart stomped on by Sam – our resident cougar.
Colt, being a bit of an emotional retard, dealt with the heart stomping by drinking himself into a wee depressed puddle. Becca helped him get back on his feet (because she’s a total saint!) and he swears off being a boozy immature man-whore.
I’m beginning to think, though, that Becca helping Colt out wasn’t quite as altruistic as it first looked – I wonder if she’s still crushing on him, and this is her way of getting him to finally notice her?
I hope not!
*
Have I told you how much I like Tibba?
No? I like her a lot.
She finally made an appearance (Late at her own party, in the house she lives in – that takes talent) dressed in the same comfortable jeans she usually wears, and a plain black top, and her hair in the same old ponytail she usually wears it in. It’s not fancy or anything, but because she’s a cat she kind of inherently manages to look sleek and put together – at the same time as being totally comfortable.
She storms into the pantry, where I’m rummaging around for some serviettes. I kind of look up, because ‘yay I’m cornered in a pantry with a pissed off badass lioness’.
“Hey Tibba. What’s up?” I ask, mapping my escape route.
She looks up like she’s only just noticed me and is all “Opps. Sorry. I thought the pantry was free.”
I smile and say “Nope. But I don’t mind sharing.”
She’s all “Good. Tell me… Is there alcohol in here?”
I’m all “Pshh What kind of a question is that? Of COURSE there’s alcohol in here. What kind do you want?” And I open the cupboard with our stash of spirits and liquors.
Tibbas eyes light up, and we both take a swig straight from one of the cheap bottles of tequila. We even make it classy, by following it with a swig of lemon extract. (BTW? Lemon extract meant for baking tastes NOTHING like lemon. It’s not a good substitute for lemon wedges.)
Once we were both done shuddering over the awfulness of the lemon she says “Ayla? My Mother just arrived. WITH Trent’s mother. And you know what she said to me?”
I shake my head and take another swig of tequila.
“She walked in the front door, took one look at me and said ‘Tabitha, why don’t you ever dress like a girl? No man is ever going to love those tomboy hips if you don’t wear a pretty skirt every now and then.’” Tibba raised her eyebrow at me, and I nodded in understanding. Mothers are a hard thing to love, sometimes.
“And then Trent’s mother stares at my ass and is all ‘You’re not built for child rearing, but those hips will widen right out after you have the first baby.’ Like I’m some fucking magicians assistant about to pull a fucking rabbit out of my ass.” Tibba said, grabbing the bottle again.
“I’m not having fucking babies right now.” She said clearing up any misconceptions I may have had.
(Also = YAY me too! I agree! Finally someone who isn’t all pro-baby!)
“Why did it take you so long to leave the Pride again?” I asked – I had always thought it was her family she didn’t want to leave.
“Don’t fucking know. Anyway, what the hell gave them the idea I was turning into some fucking breeding machine?” She asked, taking yet another gulp of tequila.
We talk a little longer and Tibba explains that Aaron’s (He’s the lion Pride’s Alpha) original Second was leaving, and she had stuck around, hoping to be chosen as the replacement second. Aaron chose another guy instead – much to Tibba’s disgust – and so she finally decided that she was never going to get any real power in the Pride, so it was time to cut her losses and move to our Pack so that she could be with Trent.
I think if Matt ever left I’d totally have Tibba as my second. She’s loyal, she has no wish to be Alpha, she’s scary as all hell when she’s pissed off, and she hates Ran’s mother (AKA the She-Devil) with a vengeance.
I finally pried the bottle out of her hands, deciding that perhaps we shouldn’t start the night with one of my Pack members killing her mother, and beginning a Pack-Pride war.
“How about we go find Trent.” I said, opening the pantry door.
Thankfully Trent had either followed Tibba to the kitchen, or had heard she was in here from someone, because he was already waiting outside the pantry door for us to finish talking.
“All yours.” I said, handing over care of Tibba to her grateful mate.
Trent smiled and thanked me. (I remembered to tell Tibba ‘NO FIGHTING’ before I left, too, and she was all “Understood, Alpha” even while she scowled and pouted.)
*
Time Out
So, like I said earlier, I had to give myself time out because Ran was totally riding in my last nerve!
We had just finished listening to Tibba and Trent’s families do the whole speech thing about how pleased they were to see their kids settled (Tibba and Trent both did a shot every time the mothers mentioned grandchildren) and Ran and I were watching the fun.
I was kind of smooshed up against his side, resting my head on his chest, as we both watched Scooter, Spam, and T.J concoct something involving a blender, and about 50 different kinds of alcohol.
“So. When are we getting married then?” Ran asks.
“I dunno. Some time.” I said evasively.
“Shouldn’t we set a date?” He says.
I frown. “It’s not a big deal is it? We go to the council buildings, sign some stuff, huzzah, we’re married.”
“The fact that you’re avoiding it kind of says that it’s a big deal.” Ran says, sounding a little annoyed.
I un-smoosh myself from his chest. “I’m not avoiding it. You’re just being pushy about it.”
“I am not, I just know you’ll never get around to doing it if I don’t keep asking about it.” Ran said sounding oh-so-rational. (I HATE that.)
“I would too!” I muttered. (I probably would. Maybe)
“Right. And now you’re picking a fight to avoid talking about it. Mature.” He says with a superior raise of an eyebrow.
(Stupid knowitall King dork-face)
“I’m not the one picking a fight!” I say prodding his chest with a pointy finger.
He smirks at me. “I’m not the one yelling.”
“I’m not yelling!” I yelled.
Captain asshole raises his eyebrow again and I have to clench my fists to stop myself smacking the knowitall smirk off his face.
“I was just asking, because I found a great spot for wedding photos the other day.” He says KNOWING that I don’t want to have to stand around taking photos – I’m not even planning on getting dressed up. Like is said go to council building, sign some stuff. That’s jeans and a ratty sweatshirt appropriate.
I spin on my heel and walk away, knowing that kicking him in the balls is a bad idea.
(Hence some laptop-alone time in my office.)
I can’t figure out why he was trying to wind me up, either… I guess because he wants me to set a date… Hm. Anyway. I emailed the council out of spite ten minutes ago, and made the appointment to do it in late October. That’ll show Ran for being suck an ass about it.
‘See I did it! Ha! Proved you wrong asshole, I win again – AND THERE WILL BE NO PHOTOS.’
Now I am going to go tease Tiny with the fact that breast-feeding, responsible women who don’t swear or reference hookers can’t drink beer. (Andre loves me. Really, he does!)