Chapter 13
Ophelia
Distance makes the heart grow fonder.
That's what I'm told happens, anyway, but I wouldn't know—ever since that night they followed me, I've been paying closer attention and realized pretty quickly that I'm never alone. My omega loves this.
I love it, too. And, like every other complicated thing involving them, I hate that I love it.
Running late, I stuff a clean pair of short black booty shorts and a new pair of tights into my bag and run out the door. It takes me all of ten seconds to track down their SUV, Enzo in the driver's seat and Theo, surprisingly, in the passenger's.
My lips tug in amusement watching Theo talk animatedly with his hands with all the enthusiasm of a kid showing off his school project. Enzo notices me immediately, watching intensely with an unreadable expression. I doubt he's listening to a word Theo's said.
Typically, when I spot them, I make a point to flip my hair or do some other action to make a point that I don't care that they're there. Today, though, I'm late, so I march straight over.
Enzo's dark gaze never leaves me, and when I'm only steps away, Theo finally looks up. His laughter fades, and by the time his window rolls down, his expression has morphed into distrust.
He's stopped scowling at me, so that's something.
"Can we help you?" He smirks.
"Very funny. I need a ride." I peek around Theo to ask Enzo, "Do you mind driving me? I'm late for work."
His brows come together, responding with a single nod.
"Thank you," I tell him, climbing into the back. The easy energy from Theo has fallen away, leaving thick, unspent tension between us in the silence of the drive. Their scents mingle, and it takes every effort to pretend I don't notice. It's a short trip, thankfully, and when Enzo pulls into the alleyway behind Queenie's a few minutes later, I nearly gasp in the fresh, if not-so-clean air once I climb out.
Theo's window rolls down again. "You think that's bad? Trying sitting in a closed car with that wretched scent-block you're wearing. It really is awful, sweetheart."
I give him a full-teeth smile that I'm sure looks deranged, two middle fingers, then dart to the back entrance, Theo's laughter echoing behind me.
I hurry past half-naked dancers in various states of undress, stuffing my bag in my locker and getting dressed in record time. Cass gives me an amused albeit disapproving frown as I duck behind the bar and grab my tray.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm late," I tell Zach, one of the bartenders, when I accidentally knock into him, spilling the liquor bottle in his hands.
He shrugs, "No big. It's slow, anyway." He hooks a thumb behind him toward the tables scattered around the long catwalk stage and replaces the liquor I spilled.
I lift my eyebrows in surprise, because it feels packed. I pointedly look around, but Zach explains, "Two alpha parties. One celebrating their formation, the other got their courting acceptance from OFA."
"Ah," I offer a tight smile and start flipping through the ticket of drink orders while Zach fills my tray. Packs can be slow to form, typically made up of alphas and the occasional beta. Depending on sexual orientation and preferences, the alphas can be a mix of men and women, though female alphas are extremely rare, even more than male omegas. Zach is a case in point, the only male omega who works here. He's a bartender most of the time, but on the rare occasions he takes the stage, everyone in the room swoons. He's dances like I imagine he fucks. It's beautiful. And hot as hell.
I'm told it's an exciting day when a pack officially forms. Some alphas build bonds as they grow up, like Dante Pack. Others add members who click as they get older, and though it's not uncommon to add another member later in life, the feeling of formation, when everything clicks, is said to be a profound experience.
Definitely something to celebrate.
I decide to deal with them first, holding my tray with both hands because I may be a server, but I'm clumsy as fuck, and make my way toward one of the VIP booths beside the left side of the stage.
"Gentleman," I greet, setting the tray on the table. Most servers would balance with one hand and artfully pass out each drink with flourish and flair. I pick up each drink and call out, "Who had the whiskey coke?"
They smile and flirt while I pass out drinks, their smiles big and infectious. I recognize one of the guys as someone I went to high school with, a couple of years younger than me, and we make small talk while he pretends not to stare at my bare neck and cleavage.
My scent-blocker might turn off the senses, but this guy remembers me and knows I'm an omega—an unbonded one at that—so I pass out all the drinks, tell him to enjoy the show, and head back to the bar.
