"Rivera!" My boss snaps her thin fingers in my face, effectively pulling me back to the present.

"Hey, Maggie," I grin sweetly, but she narrows her eyes at me. "Sorry, Mrs. Feldman. What can I do for ya?"

"You can do your job, for starters," Maggie says dryly. "You've been staring blankly at your computer screen for an hour, mumbling to yourself. Have you even started working on that article?"

"Uh..." I chuckle nervously. My watch beeps, and I glance down at the time. "Oh, would you look at that! It's already five. I'll see you tomorrow, Mags!"

"Rivera, that article better be on my desk by Friday!"

"You got it!" I shout as I grab my coat and quickly clock out. It's Wednesday, so I have plenty of time to complete the article. Sneaking another peak at my watch, I curse silently. I have about an hour before I'm needed at the restaurant. Just enough time for me to go home, change my clothes, and stuff my face with a sandwich.

Yeah, I'm pretty much a modern day superhero. By day, I work for a local sports magazine. By night, I play piano at a high-class restaurant during their dinner hours. Okay, maybe I'm not a superhero per se, but I like to think I have a secret identity, even if it's just being a musician.

'You're also a werewolf. That's your secret identity,' Lincoln reminds me as I drive home.

'Hush up and let me have my fun.'

Once I'm home, I hastily scarf down a sandwich to at least tide me over for the next few hours. Heading back to my room, I strip down to my dark red boxer-briefs before rummaging through my closet. Humming to myself, I pull out a dark grey, microfiber button-up shirt. I pair it with black slacks and a deep purple tie; my typical performance attire.

Working two jobs isn't my ideal situation. I'd much rather come home from work and binge watch Netflix all evening. Unfortunately for me, I need the extra income. Landon used to provide half the rent money on our house, but now it's all on me.

Heh. I wonder if Landon knows how much trouble his moving out has caused me. Not that I'll ever tell him. That guy's been through enough shit in his life. He deserves to live happily with his boyfriend, without having to worry about people like me. 

I'd rather put up with being alone than burden Landon with my personal issues.

After I'm fully dressed, I check myself in the mirror. Most of my tattoos are covered by the long sleeves. The restaurant was wary about hiring someone with as many tattoos as I do, but they were persuaded after hearing me play. I throw myself a wink in the mirror to boost my confidence before heading out the door.

***

My fingers dance over the ivory keys, sending gentle waves of music through the atmosphere. I play softly, being careful to not play too loudly. Most people ignore me as they eat, as I am pretty much just background music. Ambiance, or some shit like that. There are a few people who watch me play and tip me afterwards.

The restaurant only allows me to play classical music. It's not my favorite to play, but the pay is okay. Gets me through the month.

My seventh song of the night concludes with a delicate flourish. A small round of applause follows, to which I graciously nod my head. A few couples approach the piano to drop tips in the jar placed on a short table next to me. When the last couple walks up, my eyes widen in recognition.

"Zeke? Clara?" I gape at them before smiling widely. 

Zeke Lewis is the leader of a group of rogues I used to run with before meeting Landon. Back then, the group was just a handful of outcasted wolves. Now, it's practically an entire fucking pack of misfits from all species: wolves, vampires, faeries, etc.

"Lucca, it's good to see you, man," Zeke greets me warmly. His dark hair falls about an inch above his broad shoulders, appearing soft and shiny under the overhead lights. He's wearing a light grey suit, which complements his tan complexion. This is the first time I've seen him in formal attire; it's pretty fucking weird to see him in something other than jeans and a t-shirt.

His wife, Clara Lewis, stands at his side with her arm looped through his. She's wearing a periwinkle dress, which makes her blue eyes pop and sparkle.

"Your playing is wonderful," Clara coos. "I had no idea you were such a skilled musician."

"I'm a man of many surprises," I joke lightly.

"Listen, we can't stay, but it was great to see you," Zeke says with a small smile as he drops a folded up $20 bill in the jar. "I hope to hear from you soon," he whispers seriously before slipping away with Clara.

Frowning curiously, I wonder why he meant by that. He hopes to hear from me soon? How am I supposed to contact them? They've always been the ones to reach out to me in the past. Other than that, that couple is pretty off the grid. Shrugging, I continue on with the next piece.

A few hours later, I drag my exhausted ass to my bed; pockets filled with my tips for the night. Flopping onto the mattress, I pull the cash out and begin counting. My brows furrow when I notice a white piece of paper tucked into the folded up $20 bill from Zeke. Unfolding the paper, my curiosity deepens when I see the string of numbers.

'I hope to hear from you soon.'

Is this... his phone number?