Chapter Five
Julius
Squinting behind my polarized sunglasses, the lights of the diner are still too goddamn fucking bright. The banging and clanging coming from the kitchen, combined with the chewing of customers and mindless chatter all around, grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
It’s too fucking early for this shit. But Vonn insisted I get my ass up at this godforsaken hour because of some stupid-ass meeting with Marilyn at noon.
Noon. On our one day off this week. Tell me that’s not a load of bullshit right there.
Sandy? Candy? Mandi?… Whatever the hell her name is, sits beside me in the booth. Her breathing is getting on my last damn nerve, and I can’t understand why she sidled in next to me instead of across like any civilized person. Every moment with her makes my ire grow.
“What are you thinking about getting, baby?” she simpers beside me, pressing herself into my side.
The soft pressure and heat of her body make me want to launch her across the eatery.
If I get tossed off the team, maybe I can take up javelin throwing.
“I’m thinking I want pancakes. Or eggs. Maybe I should just get a fruit cup. I want to keep my figure trim for you.”
She bats her eyelashes and giggles, then drops her hand to run it over my thigh, inching closer to my dick with every passing moment. In the light of day, without my handy-dandy beer goggles, the beta seems more of a poor imitation of an omega than I gave her credit for last night.
I reach down, grab her hand, and remove it from my leg, then place her palm a bit too loudly on the table.
“Oh, what’s wrong, Mr. Grumpy?” she asks, pouting in a way I’m sure she thinks is cute, but it just reminds me of an angry toddler. And I hate kids. I might hate this beta…
“Nothing. Just choose what you want. We’ll eat, and then I’ve got places to be.” The brush-off is gruffer than I intend, but this morning’s pounding hangover has zapped all of my social battery, and I barely have one to begin with.
Annoyance, frustration, and anger writhe in my gut, and I know I need to let them out soon before I downright explode.
Fortunately for me, an absolute stunner of a waitress appears at the table.
For a moment, her beauty strikes me dumb, and I just stare.
Long, flowing flame-red hair floats down her back, cascading in shining layers that dance in the light.
She’s tiny as hell, but every banging inch of her body is perfectly proportioned from her curvy hips to the swell of her breasts that tease me from below a low-cut bright yellow tank top.
My eyes home in on her cleavage, watching each rise and fall of her chest, and hoping I’ll get an eyeful.
My attention must make her uncomfortable because she nervously fidgets with the top of her shirt, yanking it higher and higher, which only serves to expose her slender midriff. Fuck me right to hell.
My nostrils flare automatically, hoping to get a hit of whatever scent she’s packing, but all I manage is a quick sniff of metallic scent suppressants.
Frustration fills me, raking its angry claws against my earlier agitation.
Is this woman a beta or an elusive omega? My Alpha demands that I find out.
“What can I get for you two today?” Her voice is sharp enough to make my eyes snap to her face. Another feature that doesn’t disappoint. With high cheekbones, long, dark lashes, plump, pink lips, and emerald-green eyes I could fall into, this woman is dangerous.
“How about your name? And number?” Yeah, there’s a woman with me, but anyone who comes home with me knows the score. I don’t do repeats or get tied down. My dick is a masterpiece that needs to be shared.
“I’m just looking to get your order, sir.” The name sends a dark thrill through me, but her tone isn’t submissive and pliant the way I like. And she’s looking at me like I’m dirt beneath her feet.
The challenge in her eyes burns away my residual hangover, leaving nothing but pure dominance in its wake.
Dark. Possessive. Alpha.
Tammy, or whatever her name is, rattles off a long list of food, and I don’t catch any of it.
Instead, I watch my new favorite toy’s pretty pink tongue stick out at the side of her lips as she scribbles down the order.
Her gaze flicks over to me, and I throw her my most charming smile, but that only makes her frown.
Ornery little thing.
Her annoyance is a challenge, but there’s nothing I like more. It makes my cock harden, and I can’t help but press my palm against the thickening shaft.
“What do you recommend, sweet cheeks?” Her name tag reads “Nunnya,” and it makes me chuckle, wondering if she’s trying to tell me she’s celibate like a nun or her name is none of ya business.
“The pancakes are good.” Her reply is cool and way too professional for my taste and temperament. The need to frustrate, annoy, and toy with this woman pulses under my skin, spurring me on, even though it’s unnecessary and ridiculous.
“Pancakes aren’t my favorite, doll face.
Try again.” Her eye twitches at the fresh nickname, but unlike her flame-red hair, she maintains her cool, offering me a fake-ass smile.
The ingratiating beta beside me giggles and shoots death glares simultaneously.
I pay her no mind. That bitch is yesterday’s news.
She’s already gotten luckier than most to be taken for breakfast. Usually, I just pack them into an Uber, and away they go, never to be seen—or remembered—again.
“Well, I’m just so sorry about that, sugar. How about some gravy and biscuits if sweet’s not your style?” Her fake politeness makes me wanna up the ante.
“Nope, try again.” I smirk, draping my hand along the booth top until my finger nearly touches her hip.
Something about the proximity draws me forward, wanting nothing more than to experience that zing of physical contact.
Seeing my reach, Nunnya hastily steps back, ensuring I can’t touch her, while the woman sitting beside me grabs my hand and drapes it suggestively over her breast.
