Romance: Seducing The Quarterback (45 page)

By: E. Cummings

The Alpha Werebear Seeks His Queen
,
A Mail Order Bride Paranormal Shifter Romance

©E. Cummings, 2016 – All rights reserved

Published by Steamy Reads4U

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or reviews.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, businesses,
places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or used in a fictitious manner.  Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.  This book is
licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

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Warning

This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+
years old.

If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with
adult content, please close this book now.

The temperatures in Novosibirsk, Siberia could reach well
below freezing during the spring. The area is well known for its snow, but it
is also the largest growing city in the world, which meant serious opportunity
for Anya.

She looked in the mirror to be sure her long, golden blond
hair fell perfectly over her shoulders. She grabbed her muff and white fur
lined jacket then made her way down the lift of her sixth story apartment.

She didn't know what was going to happen tonight, but she
had high hopes. The sky was biting her face like frozen daggers, but a fire
burned inside of her when she thought of Ivan. They'd been corresponding online
now for more than six months. He was a brunette god with the perfect hairy
body. He curled his upper lip at the side just a bit when he talked. His
rounded features were an amazing contrast to his rough personality and his
sexy, deep voice.

When they first spoke, they clicked right away. He had a way
of making her feel beautiful and treasured. He was so romantic. He used to send
her flowers and chocolates. Once he even sent her a three-foot-high teddy bear
holding a heart. She kept it in her living room on her couch.

She was shivering with excitement. She'd been waiting for
this day for a long time, but she was anxious. He'd never met her in person.
Anya was a beautiful woman. She had rounded features and a large chest. Her
butt stuck out perfectly, but men didn't really like her. She wasn't big, she
was just a little curvy. There was nothing wrong with that and she was still
confident, but there was a lot of competition and men usually passed her up.
There were a lot more women than men in her area of the world.

They didn't seem to appreciate somebody like her. They
wanted somebody with a skinny body and unrealistic proportions. She was a real
woman. She knew how to cook and how to sew. She wasn't demanding. She wanted
her man to be happy and she would love him unconditionally.

At the same time, she needed to be treasured. This was a
man's country overrun by women. Alcohol flowed just like water. It rained
vodka. She'd been through it all and it had hardened her. She knew what she
wanted and she knew what she would never handle again. She felt down her leg
where the bruise had been and she shuddered. It had faded years ago, but that
image of abuse was still inside of her. No man would ever lay a hand on her
again and live to see the next day.

Ivan was different. He used to call her his jewel. Every
single day he would be with her in spirit at the keyboard, telling her about
his life, and asking about hers. He was genuinely interested. He loved her,
even though they'd never met.

Things had to be perfect. She checked her lipstick in the
restaurant window and walked into the pristine lobby where she sat on a green
leather bench and waited for the server. To her right was an orchid arrangement
in a blue and white blown glass vase. This was not the kind of restaurant you
simply went for lunch. Ivan told her he wanted to take her somewhere that would
do her justice, and she was starting to feel overwhelmed. What if he didn't
like her when he saw her? What if he laughed and walked away?

Anya tried not to think about what could happen. She simply
focused on what it would take to make things go right. A couture brunette in a
minimalistic white dress and a short bob walked up. Her heels were clicking
almost as fast as Anya's heart. He would love her. She knew this man. He
already loved her.

“Hello, for one?”

“For two.” The woman looked at her skeptically, but turned
around to show her to her table. Her brisk stride was a slap in the face. It
heightened Anya's anxiety and she could feel herself sweating. He would love
her.

She sat down and the woman went to go get the waitress. She
seemed like she wanted to speed things along.

A young blond in the same white dress came up and asked,
“Are you ready to order?”

“I think I'll wait until my date gets here.”

“Great.” She had a mocking tone to her voice.

Fashion is a huge part of Eastern European culture. It not
only defines the cultural norm, but it defines the way of life. People don't
simply walk out of their houses in a shirt and jeans, so Anya had to deal with
a serious stigma from both men and women. That stigma was bearing down on her.
She didn't have much chance in this place for love, and Ivan meant a lot to
her. If these women were looking at her like this, what would Ivan think?

She tried not to think about it. She was starving. She'd
been trying to lose weight for the past month. She was smart enough to avoid
bad diets and drugs. She knew how to eat well, and she was doing pretty good.
She'd cut out bread and red meat. She was staying away from sugar and oils.
She'd lost almost five pounds, but the menu was tempting. There was a shrimp
dish with a cream sauce that sounded particularly good, but she knew she'd
probably just stick with the chicken and squash.

After about fifteen minutes, the waitress started to get a
little nervous. Anya could see her looking over at her every time she got a
chance. She'd go by her table a little too much, then she finally walked over.

“You sure you don't want to order yet?”

“I'm sure. It's rude. He'll be here soon.”

“OK.” She could barely keep her fake smile going.

Anya pulled out her phone and checked to see if there were
any missed calls or texts. Ivan said he would call if he was running late, and
it had only been about 20 minutes. Anya herself was a little late. Maybe she'd
missed him. He said he'd call when he got to the restaurant, though.

She looked around. Maybe he was walking into the lobby. He
wasn't there.

Five minutes later, the waitress walked over with a
sympathetic look on her face that warranted assault.

“I'm so sorry, miss. Are you sure that you aren't ready to
order?”

