Chapter 3 Kady #2
Ezra clears his throat. “There’s a spare table over there.” He nods at a quiet corner, set away from the rest of the bar. “Do you want to continue our conversation?” He eyeballs the bowl in front of me. “We could share the fries? I’m starving.”
I should head back to Stella House, but the longer I’m around Ezra, the more intrigued I am to learn more.
It’s the first time I’ve met an alpha who isn’t interested in bonding, and it’s downright refreshing to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around bonding or what compromises they’d want me to make to be with them.
“I’ll share my fries with you.” Staying a little longer won’t hurt, right? “On one condition.”
“And what’s that?” He leans in toward me, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his muscled body. “I’ll do anything for curly fries.”
His husky tone and the way his eyes linger a little too long on my lips make my breath catch. I’m sure he’s interested in a lot more than potatoey goodness.
I arch an eyebrow. “Anything?”
I cross my legs, my gaze trailing over his sculpted arms. They’re straining his well-worn, sage linen shirt which looks to be finely made yet practical. His top three buttons are undone, revealing lines of an intricate chest tattoo, making me want to trace them to see the full picture.
“Try me, Victoria.”
“Let’s grab the table.” I spin my head around so fast that I almost whip him in the face with my blonde hair. “The fries are getting cold.”
The small table is packed into a tight, wood-paneled corner, away from the lumberjack crowd who are drinking from massive beer steins and have just turned the jukebox up to full volume. The bar is filling fast now. Apparently, Forestville locals start partying early.
“Here.” Ezra takes me by surprise by pulling out the chair for me to sit down. Chivalrous, yet he doesn’t want an omega. An interesting contradiction.
The smell of bourbon, aged leather from the seats, and the zing of freshly cut limes fill the air.
“Thanks,” I murmur, taking a seat.
We both reach for the fries at the same time.
The moment our hands touch, my palms tingle, and a rush of warmth ripples up my arm.
The back of his hand is silky smooth, but as he jerks back, I feel the tips of his fingers, which are rough, making me wonder what he does for work and how those long fingers would feel when…
Nope, I stop my mind from wandering, hoping that he didn’t notice my sharp inhale.
That should be my signal that it’s time for me to leave, yet I find myself glued to my chair.
After the day I’ve had, would pretending to be someone else, forgetting about the weight of carrying the Sinclair dynasty on my shoulders and having a little fun, be such a bad thing?
I imagine what my friends would say. Sabs would cheer me on and suggest some kind of pleasure-enhancing lube to try.
Faye would remind me to be careful around a stranger, and Delilah would tell me to follow my heart.
I don’t know how to follow my heart, so I follow the facts.
It’s been a while since an alpha has properly met my needs. Apart from a few one-night stands to relieve the pressure that comes from taking suppressants and hiring a heat buddy last year, I haven’t been thoroughly satisfied or even remotely attracted to a guy in a long time.
“So…” Ezra begins, leaning in to be heard over the blaring country music. When our knees brush under the table, neither of us move, leaving us in a strange under-the-table standoff. “How long have you lived in Forestville?”
I sniff the air. Has his scent intensified somehow? It completely surrounds me.
“A few years.” I pick at the curly fries, but I’m too distracted by his smell to eat. “You can finish them.” I push the bowl in his direction. “What brings you to town?”
“A job,” he groans. “I start in a few days, but I don’t want to talk about that. I want to enjoy the next few days before I start. What do you do for work?”
How can I focus on a conversation when my entire body can only concentrate on our legs pressed together? “I write for the local paper.” It’s not exactly a lie; I’m just omitting that it’s a college paper. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I was right, then.” His plump lips curve up. “A bad day at work is what has you drowning your sorrows alone and ripping up paper like it’s an enemy’s head?”
I cringe. “Don’t remind me.”
A hot guy bearing witness to my mini mental breakdown is the cherry on the top of an ice cream sundae of a shitty day.
“No judgment here.” He puts his hand to his heart. “Trust me, I’ve been there. Do you want to talk about it? I’ve been told that I’m a great listener.”
“No.” I tear a curly fry in two. I barely know this man. I’m not about to pour my heart out to him. “I’m good.”
“A woman of mystery.” He scratches his lightly stubbled chin. “So what’s the latest news in Forestville? Working for the paper, I’m sure you know everything that’s going on.”
