Chapter 3
. . .
RUBY
Lisa’s jaw drops as I pass her the hand mirror so she can inspect my work, and I snort. “Told you I’d make you look like a bad bitch.”
She laughs, her face finally settling into a smile after an appointment of frowning down at her phone and scowling at herself in the mirror while making self-deprecating comments. Comments I replied to by pointing at the rainbow bedazzled sign on my table that reads “NO NEGATIVE SELF TALK”.
“You’re a miracle worker,” Lisa says as she finishes inspecting the back of her hair, and smiles shyly at her reflection, touching one of her blonde curls.
I shake my head. “I’m good at my job, but it helps when you’re working with a fine-ass canvas. You seriously have some of the most beautiful natural curls I’ve seen.”
It’s something I told her at the beginning of her appointment, but that she refused to believe until now. Her pale cheeks flush with a hint of pleasure at my compliment. “I’ll never be able to make it look like this on my own.”
“No, probably not,” I say matter-of-factly, which gets the omega to chuckle in surprise.
“I’m a professional. Of course your hair is going to look the best right after I’ve cut and styled it.
But I’ll email you a guide on what to do at home, and a list of some recommended products—at different price points, since I know not all of us are out here spending half their paycheck on shampoo like me. ”
Lisa laughs again, and I rest my hands lightly on her shoulders, looking at her through the mirror.
I note with pleasure how much they’ve relaxed since she sat in my chair.
God, I love how much a good haircut and a few compliments can transform someone.
Especially a mom and an omega like Lisa, who rarely has time or energy to spend on herself.
“You look amazing, if I do say so.”
Lisa’s still looking at herself in the mirror. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to love Il Mulino. That’s if you make it to the restaurant at all.” I wink.
Her brow furrows as she pulls her focus away from her appearance and turns to look at me. “Huh?”
I waggle my eyebrows, and a pretty flush rises on her cheeks.
“Oh!” She pauses, and her mouth tilts into a small smile. I catch a hint of her lilac and citrus scent. “You think they’ll like it?”
“They’ll love it.”
She giggles and shakes her head, pleased.
I can see why her pack finds her adorable.
They’re the ones who booked the appointment, and all but kidnapped her in order to get her here.
Not because they care about her hair, but because they’re worried about her.
They want their omega, the mother of their children, to feel pretty and worthy of time for herself.
I get her checked out, grabbing a few samples I think will work well for her home routine, and tossing in the wrapped chocolates I’d bought for myself as a pick me up, but saw her eyeing.
I’m sure her alphas would get her all the chocolate and treats her heart desires, but she’s not the type to let herself ask.
Couldn’t be me.
If I ever find a pack worthy of my time, they’re sure as hell going to know exactly what I want and need.
Which maybe is why I’m almost thirty and still alone.
I shake off the thought and wave goodbye to Lisa when her pack arrives to take her to her next pampering location, trying not to feel jealous when one of her alphas scoops her up into her arms and peppers her with delighted kisses.
What would it be like to be so cherished?
Sure, I’ve had plenty of people who want to sleep with me, want to use me to make themselves feel good and special, want what I can give them. But I’ve never had anything like that, and if tonight is a bust, I probably never will.
God, what a delightfully grim thought for this manufactured holiday of romance and love.
The thing is, I’m okay with it. I’m alright on my own.
Honestly, I’m pretty fucking great on my own.
I’ve never been happier and more at peace with myself, and after too many years in my late teens and early twenties trying to force myself into the mold of the perfect omega, that’s a tremendous accomplishment.
As I sweep and get ready for my next client, I glance down at the rose band tattooed on my finger and smile. Yes, even if tonight is a shitshow, I’ll be fine. After all, I’m in a committed relationship with someone I love dearly—myself.
Ilook good.
The bright red dress I chose for my date tonight hugs my hips and stomach, which are soft and round and fucking delectable.
Visible belly lines are a feature, not a bug.
The neckline is enough to show off the girls tastefully, and if I lean forward, reveal the tattoo on my sternum.
Plus, the fabric is so silky and feels amazing against my skin.
