Jumping the Bull Page 3

  “So I’m discovering.” Ben shot Oliver a quick grin. “But I really do like it. I think I can make a difference with FUC, you know? It’s just tough, coming up against obstacles I didn’t anticipate.”

  “No pun intended.”

  Ben laughed, and Oliver’s stomach sank. Oh no. Ben had an awesome laugh—low and deep and rumbly, as though he was letting out emotions he felt in the core of his being. It tugged at Oliver, wanting him to give in, to smile or laugh in return, and that was just bad.

  He cleared his throat. “So, uh, the other courses?”

  “Are they giving me trouble? No. Actually, I think I’m doing really well in all of them. And never in a million years did I think that physical fitness would be the skill set giving me issues.” He cast Oliver a sidelong glance, opened his mouth, closed it, and finally burst out, “How the hell are you so flexible?”

  “You sound like you’re accusing me of something.”

  “I—I’m not. It’s just…how?”

  “I’m a whooping crane.”

  “A what?”

  “A whooping crane. It’s a bird.”

  “I know a crane is a bird, but the only whooping I know is whooping cough.”

  Oliver squinted. “Funny. I’ve never heard that before.”

  Ben had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

  Oliver sighed and peeled off his shirt. “Here. Hold this.”

  “I—what the—” Ben sputtered but let Oliver drape his shirt over his outstretched hand. His eyes widened as Oliver stripped off his pants next. “Uh, seriously, you don’t have to—”

  Oliver tossed his underwear at Ben, and shifted.

  It felt good to be in his feathers again. Despite working for FUC, he didn’t get enough chances to stretch his wings. They wanted him for his human knowledge and flexibility, after all. He used his long, sharp beak to reposition a couple of his flight feathers, surreptitiously looking at Ben to gauge his reaction.

  “You’re…tall.” Ben blinked. “Like, really tall.”

  If Oliver had his human lips, he’d tell Ben that whooping cranes were the tallest birds in North America, thank you very much. He arched his neck and let out a bugle.

  Ben winced. “Holy shit, and loud.”

  Oliver fluffed up his feathers with pride. Yes, yes he was. He shifted back to his human form and grinned as Ben shoved his clothes at him. “So there. Now you know what a whooping crane is. Don’t forget.”

  “Right. Okay, sure. I won’t. Uh…yeah.” He coughed. “So, my classes.”

  Oliver chuckled softly to himself as he pulled on his pants. Typically in a shifter show-and-tell, there was some reciprocation…but asking Ben to shift might make the poor guy even redder in the face than he currently was. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I think I’m enjoying the investigative skills one the most. It’s analytical thinking—which I did all the time in my HR role. Trying to determine why a specific department was seeing turnover, trying out methods to retain employees, and so on. Now it’s taking those problem-solving skills and putting them up against new puzzles. It’s awesome.”

  Awesome. Right. Just like finding out that despite his brawn, Ben was nothing like the assholes Oliver had been attracted to in the past.

  Wait. No. That wasn’t awesome. That was scary.

  Ben was still looking away from Oliver, even though Oliver had finished dressing. “I’m especially looking forward to the undercover training. Nervous about it, but looking forward to it. That will be completely new, pretending to be someone else, but I think I can do it. I feel like I can.” Ben broke off, his cheeks still pink but not as fluorescently so as they’d been a few moments before. “And, uh, how about you?”

  “My favorite class is yoga.”

  Ben laughed and finally looked back at Oliver, and this time Oliver couldn’t resist smiling. Finding ways to make that happy sound burst out of Ben could be a fun pastime.

  Oh boy, he was in trouble.

  “No, I mean, did you always want to work for FUC?”

  “Honestly, it had never occurred to me until about a year or so ago. This is my second career choice too.”

  “Really? I mean—no offense—but you can’t be older than twenty-five.”

  Oliver shot him a brilliant grin. “I’m twenty-eight, actually, so thank you.”

  Ben blushed some more, and Oliver decided that could be a fun game too.

