Silver Fox Read online

  Table of Contents

  Silver Fox (Bad Alpha Dads)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue (A Few Weeks Later)

  Thank you!

  Forever Home Chapter One

  OTHER BOOKS BY KRISTEN STRASSEL

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  Copyright © 2018 Kristen Strassel All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to [email protected]

  Strassel, Kristen. Silver Fox: Bad Alpha Dads (The Real Werewives of Alaska - Book Three)

  Cover design by Sotia Lazu

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  SILVER FOX

  The Alaska Bloodhounds are the newest team in the Continental Football Association. These wild shifters are rough and ready for the season.

  They only need one thing: women.

  Do you have what it takes to be a Real Werewife?

  In this episode—

  Landon Fox dedicated his life to football, a dream that was once bigger than anything else—including his daughter. With his football career nearing its end, and the Real Werewives breathing down his back, he realizes that chasing his career has led him to a dead end. And when chaos erupts during a Werewife event, and a figure from Landon’s past emerges from the shadows, he can no longer run from his past.

  Jenna came to Alaska on a mission—to reconnect her wild child daughter with her father, Landon Fox. Love is the last thing on the mind of this Real Werewife. But when Landon unknowingly bids on her for a sexy date, the dinner she cooks for him isn’t the only thing heating up the cold Alaska night.

  Like Landon, Jenna chased her dreams, but never realized the thing they always needed most was each other. She’s ready to take another chance on the man she left behind—that is, if he’s ready to be a part of something bigger than football—his family.

  Chapter One

  JENNA

  Keeping my daughter Fiona in line was like trying to shove hornets back into their nest after I kicked it.

  “A tattoo? Really?” There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for this nonsense so early in the morning. “Please tell me that’s fake.”

  The plastic and tape that protected the healing wound said otherwise.

  She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. When she did that, she looked so much younger than three months away from eighteen. For a second, she was my little girl again. “I’d hate to tell you a lie.”

  Right.

  “How did you get that thing? You didn’t get another fake ID, did you?” I groaned. I’d shut that shop down with one phone call.

  “Don’t need one. My boyfriend Max is a tattoo artist.”

  “Your boyfriend? Max? Tattoo artist?” That one sentence cemented my induction into the Failed Parent Hall of Fame. In that guy’s defense, Fiona probably told him as many tall tales as she told me. I’d have to make an appointment with him to compare notes. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be the only one in for a shock. “I take it you didn’t stay at Annie’s last night.”

  My daughter was pretty much grounded until her fiftieth birthday, but her best friend Annie was a sweet girl—at least she used to be—and I held out hope that some of that would rub off on Fiona. So far, it never worked that way. My girl had raised trouble to an art form.

  She wrinkled her nose again. This time she looked like her dad, a fox shifter. “I said I wouldn’t lie.”

  The important thing was she was home in one piece, and this time, without a police escort. I had to celebrate the little victories. “Come here. Let me see it.”

  Hopefully Max was better at his art than he was with common sense. I didn’t want to think about what other ways he’d gotten under her skin. The cream from my coffee curdled in my stomach.

  Fiona took a couple steps closer, wincing like she either regretted her decision or she feared I’d slap her. I was far more tempted to wring her neck. She was taller than me now and I had to get out of my chair and go up on my tiptoes to peel back the wrapping to see what she had done.

  “You’re so lucky. It’s actually pretty.” The tattoo was stars with swirl patterns between them. It was on the top of her shoulder and trailed down to her back. It was big, but she probably wouldn’t regret it for at least a few years.

  “See? You should trust me.” How she said that with a straight face was beyond me.

  “Hell no. Go to your room. Go to bed, because I’m sure you haven’t had any sleep.” I was only up this early because old habits die hard. I didn’t have my restaurant anymore, but my internal alarm clock had me up at four every morning. “Where’s your phone?”

  “Ma, come on.” She grabbed her purse and held it protectively against her.

  “Give it to me.” I held my hand out. We had a stare down until she remembered who paid the bill. “What’s the code?”

  “Are you serious?” She knew the answer to that question. She sighed. “Six seven eight nine.”

  “Thank you. Wash that thing with antibacterial soap and go to bed. I’ll figure out your punishment while you’re sleeping.” I sighed.

  Fiona was halfway up the stairs before I had a chance to take my next sip of now-lukewarm coffee. Mornings like this made me think I should spike it.

  I’d been like my daughter once and that was how I wound up a single parent. I lived for the moment and never worried about the future. That was the most painful part, watching her make the same mistakes I’d made. Like her, I’d been lucky. Until I wasn’t. Her father wound up being one of the top quarterbacks in the Continental Football Association. The check showed up on time every month, but that was about all we got from him. Going from city to city and living and breathing football didn’t leave a lot of time for being a dad. I made excuses for him because it was easier than admitting he didn’t want to be in our lives. I was guilty, too. We’d been more in lust than love when Fiona came into the picture. Lust doesn’t last, and I had dreams too. They didn’t die when I became a mom. I would’ve never succeeded in the restaurant business if I had to move every time he got traded.