It’s not too cold tonight, so I can get away with just thigh highs and my fuzzy cropped white coat that makes my omega purr every time I put it on.
Paired with some cute heels, my heart-shaped clutch, and my perfectly coiffed hair, and you know what, I don’t just look good. I look incredible.
So of course, some alphaholes have to go and ruin it for me.
I clock them immediately, lingering outside a vape store and filling the air with the sickly sweet stench of artificial cotton candy.
In the past, I would’ve pulled my coat tighter, averted my eyes, or even crossed to the other side of the road.
But I have a right to walk down the goddamn street without making myself smaller.
So I keep walking, head up, and unbothered.
Giving them the chance to prove me wrong for being wary.
Of course, they don’t.
“Where you going, looking like that, sweetheart?”
I ignore them. I have my headphones in, so it’s reasonable that I wouldn’t have heard him. There’s no sound coming through the earbuds, but they don’t know that. I wear them most places I go as a deterrent for unwanted advances, and most are polite enough to respect that. These alphas are not.
“Hey, don’t ignore me, baby.”
I keep walking.
There’s enough traffic on the sidewalk that I have no reason to be afraid, and I’ve trained my omega to stand down in these sorts of situations, so I remain calm.
Besides, if any of them touches me, they’ll get a face full of pepper spray and a swift kick to the balls.
I smile to myself at the mental image of a crying alpha on his knees, clutching his crotch.
They follow me at a distance, catcalling and hurling insults about me not even being their type—too fat, too ugly, too many tattoos, too much of a slut. Their words don’t bother me, but the indifference of the other people walking past sure as fuck does.
I lock eyes with an alpha walking toward me, who is pointedly averting his eyes and clutching a bouquet, and get directly in his path. He skids to a stop in front of me, surprised, and I glare at him, tearing out one earbud.
“Really, dude? You’re going to watch an omega get treated like this and just walk by? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I spin around and face the trio of dudes behind me. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you?”
They look at me in shock, the alpha bystander spluttering and the main catcaller turning red. “It was just a joke. Chill out, lady,” one of his buddies says with an uncomfortable laugh.
“Harassing an omega on the street isn’t a joke, asshole.
What did you think would happen? That I’d hear you calling me a fat slut, and I’d giggle and get on my knees for you?
That you could compensate for your limp dicks by making an omega scared?
Do you feel powerful now?” I’m shouting, and more people have stopped to watch my tirade.
Good. They should see that this kind of shit isn’t okay.
At least the harassing alphas have enough brain cells to realize they have too big an audience to get more aggressive with me.
“Do you?” I prompt again.
That gets a mumbled “no” from one of them.
I turn back to the alpha with the bouquet. “Hope your date likes cowards.”
He blinks at me, starting an apology that I’m not going to stick around to hear. There’s a few weak claps from bystanders as I storm off.
I’m only a few blocks away from the restaurant, and when I get there, I haven’t had nearly enough time to cool off, but I’ll be late if I don’t go in now.
Why am I even doing this? I shouldn’t go in there like this, seething and inner omega on high alert. But I’m stubborn, and I put in the effort to get dressed and make myself go on this pointless date, so I’m going to do it, goddamnit.
I lift my chin and head into the restaurant, and check in at the host stand. The beta working there tells me our table isn’t ready yet, and gestures over toward the bar area to indicate I should wait there.
I frown at the crowd of people sitting at the bar, really wishing I’d asked for a picture of my date. Not that they would’ve given it to me. They don’t want matches to make their first judgements based on appearances.
I pull out my phone and send a message to my date, letting him know I’m here. My stomach lurches when a dark-haired alpha in a suit turns toward me and waves. Ugh, no, he looks way too alpha finance bro for me. I know I shouldn’t judge based on appearances, but dammit.
I’m about to wave back when a leggy beta walks by me, grinning at him.
Oh.
Well, that would’ve been embarrassing if I’d waved back.
There’s not enough time to be relieved when my actual date catches my eye, looking up from his phone with a nervous smile.
My stomach twists again, though this time not unpleasantly.
Oh.