Hello, hello, readers old and new. I am Jo Lee Hunt (aka. Joflower), twice featured werewolf writer here to present a scene between two stubborn characters who don't even want to be here (and gave me a hard time to write as well—thanks, guys!). Yours truly had to drag our favourite goofball lycan (Alistair) from Heart of Stone kicking and screaming to this little shindig.

He agreed to come with the promise of strawberries.

*High-pitched girlish scream heard above the crowd of party-goers* STRAWBERRIES!!?? WHERE???

*Face-palm* Anyway... This scene is written in first-person POV from an unnamed mystery protagonist, who will make her debut appearance in the next book in the series.

*Gasp* I know, I know. First-person POV from some chick we don't even know yet? But isn't a bit of mystery fun? *Wiggles eyebrows*

Anyway, for those who don't know the premise of Heart of Stone:

While it may look cliché and sound cliché, readers are happy to be called "Stoners" because it is addictive. We love to laugh, have our hearts ripped from our chests, and then thrust back in, patched up, and willing to try it all over again.

Before we begin, some foreign words you may want to know beforehand...

Foreign words: garçon = young male waiter (typically French for "boy") — Wunderbar = wonderful (German)

——

A Mystery Date With Alistair

——

'How would you like to spend Valentine's Day?'

Unfortunately for me, 'Lounging around the apartment, baby-free, in sweatpants, with a marathon of Supernatural, Teen Wolf, True Blood, and Vampire Diaries lined up,' wasn't one of the options listed on the questionnaire.

The hell?

Instead, there were two lame mushy options, a third dedicated to sports, and the fourth was the only one remotely close to the truth.

'A quiet evening at home with a special someone.'

Check.

Really, what was I thinking walking into this excuse of a "match-making" service?

It wasn't like I was interested in dating. My brother insisted I give it a try and meet someone new.

As if someone new could take my mind of him...

With a slight shake of my head, I walked up to the reception desk of the banquet hall to sign in.

I signed up for this match-making service a month ago when my brother shoved the pamphlet under my nose. I had to answer a series of multiple-choice questions on their website and submit it before the end of the week. Then, on Valentine's Day, the match-making service held a "date night" for all applicants to meet their top three matches, sit down with them for ten minutes, and enjoy complimentary drinks and appetizers before moving onto the next match for another ten minutes. At the end, if they were interested in any of their three matches, they could get his or her email address to further pursue communication on their own time.

After taking my coat and hanging it up in the coat room behind her, the woman behind the table pulled up my name on her clipboard. "Your first match will be at table three, your second will be at table eleven, and your third will be at table twenty-seven. Unfortunately, because you're not twenty-one yet, you have to wear this band so our staff know not to serve you alcoholic beverages."

I refrained from rolling my eyes as the woman fastened a blue band around my wrist.

I knew I should have forced my brother to do this thing with me. I could have at least mooched a rum and coke off him and no one would be able to tell the difference.

"There you go. All set. Have fun."

Have fun? Engaging in small talk with strangers without the inhibiting effects of alcohol was hardly my idea of 'fun.'

Sighing, I reminded myself to give this thing a shot. What was the worst that could happen?

Looking around the space, I was surprised to see how bright everything was.

True, it was a rather sunny afternoon for February the fourteenth in the Twin Cities, but thankfully it stopped snowing last night and the clouds passed. The fresh blanket of white glistened beyond the windows that lined one side of the banquet hall. The view overlooked a garden, or what would have been a garden in the warmer months. Now, only shapes of benches, rocks, and borders around the flowerbeds could be made out under three inches of snow. A few small trees, cloaked in white, stood in the middle of the round flowerbeds, their spindly branches reaching out to each other, but not being long enough to touch.

The room was relatively square, with six rows lined up before me with five small round tables running down each row. Each table had a number on a folded card with a small, narrow vase holding a single red rose in the middle.

My first table, marked with an elegant cursive "3," was just to my left behind tables 1 and 2. Unoccupied.

The room was still filling up with people from all walks of life. Fairly diverse. They all seemed to be around my age, with no one over the age of thirty.

Most of them were gathered around the open bar and appetizer station in front of me, some chatting with a friend they came with, while the majority of them looked awkward and nervous as their searching eyes scanned around the room.