Francesca is on stage, Franky, as we call her, and her style of dancing reflects her personality perfectly. Vibrant, wild, silly, sweet. She bounces around like a gymnast, running toward the pole, gripping it with one hand and swinging her body around, legs wrapping in a grip and letting her upper body drip down like a wilting flower. Franky's blind as a bat and, because of a congenital disability, has almost no sense of smell despite being an omega. She's also one of my favorite people here.
There's no formal dress code at Queenie's, and aside from the back rooms, where I rarely deliver drinks, there's a strict panties-on policy, but that's as far as the rule goes.
Since I don't dance, I always wear my shorts, though I suppose they're short enough to classify as a bathing suit bottom. Franky matches me in height but is more pixie-like in the frame; while I'm an apple-bottom babe with a small waist and equally small tits, I like to cover up more. Franky, though, she likes to prance around in strings. G-strings, V-strings, Y-strings, strappy string triangle bras, if she's even wearing one.
Her giant smile leaves nothing to the imagination, no mystery or brooding. She's a joy to work with, and the atmosphere in Queenie's is fun as hell whenever she's on stage.
The other dancers, like Roxy or Chandra and occasionally Zach, though he dances very rarely, are more dark and serious, like it's an art form. But Franky dances like she's at a party, and all her friends are there.
I collect the drinks for the second large party and make my way to the VIP booths on the opposite side of the stage.
Franky captures their collective attention while I carefully pass out each drink. When my tray is almost empty, she prances over and leans down, giving the guys a close-up of her see-through triangle bra top.
"Phe-Phe, can you please get me a water?" She blinks dramatically, making me laugh.
"Yeah, Franky, of course. I'll put it there," I point to a small stool at the far corner of the stage. The guys call out and complain when Franky dances away, and, unfortunately, that brings their attention to me.
"Alright, anything else for now?" I ask.
"How about a lap dance?" One of the guys asks. He's big and meaty in the arms and shoulders, making his head seem small for his frame.
"I heard you guys just got approved to court at the OFA?" I change the subject. "Congratulations."
"Thanks, sweetheart. Are you a beta? I heard this place has some omegas around, but they all wear scent-blockers. And you," he points directly at me, "are wearing scent-blockers. So, how 'bout it, honey, how 'bout a private dance?"
"She's taken," a voice growls from behind me.
I flip around in surprise, "What the hell are you doing in here? I'm working. Go away."
"She doesn't sound taken. She's not bonded, either. So how about you take your fancy fucking suit and get on out of here," the meaty guy comes to a stand.
I roll my eyes. "I'll be back when your drinks are low," I tell the group, grabbing Theo's pompous fucking tie, dragging him toward the bar. I let go so I can duck below to grab Franky a water bottle.
"Dude, I told you guys to stop coming here while I'm working. Besides, what are you all up in arms for? Didn't you literally just tell me I smell like shit?"
"He did what?" Cass snaps from the edge of the bar. Zach's busy serving drinks on the opposite side, while Cass stands by the employee door, a few feet from Theo, with his arms crossed and a look of disgust on his face.
He turns to Theo, "You told your scent-matched omega she smelled like shit?"
Theo snickers, "Have you smelled her? It's terrible."
Cass's straight, serious face drops, and he starts laughing. "It's really bad. Her natural scent blends with the block, making it so much worse when she wears it. I don't get it."
"Alright, alright, let's all just stop making fun of me, okay?" I growl, ducking back under the bar to drop off Franky's water.
When I get back, Cass and Theo are hamming it up. Fortunately they've moved on from making fun of me, but I don't like this turn of events. I don't like it one bit. They do not need to be friends.
I work with Zach, serving drinks for people waiting at the bar between refilling my drink tray, making the rounds. It gets busier but not busy enough to distract me from Theo who pretends not to watch me all night.
It's exhausting.
By the end of the night, despite Franky's sunny disposition and enthusiastic energy, I'm cranky, tired and my feet hurt.
"What's wrong with you," Theo says. He doesn't ask, not with any inflection or concern. It's a statement, like, what's wrong now, like I'm the dramatic one.
I pout. I feel hot. I've been feeling hot for a few days. Ever since that night I was surrounded by all four of them, and I cried, letting my guard down. I really don't have time for a heat spike. Though I've not had a full heat since that one time years ago, mini spikes happen.
