All Washed Up

Abby shifted her gaze from the horizon to the stranger who approached her boldly. He struck her as quite older than her, but maybe that was supposed to be part of the fun. She'd seen other wolves with older partners, maybe it'd be alright.

Still, he would never be on her radar sober. She wasn't sure what fueled her brave and stupid encounters this night; desperation? Peer pressure? A resounding 'fuck you' to everything that kept her from intimacy in the first place? Maybe the safest answer was all three. Maybe the safest answer was alcohol.

She looked at him, letting a mischievious smile creep on her mottled face. "'could say the same for you." She replied, admiring his tusks. She'd seen wolves with fangs, but not like his. She liked his eyes, they were like diamonds nestled in soft red fabric. She moved from the water, paws gathering black sand as she moved so that they were standing side by side on the beach. "What should I call you?" She hadn't exactly asked for names before, but this man was the first to actually approach her, and so far she'd just been drunkenly invading random men's personal space.