“Yes. I'm sure. It hasn't even been that long.”

“Well, we'll give it a little more time I guess.”

As the waitress walked away, Anya thought she saw a brunette
man walk out of the lobby. She turned back and he was gone. It couldn't have
been him. He would've called. She decided to wait a little longer. Once it had
been 40 minutes, the waitress walked up again and she had an assertive air
about her.

“Ma'am I—

“I'll have a glass of Merlot and the shrimp dish and I don't
want to see you for at least forty minutes.” The model scoffed and ran to the
kitchen to make sure the staff spit in her food.

Anya sighed. It couldn't have been him. She took a sip of
wine. He had promised to call when he got to the restaurant. He said he would
be here. He even said he loved her. She took a drink of wine and took a roll
from the bread basket. He'd come. She pulled out her phone to check and see if
she'd missed his call. He hadn't called. He hadn't texted either. She should
wait to call. She didn't want to seem desperate. She knew how men could feel
overwhelmed by women. She put her phone back in her purse and ate another roll.
Well, she'd better see what was going on. It had been a while. It was almost an
hour since she got to the restaurant.

When she dialed his number, it rang three times then it went
to his voice-mail. She drank the rest of her wine and started in on the shrimp.
It tasted bland. There was no satisfaction. She didn't like her buzz. She
didn't feel better when she got her third glass, and she certainly didn't feel good
about the way that the women kept staring at her like she was gorging out on
pig slop.

After thirty-nine minutes, the waitress walked over with her
check in her hand and slammed it into the table. Anya reached her foot out just
as the woman was walking by and she fell flat on her face. She slammed enough
money on the table and ran out in tears.

He never answered any of her calls, texts or emails. It was
him. He saw her and he walked out. She was falling over herself outside. She'd
walked four blocks to get to the restaurant. She didn't think she'd actually
have to walk back. Her ankles would curve at the wrong times in her heels. The
ground was swimming. She could feel herself ready to fall. In the end, she was
able to take off her heels and walk part of the way barefoot, but the ground
was so cold that she was burning up by the time she'd gotten halfway through.
Tears were streaming down her face. He said that he loved her. He said that he
wanted to be with her. He called her his jewel. He said that they would be
together forever. How could he say those things? The vows made between lovers,
whether they are typed or spoken, are sacred.

She was mourning what she knew could never have been. She
sat down onto the curb, not even caring whether or not she was ruining her
clothes, and started balling. She looked up and her hands came away black. Men
are vicious creatures that feed off of heartache and cruelty. They get their
confidence by tearing women apart and blaspheming that which is holy. She could
feel herself losing her dignity, her pride and most of all, her composure.

She didn't remember the walk home, but she did remember what
she was thinking. She remembered the things he had sent her and how she took
them to the field near her apartment to burn them. She remembered opening the
boxes of chocolates and eating every last one, but she didn't remember
collapsing in a pile of tears on her living room floor.

The next morning, she felt like she'd been poisoned. Her
stomach was aching. She felt like somebody had driven a nail into her skull.
The sickest part was that she still wanted to see him and be with him. He'd
become this archetype for the perfect husband. She was so certain that she had
finally met the man of her dreams. It didn't feel like it was really over, it
just felt like a hiatus.

She walked over to her computer. Maybe something had happed.
She had a bit of hope rising up inside of her. The last time they spoke, he
hadn't left the airport yet. He probably had problems with his flight. Ivan
would never stand her up like that.

She had an email from him. Her heart jumped. He did love
her. They would be together. She opened it. He said that he came to the
restaurant and saw her. She wasn't what she said she was. She was fat and he
didn't want to be with her. He was actually upset with her. He said that he was
angry that he sent her all of those things and that she should've told him she
was fat, but he'd seen her in pictures. She didn't misrepresent herself.

Anya decided to save herself some dignity and let it be.

She clicked around mindlessly. There were some nice dresses
that she wanted, but they would never be enough. There were some beautiful
necklaces, but they wouldn't get rid of her pooch. She checked out different
recipes, but she wouldn't stick to them.

She had to face it. She was big, but she was beautiful. She
had the perfect fishy face. She had the right hair, the right eyes, everything
about her was perfect, and there were a lot of men out there who would love
her. There just didn't seem to be any in Siberia. That was a huge problem.

She clicked over to the dating website she been using and
typed big women lovers. There were some OK ads. She didn't like black men, but
there were a lot of them. She saw some little men. She didn't like short, but
she didn't mind furry.

One ad in particular caught her eye. It was for what was
called the Tsvetok Marriage Agency. They were holding a mixer in two days for
women to meet their potential husbands. Tsvetok is Russian for flower. Their
idea was that women can blossom anywhere. Anya liked that. It would be
wonderful. They said that they had an 80 percent success rate and that most
marriages occurred in either the UK or the United States. Anya hated the US in
many ways, but the idea of going somewhere with warm weather sounded very
appealing. She hated having to deal with the constant cold, and she didn't like
living in this city.

There wasn't any question of whether or not she was going to
go. Of course she was going to go. The service was free for women. She could
just go pick up an American husband really quick. It was like a dream.

She'd have to go down to the office that day in order to
apply. They would have a few requirements before she could begin the process.
She wore a pair of form fitting blue jeans and a nice white parka and she went
on her way.