Chapter 8 A Night in Heaven’s #2
“Less than that,” I said and patted his shoulder in a conciliatory manner. “Don’t take it hard now, you’re good-looking for a man, I’m sure there’s a lovely straight woman out there for you,” I said jokingly, playing along with his dramatic pout.
“You should be my wingwoman,” he said excitedly.
“Sure,” I said, setting my empty bottle on the bar. I was feeling the buzz.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“Like you need any help, and what help would I be anyway?” I said.
“It hasn’t exactly been open season the last couple of years.
I went from the most eligible bachelor. The Lycan People magazine called me ‘The Prince of Sandstorm.’” He turned to me and half-assed waved his hand and did a little bow like he was royal.
“Now I’m the disappointment of Sandstorm.
From a full roster to crickets. I was humbled so fast,” he said, catching a bartender’s attention, pointing between my empty bottle and his empty glass, and giving a thumbs up. “Another?” he asked.
“Maybe the last for me; I’m feeling a buzz,” I answered.
“You weren’t the problem,” I said, turning as the bartender set the new drinks down.
Darren made a disagreeing huff before picking up his glass.
“It’s true, I mean, I’ve seen you around for what? The past two and a half years?” I asked.
“I had to find something to distract myself,” he said, explaining why he had been as much a regular as Ashford at the poker table.
“I’m saying I’ve seen how you behave when it’s just you and other men. You’re not a bully, you don’t throw your standing or money around, and I’ve never seen you put your hands on any of the waitresses. We’ve been talking for a while now; you’re kind of charming, good-natured—”
“Are you sure my chances are less than zero?” he interrupted.
“And so funny,” I dragged out sarcastically. “What I’m saying is that you weren’t the problem. There’s nothing surface-level that’s ick-giving, you know, other than the whole penis thing.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.
“I’m rather fond of my penis thing,” he joked.
“Gross.” I took a drink from my bottle. “Point being, anyone who disappeared when your title changed wasn’t interested in you for you. You’ve been hanging around the wrong people. You need to start interacting with the common classes, your Royal Highness.” I laughed at my own joke.
“No, see, this is why you should be my wingwoman. You’re a woman, and you understand all the social stuff; you’ve got to, right?” he asked.
“Survival essential,” I toasted. He clicked his glass with mine.
“And you’re funny. Which makes me look funny by merit of being in your company. It’s perfect,” he said. “Come on. I’ll make it worth your while. It’s been too long since I’ve even gotten a number,” he pleaded.
I turned from the bar with my cider in hand and took a drink, shaking my head. I wouldn’t be his wingwoman; it was a ridiculous idea.
I found Cole instantly. She had her arm over the top of the booth she sat at and behind the shoulders of a new woman at the table. She was blonde, hair up and perfectly messy, dark eye makeup, tight bralette, turned toward Cole, her hand with perfectly manicured nails on Cole’s arm.
Cole glanced up and met my eyes before turning her attention back to the blonde.
I turned back to Darren.
“I’m guessing if you want me to be your wingwoman, you’re not interested in any alphas?” I asked.
“I’m not that elevated; don’t think my ego could handle it,” he admitted a little too freely.
I laughed.
“Do you feel like it’s easier speaking to me because I’m an omega?” I asked him.
“I think that has something to do with it, yeah. That’s fucked up; I’m sorry,” he apologised.
“Don’t worry about it. I get it. Same for me,” I told him.
“The Goddess wanted us to be friends,” he said, and I tilted my head. Was he religious? “I’m just saying, it seems a little like fate that we’d be so similar and so different.”
“It does seem a little fatey,” I agreed. I hadn’t spoken so easily and freely with anyone in years.
“Okay, so how do you want to do this?” I asked.
He turned to face the room with me.
“About two o’clock,” he said. I turned slightly, hating how my eyes caught Cole and the woman. I took another drink until I saw who he wanted me to see. A group of four, early twenties, excitable; I could hear their laughter from the bar.
“Straight into the fire?” I asked.
“I like the burn,” he joked and finished his pint, setting it on the bar behind him.
“A masochist,” I said.
“Who doesn’t like a spanking?” he joked and stepped away from the bar.
I downed what was left of my cider, leaving the bottle on the bar, and followed him.
“So how do we open this?” he asked as we slowly made our way across the bar, dodging drinks, bodies, and chairs.
I could see that they were standing in front of a karaoke machine that had been set up for later.