I keep thinking about Alma—the dreamer Alma, who keeps giving me advice in my head, annoyed on behalf of my alphas for not letting them court me or giving in to whatever the hell is happening between us. It's the weirdest courtship I've ever heard of.
Don't alphas shower their omega in gifts? Aren't they at least nice to them?
I glare at Theo, "Why are you still here?"
"Just wondering when you're done ignoring us so we can all move forward. This dance is getting old."
"This dance?"
"Oh, sweetheart, you know what I mean. You love that we're chasing you."
"Is that what you've been doing?"
He rears back, "Do you think I enjoy not sleeping? Or getting laid?"
"You are such a dick. Why are you here? I mean, seriously. Why not one of your brothers, one who actually likes me? Where's Asher or Enzo?"
He laughs. "Oh, honey—"
"Stop with the endearments; they are tacky and not as attractive as you think they are."
"Sully," he continues as if I didn't chastise him, "has convinced Asher to take a break from stalking you; it was affecting his work. Enzo, well, there's no stopping him from stalking you, but I left him in the car out front. He's probably staring a hole in the back door waiting for you to emerge."
"And you? If you want to get laid so badly, go find yourself a beta. I hear you're quite the lady's man, and I'm sure you'd have no trouble at all finding a bedmate."
I pretend the words don't make my skin burn or my heart ache. And I hate that Theo is an asshole, but because he smells so fucking good, my omega really doesn't care he's been a jerk. That the idea of him being with someone else—anyone else—is something I might never recover from.
It's just biology, I remind myself. Our bodies are compatible, that's all.
When I realize Theo hasn't responded, I look up. He's staring at me, his expression only marginally softer than before. I feel like shrinking beneath his calculating gaze.
"What?" I ask tiredly.
"You know there's no one else, right? There never will be, never again. It just occurred to me… I don't think you know that."
I shrug one shoulder, "It doesn't matter anyway. I've told you all, I don't want—" I almost say a pack, but that's a lie. I haven't been against finding a pack. I've been against OFA supporters. "I don't want to be with a pack that is so careless with the rights of omegas."
"We're not perfect, Ophelia, but neither are you. Why can't we learn from each other?"
It's the most sincere he's been. And to be honest, I don't have an answer for him. So, I poke and prod because I do not like this feeling of vulnerability. "Tonight, when I go home, I'm going to take my birth control pill. And in three days, my weekly dose of heat suppressants. Is that what you want? To be with someone who will never give you what you want, what all alphas want?"
"How do you know what we want? You've never asked."
Dammit. Of all people, why did I have to have this conversation with Theo? "Fine. Do you want kids?"
"Sure. Someday. Not anytime soon."
Okay, well, that's not that surprising. Not all packs get pregnant right away. But all packs are obsessed with heat. A nonstop fuck fest for days, one sanctioned by society in that they can shirk all social and work responsibilities because it's expected of them, therefore celebrated, revered, and certainly something to look forward to.
"And heat? You're telling me you'd be fine with it if you never got to experience one?"
"Who says I haven't?" He gives me an evil smirk, and I have the sudden, violent, extreme urge to punch him in the nuts. I stand abruptly, and when he grabs my arm, I rip it away. Before I can get too far, he pulls me in front of him, gripping my arms.
"I've lived a life before you, Ophelia, just like you have, and I'm not judging you for yours. You get your obsessive, virginal saint in Enzo. Your unconditional love and support with Asher, your protection and care with Sully. Me? I'm here to push you. To open you up. I don't give a fuck if you stay on heat suppressants; I'm not worried about that. Because someday, when you finally stop being stubborn and give in to what you know deep in your heart is the right thing and join our pack, your fucking scent-matched pack," he emphasizes, "you won't care about heat suppressants. We'll make sure you want us so badly you'll do anything to clear that shit out of your system as fast as possible."
He lets go of my arm, and without warning, my weak knees wobble. I stand a little taller, ready to leave this conversation, but as I pull away, he adds, "And Ophelia? Don't think I can't tell how warm you are to the touch. Heat suppressants only work so well. Now that we've found you, good luck keeping that need between your legs at bay."
With that, he winks and strolls out the fucking door.