Chapter 3 Kady
THREE
Kady
DELILAH
Do we need to send out a search party?
FAYE
Are you okay, Kady? Let us know you’re safe.
SABS
We can help you kick ass, if needed! I don’t have to go to my volleyball game, if you need me to help find your fake pack?
I quickly type a reply.
ME
I’m fine—still working on it. Go to your game, @Sabs! Will be at The Valley Voice until late. Don’t wait up.
I shouldn’t lie, but I’m not ready to unpack today’s chaos with my Stella sisters yet. I know how badly they’ll react to finding out that the Blandon Pack—the biggest “alpha-holes” on campus—are my fake boyfriends for the foreseeable future.
DELILAH
Remember, we’re here if you need to talk.
I tuck away my phone after replying to tell them that everything’s fine then slap my empty glass down on the bar top triumphantly, like I’ve just won a drinking competition with myself.
Usually, I’d be in the library catching up on extra reading, but drinking alone in a dive bar in Forestville seemed like a solid plan.
I had to get away from SVU, and daring to venture away from my desk feels like a silent form of rebellion.
“Same again?” The bartender approaches, standing in front of the backdrop of soft neon lights, stacked liquor bottles, and glowing display boards.
The dimly lit bar is quiet, its silence only broken by the low hum of a heater.
Orange lights dangle from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything.
The cracked vinyl of the red seats is worn smooth—a testament to countless forgotten stories—and retro photos of obscure bands fill the exposed brick walls in mismatched frames.
There’s an odd comfort to the faded signs and worn-in feel of the bar, a place where I can blend into the background.
It’s only frequented by town locals, and a safe pick to avoid being seen by any other students.
Kady Sinclair, the queen of self-control, does not do public spirals.
“A Manhattan this time.” Judging by the look on the bartender’s face when I first ordered, no one has ordered from their cocktail menu for years. The drinks cost a fraction of the price of those I get in Club Knotty. “Please.”
“Coming right up,” she turns, getting to work.
My phone has been blowing up in my pocket. After sending another quick message to the Stellas to reassure them that I’m okay, I slide it into my purse then groan, confronted by the wedding invitation again.
“Here you are, hon.” The bartender plops a bowl of seasoned curly fries down with my drink. “You look like you’re having a rough day. These are on the house.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, passing over the fries to sip my drink while she turns away to polish glasses.
I take the invitation from my purse and tear it in half violently. My father is to blame for all of this mess—the wedding, me being forced to make a deal with the Blandon Pack…
Suddenly, a deep, hearty chuckle comes from my left. “Rough day at the office, huh?” a male voice rumbles.
I hastily shove the ripped invitation into my purse.
How dare this alpha have the audacity to sound so good?
His voice is smooth like velvet, a melodic element to his words that rolls off his tongue effortlessly and makes me want to melt into my seat.
He has the kind of voice that would make reading the dictionary sound sexy.
And his smell… Damn. It’s rich, a multi-layered intensity of wild fig, fresh crushed basil leaves, blackcurrant bud, and something more earthy that I can’t quite place.
I swing my hair over my shoulder, cursing myself for letting myself get lost in his scent. “You should mind your own business.”
He doesn’t even blink, seemingly unperturbed by my comment. The bartender returns, and he pulls out his wallet, turning to me like we’re old friends.
“Another drink?”
My deadpan expression doesn’t shift. “I can pay for myself.”
I’m not dumb. Accepting a drink usually comes with added obligations, like making polite conversation, which I’ve made it perfectly clear I’m not in the mood for.
The stranger grins, making my stomach do a weird flip. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
I arch my eyebrow, daring to look his way properly for the first time. “A Manhattan?”
Bad decision. The stranger is quite possibly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. He has deep brown skin with warm, hypnotic, dark eyes that draw you in, and defined locs with beads threaded through them that sit on his broad shoulders.
“Why not?” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, almost teasingly. He drops his voice. “I can assure you that having a cute umbrella in my drink doesn’t make me any less of an alpha.”
Shit. Is he flirting?
I quickly assess him. He doesn’t look like a student. I’d guess he’s in his early thirties, but he has a playful, lighthearted air about him that makes him seem younger. He gives off the vibe of a person who doesn’t take life too seriously—a quality I don’t understand.
Some people—aka. Sabs—think I’m a control freak, but I prefer to think of myself as organized.