“The cook makes great eggs and bacon,” she grits through her teeth.
I open my mouth to speak again, but my ‘date’ beats me to it.
“Sure, that sounds great. He’ll take that,” she jumps in, and Nunnya speeds away like her ass is on fire. And what a fine ass it is. Juicy. Round. Bite-able.
“What the hell?” I snarl at the woman beside me, yanking my hand off her tit and back into my lap. “Go sit on the other side of the table.”
“What? No. I’m sorry, Julius baby,” she blathers, crocodile tears immediately forming along her inner lashes. “What can I do to fix this? How can I make it better?”
The determined little fucker in my pants twitches when I make eye contact with the redhead again.
She spears me with a glare, and fuck, if it doesn’t turn me on even more.
I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, happily flirting with disaster, and willing to do whatever I ask.
So, either Nunnya has no clue who I am. Ridiculous.
Or I’ve met the one woman in Nashville who’s unimpressed by Julius Keene.
“How about you take care of this?” I bring the beta’s hand to my erection, and she coos with delight, happy to be my little fuck bunny.
She slides her fingers under the waistband of my sweatpants, grabbing my cock eagerly, but her hand is too dry; there’s no lubrication. And Alphas only want it wet. Dripping.
With my hand around the nape of her neck, I tighten my grip and tug her downward. “No, with your mouth.” And then I won’t have to hear your voice again, either.
“Julius, we’re in public,” she giggles, licking her lips. Her nipples poke through her top, showing how turned-on she is by the idea of public sex. “How naughty!”
“Get me off before our breakfast arrives and I’ll give you a WAG ticket to the next game.” Her gasp is enough to reinflate my ego, and then, like the good little puck bunny she is, Fanny slithers her way under the table. Seconds later, her hot, wet mouth engulfs my shaft.
The blonde bobs up and down, slobbering on my dick, but it’s good enough.
All the while, I track Nunnya’s every movement across the diner, watching her dance from table to table, gathering dishes and delivering others with a smile.
Damn, she’s beautiful, a challenge and temptation wrapped up in a fiery-red bow.
Searching, I find no hint of a wedding ring—not that it would be a deal breaker—and certainly nothing on her neck resembling pack bites.
As though she can feel my eyes on her, she glances over to the table, jaw dropping when she notices the BJ going on under it.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead, but it only heightens my lust. Reaching down, I grip the blonde’s hair and shove her more forcefully down on my aching shaft.
She gags a little, but doesn’t protest. The noise sends a thrill through me, and I do it again while watching the sexy redhead glare at me.
I lift my hips and use the puck bunny’s hair to increase the pace, just like I need.
With two more pumps, I come down her throat with a muted grunt, never letting my gaze stray from the emerald-green orbs eviscerating me.
“Swallow every fucking drop,” I demand, pinning her head down as her throat works hard to keep up. And when I’m finally done, I let go of her hair and give her a pat on the head before slipping my cock back into my sweatpants.
“I did it, right?” she asks breathlessly, sliding back into the seat next to mine. Her lips are bright red, coated with my sticky essence, and seeing the evidence of my public tryst makes my stomach churn. “I get a Julius Keene WAG ticket?”
Before I can respond, our infuriated server slams three huge to-go bags onto the table.
“Here’s your order. You can pay upfront,” she hisses at us; irritation pouring from every word. “Get out before I call the police on you. Absolutely vile. This is a family establishment. There are children eating.”
She scolds me, and while it turns me on, it also pisses me the hell off. I’m Julius fucking Keene, no one gets to talk to me like that—not anymore. I’ve paid my dues, worked my ass off, and now I make more money than God. I can do whatever the hell I want.
“You’d better get those unpacked and plated.” Sitting back, I fold my arms over my chest, like the immovable prick I am. My voice grows louder, catching the attention of the diner’s owner, a short, potbellied beta, who scurries over immediately.
“I absolutely will not,” Nunnya replies, not realizing her boss is already on the way. “You should leave and never come back.”
The owner’s face blanches at her loud and rash declaration. Most of the other diners have stopped eating to watch the commotion unfolding.
Shit, this is getting out of hand.
“Phoenix, you’re fired,” the owner shouts, and it catches me by surprise. I thought she would get in trouble, but I never expected it would be this extreme.
“But, Chris,” Nunnya, now Phoenix, objects, her mouth dropping in shock. “He was… They were…”
“Do you know who that is? I don’t care what they’re doing,” he cuts her off. “You’re causing a scene with a VIP in my restaurant. You’re gone. Gather your things. There will be no final paycheck.”
Tears spring into her emerald-green eyes, and with a choked sob, Phoenix makes a beeline toward the back of the building. I want to follow her, my inner Alpha, pushing me to make this right.
What started as gentle goading, and maybe even a little flirting on my part, got beyond out of hand. As always, I can’t stop myself before things turn bad. Guilt flares to life, a tangled knot in my gut that makes it hard to think.
“Hey, man, you don’t need to fire her,” I try to plead her case, but the owner just chuckles and flaps his hands.
“Nah, Mr. Julius. It’s for the best. Omegas are too hormonal for this kind of work. Now, what was your order? Let me get you re-served. And, of course, it’s all on the house.”
He babbles on, but my brain is stuck on one word, and it pulses on repeat in my head.
Omega. Omega. Omega.
What have I done?