“I don’t know, this is my first time wingwomaning,” I said, a little flustered.
“We have to say something to start a conversation; we can’t just stand and stare at them,” he replied.
I laughed as I pictured the absurd situation if we did.
“Ask if they’ve chosen a song yet or something,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“They’re standing in front of the karaoke. We need to know if it’s even worth your time. If they’re interested in answering, we keep the conversation going,” I said, pulling myself together to come up with a plan.
We walked up, right into the middle of the group. Darren reached between two of them to pick up a clipboard with a pen attached by tape and string.
“What are you signed up for, ladies?” Darren said.
I resisted the urge to cringe. The way he delivered it. The way he said “ladies” was sleazy and dorky all at the same time.
“Sorry?” the tall brunette of the group asked. She wore a shimmering emerald-green top that complemented the thin gold jewellery she wore. She was slim but toned. Out of Darren’s league, for sure.
“Karaoke; we’re signing up,” he answered.
“You’re signing up,” I corrected. Darren smiled.
“So, what’s your favourite song?” he continued as he wrote on the clipboard. I saw her smile in amusement, and thought Darren maybe just needed his hand held to make the approach.
“Oh,” a redhead with ruby red cheeks, I suspected as a side effect of drinking, gasped. “It’s you,” she continued when I turned to her.
“Have we met?” I asked, feigning ignorance. I was well aware that I was news within Pack Sandstorm circles, likely outside of Sandstorm as well. Cole taking me from Ashford wasn’t a subtle thing. “Or are you shocked to see an omega?” I asked after a pause that was a beat too long.
“Oh, no, sorry, I’m so awkward,” she said, laughing. “I’m Monika, jeez, sorry.”
“I’m Harriet, and this is Darren,” I said, introducing us.
“Hi,” Darren said.
“I’m Josie,” the model of a woman that Darren clearly admired, introduced herself. “You’ve met Monika, this is Iona—”
“You’re pretty big news around here,” Iona said. She had a curly pixie cut and was in a blue bodice top and light jeans that just touched her hips.
“And this is Chrissy,” Josie continued, and the last of the group, a brunette with a brown vest top and long denim skirt, waved and shifted on her feet.
“I need a drink; anyone want…” The unfinished question lingered for a moment before Monika answered.
“Yeah, let me come with,” Monika said, linking arms with Chrissy and making their way slowly toward the bar.
Heaven’s Bar was filling up now. It was busy before, but now it was nearly uncomfortable.
I couldn’t find Cole in the crowd.
“Looking for someone?” Iona asked, distracting me. A glance at Darren showed him and Josie in conversation. She touched his arm.
“No,” I answered, turning to Iona.
“You didn’t come here with anyone?” she asked.
“I’m with Darren,” I said.
She looked to Darren and Josie, and back to me.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” she said.
“As friends,” I replied.
She nodded and smiled.
“I think our friends have ditched us,” Iona said.
I watched as Darren led Josie to a table while they chatted.
“Looks that way,” I said.
“Want to get a drink together?” she asked.
I scanned the room again and this time found Cole, her hand somewhere under the table, body turned toward the blonde.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Iona smiled and turned as she walked past me, holding her hand out.
I took her hand and allowed her to lead me through the crowd.
At the bar, she pushed her way into a space, and I watched as she demanded the attention of an overrun bartender after she turned and pulled me closer to the bar.
“Shots?” I asked, two shot glasses of clear liquid in front of us.
“Not your thing?” she asked.
I heard what sounded like Cole’s laughter across the bar, somehow making its way to my ears, cutting through all the noise.
I reached past her and grabbed a shot glass, downing the burning liquid.
“Whoa, yeah!” Iona cheered and took the other glass, downing it similarly.
She called for two more and turned to me.
“Is the rumour true?” she asked.
“What rumours?” I asked as the bartender poured two more shots.
“That you’re Colette Sandstorm’s plaything?” she asked.
I reached forward and took the second shot.
“Where did you hear that?” I asked after downing the shot and laughing.
“I should have known it was horseshit when I heard it,” she said and drank her shot.
I stumbled a little where I stood, catching myself against the bar.
“Why should you have known?” I asked.
“Don’t take it personally, but you’re not her type,” Iona told me.
“And you know her type?” I asked, looking Iona over, still trying to decide what I made of her.
“Don’t take it personally,” she said and waved the bartender over for two more. “She just prefers them taller and blonder. Everyone knows that.”
I downed the shot.