  Yep. Definitely in trouble.

  Looking back at the track, Oliver continued. “I was a dancer.”

  “Like, ballet?”

  “Exotic. My specialty was the pole.”

  Ben seemed to choke on nothing. “O-oh.”

  “It’s not a secret,” Oliver assured him. “The administration knows—hell, they know everything about everyone who comes through the front doors. Anyway, I was doing some yoga instruction on the side for a friend, then some stuff happened at work, and I decided to make a career change. Another friend suggested FUC was looking for diversification in its physical fitness classes…and here I am.”

  There was a lot he’d left out, and Ben seemed to know it, but he didn’t pry. “You weren’t worried about discrimination?”

  “What, because of what I used to do, or because I’m gay?”

  “Both?”

  “No one cares. Wait—okay, that’s not a hundred percent true. The people who matter don’t care. Sometimes students come through who have opinions, and there have been a couple of comments from instructors, ones who aren’t here anymore. For the most part, it’s a non-issue. I do my job and I do it well, and that’s what counts.”

  “Huh.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that I’ve taken a number of the courses here, when they’re open to having a non-student sit in. So I know how to kick ass and take names.”

  “Oh.” Ben’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “So you’re a whooping-ass crane.”

  Oliver snorted out a surprised laugh. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  They walked in silence for a while, but it was a comfortable quiet. Oliver got the sense that Ben appreciated the hush of the early morning outdoors just as much as he did.

  “I’m gay too,” Ben said quietly.

  “I’d already guessed that,” Oliver said. “I don’t think anyone else has—I just have very good gaydar.”

  “I’m not really in the closet or anything. I was out at my last job. Just, here…I wasn’t sure.”

  “With a bod like yours, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Shit, did he say that out loud?

  Ben smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, uh.” Oliver cleared his throat. “You’re welcome. So…tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

  “You got it.”

  5

  Ben had never thought he’d enjoy getting up before dawn to do yoga, of all things, but it quickly became the best part of his day. Okay, maybe not the yoga itself, but spending time with Oliver. The other man was patient and dedicated to his goal of making Ben more bendy, and during their after-class walk—which had become a thing—he showed he was witty, kind, and very smart. If he was being honest, it was those conversations that Ben looked forward to most…but admitting that seemed a little less than professional.

  After two weeks, they’d settled into something of a routine. Yoga, walk, breakfast in the cafeteria. Ben’s flexibility and agility were slowly getting better, but his body just wasn’t built for delicate or intricate moves. The obstacle course was almost reconstructed and the hourglass was counting down until he’d have to tackle it again—traditionally this time. Deep down, he knew he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t improving quickly enough. He hadn’t shared his worries with Oliver, but he didn’t have to. Oliver seemed to already know he was concerned.

  But they were done with the deep talking today. Oliver needed to run by his room before breakfast to check his phone—he was expecting a text from someone named Jinx, whoever that was—and Ben decided going with him w
as better than sitting awkwardly at a table by himself. Good thing he did, because he was the one to notice Oliver’s door stood ajar.

  He grabbed Oliver’s arm. “Wait. Did you leave your door open?”

  “No.” Oliver’s voice was firm and definitive, no confusion there.

  “Wait here.”

  Oliver huffed. “Ben—”

  Ben wasn’t interested in Oliver’s protests. His inner bull might be a herd animal and not a predator, but he protected his own. And somewhere along the way, Oliver had become one of his.

  Not something he had time to contemplate right now.

  He pushed the door open gently. It made no noise as it swung open, revealing a dorm room not much bigger than Ben’s, but clearly intended for only one occupant. It had a queen-sized bed and a desk, plus a mini-fridge. And a cabinet, which Ben could hardly see due to the figure kneeling in front of it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed.

  The figure jolted upward and…things flew out of an open can. It took Ben a second to identify the projectiles as nuts. The guy was raiding Oliver’s nuts?

