The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1), Ingrid Seymour [red white royal blue TXT] 📗

as figuring out what had happened was, I had a more pressing issue... I needed to get down from here before people started filling the street below. It was probably close to 6 AM, so it wouldn’t be long.

I ran to the back of the building, tiptoeing and cringing as gravel poked the soles of my feet. There wasn’t a fire escape, so an ivy-infested old trellis might be my best bet. When I got there, I sighed, relieved to find that the trellis reached to the top of the building.

After making sure no one was around, I swung a leg over the ledge and lowered my bare ass onto the trellis, my feet and hands searching for purchase through the dense vines. A chili wind blasted my butt cheeks, making me shiver. Adding insult to injury, goosebumps rose all over my skin and my breasts perked up. A blush rushed into my cheeks as I imagined some perv watching me climb down. But I refused to check again and reassured myself that no one roamed the alley at this early hour.

The trellis creaked, making me fear it would give under my weight, but it held, and I made it to the ground. When I scanned the area, I confirmed that the alley was, indeed, empty, and no one had ogled my behind. Or my spleen.

The smell of garbage wafting from the nearby dumpster reminded me I’d left my purse back by the repair shop. Damn, would anyone notice it? I had to get back there to retrieve it. But that was a problem for later since I was still working on the “naked” one.

Scanning the alley in both directions, I found my path still free of Peeping Toms, ran out of the alley and around the building. If someone saw me, I would surely be booked for indecent exposure, and I would get kicked out of the building. No doubt my contract included a clause dealing with streaker females.

At the corner, I halted and checked the street. No one. I was about to run toward my office but stopped when I heard a car. I waited, heart in my throat, pressing my backside tightly to the wall. The car eased by and disappeared.

Exhaling, I dashed out, passing in front of Jake’s place. When I reached my door, I pulled on the handle, but of course, it was locked. Cursing, I started heading back toward Jake’s but froze when I realized someone was watching me from across the street.

For a moment, I acted as if not moving would make me invisible. Then I swallowed and glanced toward the coffee shop. Willow McNeel, Cup ‘o Java’s owner was staring, her jaw hanging open. I grinned and almost wiggled my fingers in greeting, except my hands were otherwise occupied. She gave no sign of acknowledgment and continued to stare in astonishment.

This is it. This is how I lose my agency.

“Sidewalk,” I said under my breath, “open up and swallow me, please.”

The sidewalk didn’t oblige, so I tore my mortified gaze from Willow, and walking in a dignified fashion, I reached Jake’s door. I said a little prayer under my breath. Almost every time I’d come here, his door had been open. It would be open this time, too. I reached for the handle, twisted it and pulled.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” I cursed as tears filled my eyes.

What now? What NOW?!

“Psst, psst.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Willow hooked a finger and moved it in a come-here motion. Well, she had already seen all my attributes from afar. Time for her to see them up close. After checking for traffic, I ran across the street, my bare feet slapping the blacktop.

Dexterously, Willow slipped a key in the lock, opened the coffee shop’s door, and stood out of the way as I ran inside and didn’t stop until I reached the bathroom and locked myself inside, shivering from the cold. The mirror over the sink showed me a bleary-eyed woman with a tumbleweed of pink-tipped hair and grease-stained perky breasts.

What the hell did I get into?!

I reeked of burnt motor oil. Grimacing, I ran my fingers over the stuff, then proceeded to attack myself with soap and paper towels until my skin was clean and bright red from scrubbing.

A few moments later, a knock came at the door. “Are you all right, honey?”

“Um, yes?” I stuffed the black-smeared towels as far as they would go into the garbage can. I’d almost used the entire roll.

“I have something for you to wear,” Willow said. “Also, you can borrow my cell phone to call Rosalina or whoever you need.”

Swallowing my pride, which went down my throat like an oversized grapefruit, I opened the door a crack. Willow gave me a gentle smile and passed me her phone along with what looked like one of the green aprons her staff wore.

“There are two aprons,” Willow said. “I figured you could wear one over the front and one over the back.”

“Thank you.”

My face felt as if it were cracking from shame. I checked in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t about to fall off. No, it was still holding on, though maybe not for long.

I did as she suggested and hung one apron over my neck the right way and tied it at the back. I hung the second one backward, tied a knot at the front, and sighed with relief. The aprons didn’t meet at my sides and left two long gaps, but they were better than nothing.

Holding my head high, I shuffled out of the bathroom to face Willow. She stood behind the counter, filling the machines with ground coffee, preparing them for rush hour.

“Thank you,” I said again. “I don’t know what I would have done if...”

“No worries, sweetheart. It happens to the best of us.” She gave me a complicit smile that made me wonder what she got into when she was young. She was in her late sixties with wiry gray hair that normally