The event didn't start for another ten minutes, so I walked up to the bar and stood in line for a soda. Once I had my drink in hand, I meandered to the appetizer table next to it and began to load up a small paper plate with some fruit and veggies. With my hands full, I turned and crossed back to the left side of the room and sat down at my table. Smoothing my hands over the skirt of my black cable-knit sweater dress, I looked around, wondering who my matches were in the room. It seemed everyone had arrived and were beginning to settle down in their seats.

A podium had been set up in the corner next to the window and a man and a woman were standing around it now, having a few words, checking the connections and sound system while tapping the microphone with a finger.

The woman called everyone to attention, and asked the lingering guests to take their seats.

Munching on a carrot stick, I watched the people as they dispersed from the bar and sat in the empty chairs around the room. The chair across from me remained vacant, as did the chair of the table in front of me. The dark-skinned Indian guy there shifted in his seat, looking around the room before catching my gaze.

Giving him a shrug, I finished my carrot and turned my attention back to the front of the room.

If my "date" didn't show, maybe I had more in common with him than I thought possible.

The woman thanked us all for coming, and blah-blah-blah. They were about to start and blah-blah-blah.

She went on for another five minutes about their company before two stragglers stumbled into the room—a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired hunk who looked too good to be real, and a petite woman with glasses, long light-brown hair, and unmemorable features.

The woman at the reception desk beckoned them over and pressed a finger to her lips to hush them.

I just continued to stare at the man and woman for a minute before prying my eyes away and looking around the room once more.

There had to be other tables with empty seats. There was no way that guy was one of my top three matches!

All the other tables were occupied.

Alright, girl. I straightened up in my seat. Time to put your game face on. This one is most likely trouble.

He pinched the petite girl's cheek before sauntering over to my table. The girl scowled at his retreating form, but gave her head a small shake with an amused grin tugging on the corners of her lips.

"Let's begin, shall we?" the woman at the podium announced.

A lump formed in my throat and I couldn't help the wave of nervousness that crashed over me with that predatory smirk and the way his dark eyes crinkling in the corners as his massive hand grasped the back of the chair across from me.

"This seat taken?"

I quirked a brow. "You tell me."

"Well, in that case..." He turned to sit down across from the Indian guy, only to have his friend playfully smack him on the shoulder and point to the empty seat in front of me.

"Sit, you," she ordered.

"Aw, but Schnuckiputzihasimausierdbeertörtchen!"

...The f*ck?

The petite girl's hand met her face. "Just sit down and stop embarrassing us both."

I felt for her. The back of my neck was heating up by the second as everyone's eyes in the room stared at them, their mouths hanging open.

"But that's only half the fun," he whispered to her before he pulled out his chair and took his seat.

His dark eyes met mine and it was then I realized that my jaw was still hanging off its hinges.

Snapping it shut, I reached for my half-full glass of soda and gulped the rest of it down.

His gaze was still trained on me as I set the glass on the table and belched.

Awesome. How every girl wanted to begin a blind date with some mysterious hottie sitting across from her.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Well, that was very lady-like."

I crossed my arms. "Maybe I should get another one and show you how a real lady burps?"

Like a boss.

He chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. His tousled dark brown hair matched his eyes and the week-old scruff along his jaw. The pink in his cheeks from the biting cold wind outside was beginning to fade. He was dressed casually in black jeans and a white T-shirt. Big, bold muscles stretched across broad shoulders and bulging biceps escaped from the short cotton sleeves.

Damn. He looks just like Alcide from True Blood...

Chill, girl!

He was still staring at me, his gaze never wavering. There was something odd about it. As if his eyes were looking through mine, searching for something...

Snapping out of whatever hold he had on me, I asked, "What was that big ass word you said to your friend?"

That seemed to break him of whatever trance he was in as well as he cocked his head slightly to the side. "What? Schnuckiputzihasimausierdbeertörtchen?" His lips quirked up. "I called her 'cutiepie-bunny-mouse-strawberry-tart.' Why do you ask?" He leaned on the table, his thumb brushing across his bottom lip. "Do you want to be my little Schnuckiputzihasimausierdbeertörtchen?"