  “I—I—” The guy’s eyes widened and he looked at something behind Ben. “S-sorry, Oliver, but I ran out and I remember that you had—”

  Ben ignored the fact that Oliver had entered the room against Ben’s specific orders. “Did you seriously break into his room to steal his nuts?”

  “They’re good nuts! Nice and salty and—what?”

  Oliver snorted from behind Ben. “Nothing, nothing. Go on, Jeremy.”

  “I knew you had a stash and I—I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Bullshit,” Ben growled.

  “He’s a squirrel,” Oliver said.

  “I don’t care. No one has the right to steal your nuts, Oliver!”

  Oliver pressed his lips together and nodded, shaking a little. Poor guy.

  Ben marched forward and wrenched the can from Jeremy’s grip. One last cashew, or maybe it was an almond, went flying. “Get out of here. No more nut stealing.”

  “Yes, right, of course.” He darted a glance at Oliver. “Sorry.”

  Oliver smiled at him, far kinder than Ben would have been to find out someone had broken into his room for nuts. “Just ask next time, okay?”

  Ben followed Jeremy to the door and into the hallway, his instincts demanding he see the threat away from his…well, his herd. The hallway was full of teachers and students, and Ben glared at all of them. “Did you hear that?” he demanded, holding the can aloft. “Oliver’s nuts are off-limits. Got it?”

  His declaration was met with snickers and solemn nods. Point made, he turned back to Oliver to find him redfaced, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

  Oliver hiccuped and brushed a hand over his eyes. “You mean, other than you declaring that my nuts are off-limits?” He snorted. Ben realized he was laughing.

  And then it hit him what he’d said. “Oh shit.”

  “‘Oh shit,’ he says,” Oliver whined through his tears.

  Ben spun on his heel and poked his head out into the hallway again. The crowd hadn’t dispersed much, too caught up in their laughter. “Not those nuts,” he amended. “I meant these nuts!” He shook the can, but there was nothing left in it to make a sound.

  “Oh my god, Ben,” Oliver wheezed.

  “Ahem.”

  The throat-clearing dragged his attention away from the rest of the observers to focus on… Oh, crap. The Director. Alyce Cooper. Ben had only seen her once, but she wasn’t the sort of person you forgot. Tall—almost six feet—with dark brown skin, straight black hair, and a “don’t mess with me” attitude that was right in line with her inner llama. Her purple power suit turned her willowy form into a work of art.

  Ben swept the empty can of nuts behind his back. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Ben Beaufort, correct?”

  He swallowed. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

  Director Cooper peered around her shoulder to look into Oliver’s quarters. “Mr. Zuraw? I’d like a word with you and Mr. Beaufort. In my office, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes. Of course.” Oliver’s voice had none of the laughter left in it, and all of the trepidation Ben felt.

  Getting called into what amount to the principal’s office couldn’t be good.

  All the way to the director’s office, Oliver wracked his brain about what the purpose of the meeting could be. Fraternizing with a student? Except they hadn’t been. Not really. Oliver could see Ben becoming a friend—he was well on the way there already—but there hadn’t been anything inappropriate between them.

  Not that he hadn’t thought about it.

  Okay, fantasized about it regularly. Nightly. Maybe hourly. But it wasn’t as though anyone could see into his brain or understand why he needed to adjust himself more frequently than the average male shifter at the academy. That was private. He hadn’t acted on anything, and that was what counted. Right?

  By the time he and Ben took a seat in the office, across from the imposing Alyce Cooper, Oliver’s hands were sweaty and he could feel feathers wanting to pop out across his skin. Ben, who was normally quiet and stoic, both verbally and physically, seemed unable to sit still.

  God, they were both acting like they’d gotten caught smoking in the boys’ bathroom or something.

  “Thank you both for joining me on such short notice,” Alyce said with a smile as she settled behind her desk. Her office illustrated her power perfectly, with its innate put-togetherness. Nothing out of place, everything neat and tidy, and furniture designed to make a statement. Right now, Oliver was imagining that statement to be, You fucked up.