Delilah, a die-hard believer in fate who checks her horoscope daily, tells me that I need to, “Let go, and lean into the universe more”—whatever that means.
I enjoy being in control too much to buy into her juju.
I’m the only one who has power over my destiny, and I want it to stay that way.
The alpha and I sit in frosty silence until the bartender returns with his drink.
“See?” the stranger jokes, taking a sip. The glass looks comically small in his giant hands. “All alpha.”
“Tell them that,” I scoff and nod in the direction of a group of alphas who have just entered. Judging by the way they’re dressed, I’d guess they work in the nearby lumberyard and have just finished for the day. They snicker, the sight of an alpha drinking a cocktail not going unnoticed by them.
My new drinking companion’s laugh vibrates right through me as he tips his glass in the lumberjacks’ direction with an easy grin.
My gaze is drawn to his full lips wrapping around the straw and his sharp jawline, making my thighs clench hard enough to split a watermelon.
Damn him for making my body react like this.
“I don’t buy into toxic alpha-masculinity. Only insecure alphas are bothered about that.” He looks pointedly their way and smirks. “Besides, I’m sure my knot’s bigger than theirs.”
I splutter on my mouthful, spraying it everywhere in a completely unladylike—and totally un-Kady-like—manner. I’m usually unflappable, but today has completely thrown me off. His scent isn’t helping either.
“That was a joke.” He hands me a napkin. “I’m Ezra. What’s your name?”
I snatch the napkin from him, my cheeks heating as I dab my chin and clean up the mess. “Victoria.” My middle name comes to mind first. Kady Sinclair is the last person I want to be right now. “I’m Victoria.”
Yes, Victoria. An omega who doesn’t have a controlling father, trying to sell her off like a prized pig and hasn’t agreed to court the biggest knot-heads on campus.
Ezra’s sleeve slides up, revealing his toned forearm and a small mandala tattoo on the inside of his wrist. “Tell me, Victoria.” His voice drops to a low purr. “Why is a gorgeous omega like you drinking alone?”
I roll my eyes. He’ll have to do a lot better than that if he wants to charm me. I’m not just going to drop my panties for any alpha who gives me a compliment—even the ones with dreamy eyes and a voice that makes my legs quake.
“I could ask you the same question,” I reply.
“My pack just moved to town.” Ezra takes a sip of his Manhattan. “Someone said this was the best place to drink away from SVU students. I thought I’d come scope the place out while I check out the neighborhood.”
So he doesn’t think I go to SVU…
I guess I don’t dress like the typical college student. I’m wearing my favorite gray blazer over a tailored black dress that wouldn’t look out of place in a corporate office.
“Do you come here often?” Ezra brings me back to reality.
“Sometimes.” I stir my cocktail with my straw. “Will your omega be joining you soon?”
I mentally kick myself for asking. I shouldn’t care about what his response is or be fishing for his bonded status, but I can’t see any visible bite marks on his skin—not that all alphas choose to have bonding marks.
His scent is strong, overpowering even, which is also unusual for a bonded alpha as their scents usually dull after finding their mate.
However, again, that isn’t always the case.
“My pack doesn’t have an omega,” he replies. “And I’m not looking.” His eyes sparkle, a hidden suggestion behind them. “Well, at least not for something serious.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Don’t all alphas want an omega?”
“Not every alpha.” His deep stare makes the rest of the room fall away, his pupils dilating as we hold eye contact. “I like my freedom too much.” He shrugs. “Call me selfish, but I can’t imagine my whole universe revolving around another person forever.”
Okay, so maybe this alpha and I have more in common than I first thought. Taking another sip of my drink, my shoulders slacken as I give him my full attention.
“I don’t think that’s selfish at all. Actually, I feel the same way myself.” I sigh. “I don’t understand why people think that alphas and omegas have to bond just because of our designation.”
“Exactly.” He grins broadly. “Although I’m surprised to hear an omega say that.”
“Why?” I narrow my eyes. “Because you think omegas need an alpha to take care of them? We’re not incapable. Some omegas don’t need an alpha at all, you know.”
“You’re not like any other omega I’ve met, Victoria.”
A frisson of electricity courses through me. Thank goodness I’m wearing scent-blocking panties because I’m pretty sure I just perfumed from his words alone.