I couldn't help but gape at him as he said it all in one breath without pause.

How was that even a word?

And how could he say it with such a straight face while stroking his lip with his thumb?

Before I could stop myself, a snort escaped and I clasped a hand over my mouth to keep the rest from sputtering out.

Damn, this guy!

Squeezing my eyes shut, I dipped my head and tried to regain control over myself.

This had to be some kind of joke.

Once I regained my composure, I straightened up and raised my gaze back to his as he sniffed.

His eyes narrowed a bit. "Have we met before?"

"I don't think so."

He hummed to himself, his fingers stroking the thin beard on his chin. "You sure? You seem... familiar somehow."

"Pretty sure I'd remember a guy like you."

He was gorgeous. There was no way I'd forget such a face... or body. Especially since he looked like Alcide.

But he was old. What did I check off on the questionnaire? Pretty sure I marked off the 20-25 age bracket, not 30-35.

Still, we had to have some similar interests, otherwise he wouldn't have been one of my top three out of the thirty men in the room.

"What did you think about that questionnaire we had to fill out?" I asked, changing the subject.

His gaze broke away as he laughed. "I just checked off random things, just to see what would happen. I'm only here because of Jo."

"Oh..." I frowned. That explained a lot. "Who's Jo?"

He jabbed his thumb behind him to the girl he came in with, her back facing them with a long braid trailing down her back to her waist. "Yeah, she dragged me along just for shits and giggles. She likes to torture me."

He grinned as Jo looked over her shoulder to catch his eye with a smirk.

He turned back to me. "I'll get her back later."

Did I really want to know?

No.

"You two are close, huh?"

"You could say that."

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest.

They seemed like two peas in a pod, and yet they weren't interested in each other?

Was she crazy? He was the epitome of masculinity that would make any girl weak in the knees and obviously into her.

Unless...

"Oh, I do remember that one question," he said abruptly. "It was one of the first few on the questionnaire. 'Are you a leader or a follower?' Pfft. Of course, I'm a follower! Stone would whip my ass if I didn't follow his lead. Not everyone is born to lead, you know."

Oh, that explains it.

He was gay.

Or maybe, he was still in the closet?

And was that a BDSM reference too?

Or was he just messing with me?

Not sure how to broach the subject, or to just skip it entirely, he interrupted my thoughts as he turned in his seat. "Hey, I thought they said they'd be serving drinks at this thing? Where's the waiter? Hey, hey, garçon!" He raised an arm, and snapped his fingers.

My palm met my face.

Was this guy for real?

A startled-looking staff member came to our table while I tried to disappear from sight.

Or at least block out everyone from my sight. That would have to suffice.

If only I had an invisibility cloak...

"What do ya got for drinks?"

"Let me get you our drink menu, sir."

"Thank you," he said and settled back in his seat.

I peeked through my fingers as he turned his attention back to me. "What will you have? I'll pay."

My hands slid up and I dug my fingers into my hair as it cascaded around me, using my arms as a shield now. "Drinks are free here."

"Really? Wunderbar!"

Could he be more humiliating?

Taking a deep breath, I pried my hands from my head and gripped my seat instead. "Didn't you read the information booklet?"

"Nah, I told you," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'm just here for shits and giggles."

The waiter returned and handed him the drink menu. He scanned through the list of options while I turned to the waiter.

"Can I get another Coke?" I asked.

"Hey, hey," the dark haired man interjected, still scanning down the list of options. "Drinks are free. Get something good."

I rolled my eyes. "Like what? I'm not old enough to drink yet."

He gasped, his face lighting up. "St-Straw-Strawberry Daiquiri!"

Oh yeah, he's totally gay.

He looked up at the waiter, starstruck. "Is it good? Does it taste like strawberries?"

The waiter gawked, his face full of confusion. "Uh, yeah, it's good..."

His palm slammed down on the table, making me jump in my seat. "Sold! Bring us two of those!"

My hand met my forehead again. "I already told you. I'm underage."

He sniffed. "Oh... Right."

This was ridiculous. There was no way he was one of my top matches. He was clearly gay and we were nothing alike! What straight man would squeal over an effing strawberry daiquiri? None! He'd be getting a beer, or a glass of red wine if he were classy. Hell, maybe something even harder like a whiskey.