  “I can explain what I was doing in Oliver—uh, Mr. Zuraw’s quarters, ma’am,” Ben said, his knee bouncing.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Yes. He’s been tutoring me in yoga.”

  “I am aware.”

  “Oh. Okay, good. He’s also been something of a—a mentor, as well.”

  “A yoga mentor?”

  “No. Well, yes. But no.” Ben rolled his eyes, and Oliver knew he was exasperated with himself. “Coming to the academy has been a big adjustment for me.”

  “A big adjustment for the academy as well, according to Mr. Falk.” Her lips quirked, just enough to indicate that her dry statement passed for humor.

  “Er…yes. Sorry about that.” The blush that colored Ben’s cheeks was adorable.

  No, wait. Not adorable. Shit.

  “So, um, Oliver—Mr. Zuraw—has been instrumental in helping me settle in and focus on my classes. Our talks every morning get me prepared for the day and I just…really appreciate his time.”

  “Your daily talks—and developing relationship—are exactly why we’re here,” she said.

  Developing relationship? There wasn’t. Unless…the walks. He should never have instituted their walks. Damn it. He’d known it was overstepping—he was supposed to be the yoga instructor, for god’s sake, not a poor excuse for a counselor. And now he’d gone and gotten them both into trouble, because someone had probably seen them and jumped to conclusions and… Crap.

  “Ma’am—” Oliver started.

  Alyce raised her hand. “I think I should perhaps speak now.”

  Oliver pressed his lips together and subsided.

  “You were asked to tutor Mr. Beaufort in yoga and flexibility. By all reports I’ve received, you’ve been doing so, but your interactions have progressed beyond that.”

  “I—”

  “That was not a question, Mr. Zuraw.” Alyce pressed her fingertips together. “Mr. Beaufort, your marks in all of your classes—with the exception of physical fitness—have been outstanding. All of your instructors have nothing but excellent things to say about you, which bodes well for your future career.”

  “I…uh, thank you.” The bouncing of Ben’s knee slowed considerably.

  “Yes. The two of you will do nicely.” Aly
ce sat back with a satisfied smile and retrieved a folder from one of the drawers of her desk. “Gentlemen, I have a job for you.”

  6

  The thumping bass reverberated past the club’s doors, growing louder every time the door opened to let someone in or out. Ben didn’t recognize the music, but he supposed that wasn’t the point—all it needed was a beat. He paid his cover and stepped into the cacophony.

  The club was an assault on all of his senses. Beyond the music, there were flashing lights, white, red, green, yellow blue, strobing across the stage and into the audience. He narrowed his eyes to filter out the worst of it. The air throbbed with scents—alcohol and sweat, but arousal, too. It took everything in him not to wrinkle his nose.

  This was not his scene. But it had been Barrett DuBois’s, and for a few hours, that’s who Ben was.

  When the Director had proposed her plan, Ben had thought Oliver was going to have a stroke. He’d protested—politely but firmly—and had been just as firmly overruled. FUC was in a bind and they needed help. A criminal informant who was supposed to make contact with an up-and-coming mob boss had overdosed and died, leaving FUC in the lurch. They needed the in with the boss so they could set up an undercover agent later. The catch? The CI had been a bison shifter, and finding a stand-in from the active FUC members was all but impossible. Until someone realized they had a bison bull in training at the academy.

  So here he was, pretending to be a small-time but especially trustworthy drug mule looking for work from this new criminal on the scene. Over the past two days, he’d gotten a crash course in undercover work, a rundown on what he needed to do, and the assurance he wouldn’t be alone in the club. He looked around surreptitiously for his backup, but everyone was focused on the stage and the dancer performing. Ben glanced that way…and nearly swallowed his tongue.

  The dancer was Oliver. Totally glammed up and almost unrecognizable, but definitely Oliver. Ben had spent enough time watching his yoga instructor’s body over the past few weeks to spot it even under all of the glittery paint, heavy makeup, loose, long hair, and, uh, lack of clothes.