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A chorus of, “Thanks,” spreads through us. At least the rally didn’t go sideways.
Everyone heads back to the van, the tension from the day still buzzing in my veins. My mind whirs like a hard drive, processing and reprocessing the data from today’s events. I create mental flowcharts and decision trees, trying to map out the variables that make up the enigma called Logan. But no matter how I arrange the information, there’s always an error in the output. He’s proven himself capable, but my gut tells me there’s more to his story.
“Q, can we head straight for the venue? I don’t want to miss sound check,” Dash asks as he climbs into the van.
“Only if there are showers there,” I grumble, wiping sweat from my brow.
“Whole suite,” Dash answers.
“I fucking need it.” Zane slumps in the passenger seat. “What the hell did I feel through the bond about Logan?”
I groan. “About that…”
33
ARIA
Closing up the salon feels like shedding a heavy coat after a long, exhausting day. The broom in my hand moves almost on its own, sweeping away the remnants of the day’s hustle. My mind wanders, contemplating the quiet evening ahead, when Willow bursts through the door, leading with her butt because her hands are full of margaritas.
“I brought pregame margs!” Willow’s arrival is like a ray of sunshine piercing through the monotony of my closing routine. She has a pitcher of margaritas in one hand and salt-rimmed glasses in the other. Honestly, it’s the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my entire life.
“I think I love you,” I declare, the broom clattering to the floor. Who needs cleanliness when there’s tequila involved? “You’re officially my favorite person right now, and that’s not just the margarita talking…mostly.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Willow winks at me while setting the glasses down on the front desk. I’m closing up, and most everything is done. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Rude.” I swipe a glass and pour a marg. I take a sip and savor the tangy sweetness, the salt on the rim perfectly complementing the flavor. “This is divine, Willow, and yes, this is what I’m wearing. Why, is there a problem with my outfit?”
Willow eyes me up and down, her gaze lingering on my faded jeans and simple black T-shirt. “No, no problem at all. It’s just…well, I thought maybe you’d want to dress up a bit more for tonight. It is a special occasion, after all.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Special occasion? What are you talking about?”
Willow grins mischievously. “It’s opening night at the Red Door.” She blinks at me. “And besides, Silver Strings is playing.”
Guilt and embarrassment sweep through me. That has to be Dash’s band, and I never once asked what the actual band was called. I just…didn’t.
I suck as an attentive omega. Listen, I’d like to say I’ll totally work on it, but I’m being realistic here. I likely won’t.
I nearly choke on my margarita. “Fuck, I bet that’s Dash’s band.”
Willow sets her glass down and takes my hands in hers. “Aria, you’re brilliant and beautiful and talented. You’ve been working your ass off at this salon, and you deserve a night out to let loose and have some fun. If that means getting all dolled up to impress a certain boy, then so be it.”
I sigh, knowing Willow is right. I have been neglecting my social life in favor of long hours at the salon, and the thought of seeing Dash perform live does send a little thrill through me. He did say he is the lead singer and the guitarist.
“All right, all right, you’ve convinced me, but I’m going to need your help picking out an outfit. Hair is what it is.” A faded pink mess. I really just haven’t touched it since I initially dyed it hot pink a year ago, and somehow, by sheer stubbornness, the pink faded into a lovely shade I adore.
Willow squeals with delight, clapping her hands together. “Yes! Makeover time! Oh, Aria, we are going to make you look absolutely stunning. Also, I came prepared.”
“You did what?” I nearly choke on my drink all over again.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a cute little black dress, holding it up like it’s the Holy Grail. “Ta-da! I saw this and thought of you.”
I take the dress, holding it up against my body. “Willow…” I clear my throat and look at her like she’s crazy. It’s so small, like micro small.
If I bend over, it’ll be like I’m presenting myself to the whole club.
“Nope.” I shake my head and hand it back.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying. You have a rocking bod. I think you should try it on, but I brought options.” She pulls out another dress, this one longer, still black but more my style, not like I really have a style other than black, but it’s a shift dress and tolerable.