  But every once in a while, I wondered how my life would be different if I'd stayed with Landon Fox.

  If he’d been more than a hookup. If the condom didn’t break. If he’d bothered to tell me he was a freaking shapeshifter before he knocked me up. If we could’ve looked past our differences and tried to make things work for our daughter. If he loved anything or anyone as much as he loved football.

  I wasn’t bitter. My seventeen-year-old daughter just got a tattoo and I’d just been blindsided by a divorce, which led to the downfall of my business. My other baby. So I was a little overwhelmed.

  Not ready to trust myself not to give this Max guy a piece of my mind if I unlocked Fiona’s phone and peeked at the messages, I locked it in my desk drawer and indulged myself in my favorite guilty pleasure.

  The Real Werewives of Alaska website.

  The reality show had yet to debut. I followed the site with the same morbid curiosity I watched those TV shows about serial killers. It was fu
ll of teasers and trailers, and I was hooked. I couldn’t wait to see what they’d do next. A flock of women had descended upon Alaska in hopes of becoming the true mate of an Alaska Bloodhound player. The Alaska Bloodhounds that included my baby daddy, Landon Fox.

  I reconsidered Fiona’s phone. I’d have to snap a pick of that tattoo and send it to him. To see if he even cared.

  As I sat at my empty desk—Charlie, my ex-husband, took the paperwork and the chaos away from me along with the business—I realized what I’d done up until now didn’t work anymore. I couldn’t learn from my mistakes until I fixed the biggest one.

  I had to teach my daughter not to follow in my footsteps. Grounding her and telling her what she couldn’t do would only make her more creative in her rebellion. I didn’t want her to shut me out. My heart was still in pieces from the divorce. Okay, a little more over the loss of the restaurant, which was what sent the marriage into the danger zone. But waking up alone in a cold, empty bed every morning sucked.

  For the first time since Fiona was born, I had no idea what to do with myself next. Besides keep her out of jail. I’d always had a plan—for her, for my career—and now I had nothing.

  I clicked to my favorite part of the Real Werewife site, the "Ask a Werewife" page. People wrote to ask the Werewives about fashion, football, and of course, the Alaska Bloodhounds. They wanted to know what their favorite first date activities were, who was the best in bed, and they had tons of questions about Landon. He was the star of the team—still ruggedly gorgeous even after eighteen years in the league. That jackass actually looked better now that he’d gone gray.

  I started typing in the box that said, "Have a question? Ask a Werewife!"

  What would Landon Fox tell a single mom whose teenage daughter came home with a brand-new tattoo...

  Nah, too soon. I erased it. Sending pictures with no explanation would pack much more of a punch. At least if they didn’t, I wouldn’t be publicly humiliated. I had enough of that to last a lifetime, having to explain why my restaurant, which had been packed every night, suddenly closed after ten years.

  Charlie’s name had been on everything. When he decided the bartender was a better business—and pleasure—partner than I was, I was out. My beloved farm to table concept, gone. They were turning my former restaurant, Bella, into a sports bar. The plan to make it sound like my decision fell apart when it became obvious I had no plan for my own future.

  I wanted something different this time. Maybe it wasn’t work. I thought food was love, but I’d spent too much time feeding the wrong people. They loved me while they were there, then left money on the table and disappeared without a word. It was time to concentrate on my family, what was left of it, and myself. Not professionally—the walls of my office were full of framed magazine articles about my work. But me.

  I sat in this empty office and I had no idea what to do besides cook. I’d fed myself enough of my feelings since the restaurant closed and my pajama pants were the only ones that fit comfortably.

  Drumming my fingers on my keyboard, I considered going back to bed. No, I’d lie there and feel sorry for myself. My gaze fell to the pink button at the top corner of every page on the Real Werewives website.

  Do you have what it takes to be a Real Werewife?

  The other reason I really didn’t want to go back to bed was because recently I’d been starring in a foolish fantasy where my first love was also the one that lasted forever. That Landon, Fiona, and I were a family. A screwed up one, but what family wasn’t? After all, he was available. Elusive as fuck; the ladies on the show were finding that out the hard way, just like I had. So far, only previews of the show were available online but I’d watched them all. The ones featuring Landon more than once.

  Okay, Jenna, shut down the website and start planning your new restaurant. I could have anything I wanted now. I didn’t have to rely on Charlie co-signing my business loans anymore. I took out a notebook and scribbled a few things down.

  A change of scenery.

  A rustic restaurant with only a few tables so it feels like having friends over for dinner. The menu will change every night, depending on what I can locally source.

  For Fiona to decide she wants to go to an all-women’s college in the middle of nowhere.

