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A smirk curls my lips as I reminisce about her threat to give me a haircut I’d never forget, but the mullet now feels like a rebellious badge of honor instead of a disaster—a symbol of the electric tension between us since I first stepped into her domain.
It also looks amazing. Even though I know her intention was to make it the worst haircut ever, like those of the nineties, she gave it a modern flair, and I actually love it. I’m never changing my haircut ever again.
The aroma of sizzling meat and spices wafts from the taco stand, pulling me out of my thoughts. The warm scent wraps around me, mingling with the city’s cacophony of honking horns and distant sirens. The sizzle of meat hitting the grill sends a spray of tiny droplets into the air, catching the sunlight like miniature fireworks. I inhale deeply, savoring the blend of cumin, chili, and lime that tickles my nostrils. The vendor’s calloused hands move with practiced efficiency, chopping cilantro with a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that syncs with the rumble of passing traffic.
I mentally touch on my pack, feeling a sense of comfort and belonging as their bonds rumble back to me. We aren’t just colleagues, we are brothers. But sometimes, in quiet moments like these, I wonder about my place in it all. Am I truly fulfilling my role? The others seem so sure of themselves—Malachi’s leadership, Quinn’s tech genius, Zane’s intensity. And me? I’m the joker, the musician, the free spirit. Is that enough? The doubt gnaws at me, even as I feel the warmth of their presence in my mind. I push the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. Maybe with Aria, I can find a new purpose, a way to prove my worth not just to the pack, but to myself.
As I place my order at the food truck, my mouth starts to water. The vendor’s practiced movements, the hiss of the grill, and the sight of freshly made churros add to the sensory overload. For a moment, I’m transported back to my days before Quinn came back for me, when the smell of street food was often my only comfort in unfamiliar cities. The memory stirs a familiar ache of loneliness that I quickly push aside, plastering on my usual carefree grin. It’s easier to be the charming, flirtatious Dash that everyone expects than to confront the vulnerability lurking beneath the surface. I add a generous serving of warm, crispy churros to my meal, the sweet scent blending perfectly with the savory tacos.
Aria is about to experience something she never expected, and not just with the tacos. I want her, and my pack wants her, except maybe Zane, but I’ll work on him. It’s the first time we are even interested in a woman who isn’t an omega, and there is something unexpectedly liberating about it. With betas, there’s no biological imperative driving us, no overwhelming instinct to claim and mark. It’s just us—raw attraction and genuine connection. The lack of pressure is refreshing, but it also terrifies me. Without the excuse of biology, every interaction feels more meaningful, more real. And that vulnerability? It’s both thrilling and terrifying.
She is ours, she just doesn’t know it yet, and I’ll do anything to convince her of it.
I wonder if it’s too soon to offer her a bonding bite. Yeah, totally too soon. Not to mention how rare and complicated alpha-beta bonds are. But with Aria, I’m willing to break all the rules.
I’ve noticed the way her eyes betray a hint of hesitation whenever I get too close to uncovering any aspect of her truth. She’s clearly running from someone or something, but I know better than to push her too much too quickly. Trust is delicate, and I am determined not to shatter it.
Besides, with the four of us actually working as bodyguards, she is safest with us. I just need to show her that we have her back.
As I wait for the food, my mind wanders back to Aria. Images of her keep popping up in my head, drawing me in with a magnetic force. I can’t deny the pull she has on me. It’s a Cupid’s chokehold, and I want her to suffocate me with those little hands of hers.
“Well, if it isn’t the hero from the bar,” Logan says, a playful smile on his lips as he approaches the taco truck.
I look up, surprised to see him just as I grab my bag from the vendor. “Logan! Didn’t expect to see you at a place like this.”
He chuckles, ordering his own tacos before turning back to me. “Everyone has to eat, right?”
“True enough,” I reply. “So what brings you here? Besides the obvious.”
“Just finished up an interview nearby,” Logan says, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Thought I’d grab some food and maybe run into a familiar face. Lucky me, huh?”
I grin, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with him. “Well, you found one. How’s the job hunt going?”
Logan drops his head back, his eyes closing as he groans almost in defeat.
“That good?” I laugh at his obvious distress.
“It’s impossible to find a job that pays a living wage ya know.” He looks back at me, his head tilted to the side. “What do you do?”
“Not as much as you’d think,” I tease. “Our pack lead owns Puritan City Alpha Security.”
“Like what you guys did at that rally?” he questions.
“Yeah, right now with alpha and omega dynamics, a lot of our jobs are protecting politicians.” An idea pops in my head. “You should apply.”
“Maybe, I’ll keep it in mind.” His reply is almost absentminded, as though he thought about it then quickly thought about something else.
“What happened with the journalism gig?” At least that is why he was at the rally.
“Eh.” He shrugs. “It was just something to pass the time. Not really my calling, you know?”
“Yeah I get it,” I reply, feeling a connection to his words. I love working with Malachi and the guys, but it really isn’t my calling. “Speaking of which, any chance you’ll be at the Red Door on Friday?”
Logan’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Might be. Why, you planning to serenade someone?”
“Could be,” I say with a wink. “You should come by. It’ll be a good time.”
“I just might take you up on that,” Logan says, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. “I have to say, Dash, you’re an interesting guy.”