I could sure use a shot of something strong right about now...

Strawberry daiquiri...

What a joke.

The staff member trotted away to fetch the drinks, the back of his neck red.

This is messed up, I thought with a sigh. Well, might as well get this out in the open. Things obviously aren't going to work out.

"So," I hesitated, brushing back my hair that took forever to straighten that morning, "when were you planning on coming out of the closet?"

He looked back at me with confusion. "What closet?"

My face scrunched up. "The one you're hiding in."

The furrow in his brows deepened. He gestured around the room with a large hand. "Clearly, I'm in the middle of a banquet hall, not a closet. And there's really no place to hide in here... Unless you're suggesting we go someplace a little more private right now? I noticed a coat room when I came in..."

The air rushed out of my lungs.

Bruh! No!

"I'm not suggesting anything like that!" I shot back in a low voice.

"Then, why do you think I'm hiding something?"

The way his dark browns looked into mine told me the truth. That he was hiding something that he didn't want me to know, and he didn't like that.

Leaning forward over the table, I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Because it's obvious. Look, you don't have to pretend with me. Don't get your panties in a twist. It's cool."

"Panties? Nah, commando is the way to go."

I gaped at him. "Are you f*cking kidding me?"

"Nope. Hate underwear. Could never figure out its purpose."

Was he serious, or just evading the question altogether?

I looked away, my face hot.

I'm talking about underwear with some stranger, most likely gay and an underwear model to top it off, and that's not weird how?

All of this was insane. A game. I was just a source of entertainment for him for ten minutes. He'd get a laugh about it and tell Jo all about it later. I wasn't anything special—just a ten-minute joke.

I could hear my mother's voice in my mind, scolding me the way she used to before her health fell.

'Boys like that ain't nothin' but trouble.'

I swallowed, trying not to think of him and the way he looked at me. Not seeing me, but feeling me. Touching deep within my soul. Pushing through my barriers and bringing me, the real me, to the surface to finally breathe life.

He had been different.

And I still couldn't hate him, still couldn't shake him, even though he was gone.

We both knew it wouldn't have work out, anyway. No matter how hard we tried.

I know, Mama. I know.

"My apologies, darling. I seem to have crossed a line."

The deeper tone of his voice caught my attention more than the words he said.

Turning back to him, his expression was pensive as he stared back at me.

I couldn't find my voice as my thoughts continued to drift in the past. An ache filling me that time couldn't quell.

I never should've agreed to this.

Evidently, I wasn't over him yet. I needed more time.

More than anything, I needed more closure.

"One thing you should know about me," he said, "is that you shouldn't take me too seriously. I'm uncomfortable being here. I don't like tension and stress. I act out to reduce it. Sometimes, I say inappropriate things without thinking. So, if I have offended you in any way, I apologize."

I brushed his apology off.

I was the one who had slipped into a place I didn't want to go, and that wasn't his fault.

Sure, he had completely humiliated me, but it had at his own expense too, and he didn't seem too bothered by it.

In fact, he did warn me about it in his own way.

'I'm just here for shits and giggles.'

"It's nothing."

The waiter returned with our drinks and set them down on the table.

The suddenly solemn man across from me sniffed and grimaced before the waiter had a chance to scurry away.

"This is a strawberry daiquiri?"

The poor guy stuttered before he was dismissed with a wave. He hurried away without protest.

I looked back at him expectantly as he slumped in his seat. His mood had completely shifted.

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"They butchered it," he grumbled.

I raised a brow. "It looks fine to me."

"No, it's not right. It doesn't even smell like strawberries," he whined. "They ruined it. Poisoned it with something."

I pressed my lips together as he pouted. "Poisoned it with alcohol, you mean? What were you expecting? A smoothie?"

"Was that on the menu?"

I shrugged.

He looked away, a deep frown pulling down on his face. "I should have asked for a smoothie, even if it wasn't on the menu."

"Come on," I said with a sigh. "It can't be that bad. Want me to check?"

"Wouldn't that be illegal?" He wiggled his dark brows.