Talking is the last thing on my mind as his knee presses into mine, making it hard to stop myself from climbing across the table and mounting him in front of everyone. Maybe the last cocktail wasn’t my best idea.
My sensible side knows I should spend the evening curled up with Larry—my adorable, chunky ginger cat—while plotting how I’m going to make my fake courtship with the Blandon Pack look convincing.
“It’s a quiet town, really.” I improvise on the fly. “Not a lot goes on here, but I have been working on a story about a famous SVU health botany professor who was recently dismissed.”
That’s something worthy of the town’s news, right?
He sips his drink thoughtfully. “Is that so?”
“My sources say that he was dismissed for omega discrimination.” My grip tightens on my glass.
“SVU is supposed to be one of the safest colleges in the country for omegas. An internal investigation is already underway, which I hope means that they’re reviewing their hiring processes.
Piece of shit professors like him can set omega rights back years.
All it takes is one person to think it’s okay, and then we’re transported back to the dark ages, being traded by alphas like pieces of meat.
” I shake my head, catching myself before I launch into a longer rant. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” His gaze softens. “And you’re right, of course. Students need a safe environment to learn.”
“Hopefully, Dean Rivers has learned a lesson from this.” I drag a finger around the rim of my glass. “And he better have thoroughly checked the new hire he brought in.”
The bartender approaching with a drink cuts our conversation short.
“This is for you.” She places an espresso martini in front of me.
I frown, looking at Ezra, who appears to be equally perplexed. “But I didn’t order anything.”
“It was a gift.” She nudges her head toward an alpha drinking alone at the bar. He raises his beer in my direction with a smile. He’s not bad looking, but the way he stares at me makes my skin crawl.
“Between you and me…” The bartender drops her voice. ”I’d steer clear. He’s a little odd.”
Before I get the chance to tell her to send the drink back, her attention is diverted by a lumberjack dropping his beer. She curses under her breath and hurries away, muttering, “If they didn’t spend so much money here, I’d ban them.”
Ezra’s eyes twinkle. “If you’d rather have a drink with him, I’d understand. I’ve already monopolized enough of your time.”
“No!” I say too quickly. “I mean, unless you’re ready to leave.”
His warm leg presses into mine. “I’m not ready to leave.”
“Hello, sweetheart.” Our electric moment is rudely interrupted by my admirer staggering over. “I thought you looked a little thirsty.” He’s obviously speaking to me, yet he’s looking straight through Ezra. “Want to have a drink with a real alpha?”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m good right here, thanks.”
“Come on, darlin’,” he slurs. “I bought you a drink. The least you can do is sit with me. You owe me that, at least.”
“Owe you?” I cross my arms. “Are you familiar with Section 324 of the Omega Rights Bill? On harassment? I owe you nothing.” I push the glass away from me. “And I didn’t ask for a drink.”
“Listen here, you ungrateful little—”
Ezra jumps to my defense, his jaw clenching and a pulse twitching in his temple. “I’d think carefully about what you say next.”
“Or what?” the drunk alpha scoffs. “Are you going to fight me? Do you really think an alpha like you stands a chance against someone like me?”
Testosterone crackles through the air like lightning, a hush descending over the bar as we attract the attention of others, their anticipation building, sensing a scuffle brewing.
Ezra’s warm eyes harden as his hands curl into fists. “I think you’ll be surprised what an alpha like me can do.”
“You’re welcome to her.” Spit sprays from the stranger’s mouth with each word. “I’d never touch an omega who doesn’t know her place—”
Before my brain can process what’s happening, my body moves. I’m on my feet, and my fist connects with his jaw. An almighty thwack slices through the sudden silence of the bar, followed by a stunned gasp from the onlookers.
Eyes bulging in surprise, he staggers back from the impact, swaying on his feet. I guess he never expected that an omega could throw a decent right hook. A few seconds later, blood spurts from his nose, dripping red specks onto the perfect foam of my unwanted espresso martini.
“I know my place.” I reach for the napkin on the table to calmly wipe away at the fleck of blood on my blazer. “But maybe you should remember yours.”
He blinks rapidly—presumably still in shock—as he clutches at his likely broken nose.
He rapidly swings his head side to side, then his fury kicks in, huffing like an angry bull, his cheeks changing from red to a dark purple.
His scent shifts, turning smokier as his inferno-like stare burns into me.
“You fucking—”