  I scratched that one out. She’d only seduce her roommate and they’d tear the place up. Trouble wafted from her pulse points like perfume.

  For Fiona to decide she actually wants to go to college and not join a motorcycle gang.

  To have someone to kiss goodnight.

  Besides Fiona making good decisions, all those things were totally realistic. I just had to do them. The laptop screen blazed in front of me, that pink button taunting me like a dare.

  I could change my life. All I had to do was find out if I had what it took to be a Real Werewife.

  Chapter Two

  LANDON

  Fuck. I couldn’t avoid her any longer.

  Tessa Williams and I went way back—I’d known her longer than I’d know Coach Phelan—and I knew how she worked. As long and as hard as any of the guys on the field. She’d been a hell of a sports reporter, asking more in-depth questions than her male counterparts. I usually loved seeing her on the field after a practice. She had a way of making an interview feel like a conversation between two people who loved football.

  But this was different. The Bloodhounds were used to seeing Tessa and her crew in the locker room. I was fresh out of the shower in nothing but a towel when she made a beeline for me.

  She leaned against the locker, crossed her arms in front of her, and grinned. The guys whooped, knowing how hard I worked to avoid this tackle, and not one of those bastards did anything to stop it. Some offensive line I had.

  “Hi. Can I steal you for a minute?” she asked.

  If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard that line since I’d become an Alaska Bloodhound and a reluctant contestant on The Real Werewives of Alaska, it would replace my football check. “Are you planning on going in front of the camera again?”

  Truth of the matter was, Tessa had a better chance with me than the women who hoped to become Real Werewives. Most of the eligible bachelorettes were half my age and many of them didn’t know the first thing about football. I didn’t mind having a little bit of fun with them, but I was forty years old and I’d had a lot of fun. I was ready to find my mate.

  The guys around us oooohed, and Tessa grinned. They were worse with gossip than the Werewives. “Dream on. I’m a married woman, Fox. And I’ve hung up my microphone.”

  I grabbed a shirt out of my locker, chuckling. “I’ll never understand how you got stuck with this shit job.”

  The grin was gone when I pulled the shirt over my head. “The Real Werewives of Alaska might be a shit job to you, but I created the concept and pitched the show as a way to get more women interested in football. My plan was to give them a chance to learn from a woman’s perspective, instead of getting patronized every time they sat down with the boys to watch the game. But my shitty idea didn’t sell until the CFA expanded the league. Guess that deal worked out for both of us.”

  That was actually pretty cool. “I had no idea this was your baby.”

  “Just call me cupid. Now are you coming with me, or what?”

  The locker room howled. “Take him to the hot tub!” Tyler Jones, my pain in the ass back-up quarterback, called out. One of these days I’d knock some sense into him.

  I followed Tessa down the hall into an empty office. We were alone. “No cameras? Thought you were bringing me to church.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s the confessional, and no cameras today. They’ve got their hands full at the Werewife compound after the situation on Faraway Island.”

  “Is that bastard Stefan acting up again?” The team had helped two of our players with an alpha wolf who needed a lesson on loyalty and leadership. “If he’s bothering the Werewives—”

  “No word from Stefan,” she said.


  We’d driven him off his island, but there was always a chance he’d go hunting where it would hurt us the most, at the Werewife compound.

  “Now that some of the ladies are settling down with their mates, the ones who haven’t been so lucky in love are getting concerned. They think it’s never going to happen. I’ve got tons of footage of dates but nothing’s going anywhere. I’m thinking of bringing in a few more ladies, but Landon, I need your help.”

  “What do you need?” I asked. Tessa had always been on my side, even in the seasons when the games didn’t go my way. Now that I knew the show was her baby, I owed her one.

  And I knew that look on her face. I’d seen it many times over the years when she was about to break a story. When something was about to happen. “We’re planning a Bloodhound auction.”

  Oh, fuck. “Not that.”

  “Hear me out. Have I ever wronged you before?”

  “No.” But there was no way I was getting up on that stage like a stripper and having the Werewives bid on me. I knew this look on her face, too, when she was determined to get what she wanted to make a story happen. “Am I the only one you’re making do this?”

  “You’re not. Will you listen? It won’t be gross, I promise.”

  This better be good. “Is this part of your plan to get more women interested in football?”

  “It’s to get you more interested in my Werewives,” she said. “I thought about having them bid actual money, but you guys don’t need it. Then I thought about the proceeds going to charity, but we’re not paying the contestants much to be here, and some of the ladies wouldn’t be able to participate. We want everyone to have a fair shot at love. So my plan is to have an auction-slash-dating game. If the Werewives wish to bid on you, they’ll offer a service. Whatever they’re good at. You pick the one that appeals to you most, and that’s your next date.”

  “I like that idea.” The problem with playing for eighteen seasons was, outside of football, I didn’t have much to talk about with a lot of the younger players, never mind the Werewives.