Rolling my eyes, I reached for his drink and drew it closer. I pulled out my straw from my glass, wiped the soda droplets off with my napkin and plunged it into the slushy mix.

It was good. Tasted just as a strawberry daiquiri should, although they were a little stingy on the alcohol, but that wasn't surprising since the drinks were free.

Pulling the straw out, I licked the residue before smacking my lips. "Yup. It's good."

He wouldn't notice that it wasn't strong enough, especially since it seemed to be the strawberry flavor that was the most important thing for him, not the alcohol content.

"Really?"

I nodded. "Yup. Pretty sweet, like all strawberry daiquiris are."

"How would you know? I thought you were too young to drink alcohol?"

I glared at him. "Hey, I'm not the one in my thirties who has never had a strawberry daiquiri and squealed—legit squealed—at the prospect of getting one."

"I didn't squeal."

"Why don't we ask Jo? Pretty sure she and everyone else in the room heard you."

"I'm sensing a little hostility here."

A noise erupted from the back of my throat. "Hostility? Try exasperation."

Stop throwing shade, girl. Stop it.

The corners of his lips curved up. "I can rectify that, but you might not appreciate the outcome."

"One more minute everyone," the MC announced.

"Well," he leaned back in his seat, his hands behind his head. His shirt strained to contain his massive muscles. "This has been interesting."

Interesting? Interesting for him maybe. Embarrassing for me.

Who was I kidding? It would be fun telling my brother about this later.

"Yeah. Aren't you going to at least try your strawberry daiquiri?"

He shrugged before lowering his thick arms and leaning over the table again. "Yeah, I guess it won't hurt. Can't be poisonous. You're still alive, after all."

Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Right."

He took a sip through his straw. His eyes narrowed. Nose scrunched up. Brows furrowed.

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Doesn't taste at all like strawberries. What a gyp."

"At least you can say you tried it."

Everyone was shifting in their seats now. Getting restless as the seconds ticked by to move onto the next date.

I lowered my hands to my seat, preparing to rise myself.

He must have noticed and reached out over the table with his right hand. "Well, it was nice to meet you. I never did catch your name."

"Di," I replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

His left eye squinted in a lopsided grin as we pulled apart. "Di? Like 'die' the feminine form for the word 'the' in German? What's that short for?"

I shrugged, not wanting to tell him. "Does it matter?"

His grin broadened. "Guess not. Call me Al, then."

Al? Like Alcide?

He couldn't be a werewolf too, could he?

The chiming of a small, porcelain bell announced the end of the first date, and Al was up from his seat and wrapping his big burly arm around Jo's neck and digging his knuckle into her scalp. "Say uncle! Say uncle!"

——

Joflower: Thank you all so much for reading! Who do you think "Di" is? We'll find out in the next book of the Heart of Stone series, Heart of a Knight, an accompanying novel from two other characters' POVs that takes place during/after Part III (of Heart of Stone) and can stand on its own as well. Coming March 2017.

Please take part in the giveaway and enjoy the rest of the month with all these amazing writers!

Joflower's Giveaway Prize:

Joflower will write a scene featuring the winner and their favourite character from Heart of Stone.

Joflower's Giveaway Instructions:

Follow Joflower on either Facebook (www.facebook.com/JoLeeHunt/) or Twitter (twitter.com/JoLeeHunt) with a fun shout-out/tweet of your favourite character in Heart of Stone that you would like to be featured with if you win.

Examples: "Alistair is the bomb-dot-com in Heart of Stone @JoLeeHunt" or "Gunner is my big cuddly teddy bear in Heart of Stone @JoLeeHunt."

Follow Joflower on:

Facebook: @JoLeeHunt

Twitter: @JoLeeHunt

Instagram: @joflower21

Pinterest: @joflower21

SnapChat: @JoLeeHunt

***********

P.S. Don't forget to enter the 130+ #WattpadBlockParty Giveaways! Clickable links are at the top of my Wattpad profile! :)

GIVEAWAY LINK ONE:

http://kellyanneblountauthor.blogspot.com/2017/01/giveaways-for-wattpad-block-party_31.html

GIVEAWAY LINK TWO (with Widgets):

http://kellyanneblountauthor.blogspot.com/2017/01/giveaways-with-widgets-for-wattpad.html