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I nod. "And she doesn't trust us enough to tell us."
"Not like we gave her much reason to."
"I can't stop thinking about her. It's not just the match… I mean, her smell, it's incredible. But it's her. She's like a fucking nesting doll, you know? So many layers, and I have no idea what's between them all. I want to know. I want to find out."
Out of everyone, I was the most upset about her going on a date with Stevens, but I refuse to conform to the alpha stereotype, and I remind Red that it's this type of situation we always swore we were above. We needed to put her needs first, and we didn't.
"I can keep it quiet. Can you?" I ask.
Red sighs, "You mean a relationship?"
"Yes. I don't want to let her think we can't handle her problems or whatever it is. She doesn't trust us. Which means she needs to get to know us. And I sure as fuck want to get to know her. The only way she'll let us do that right now is if we… accept that she's publically engaged to that fucking pack."
He growls, "I agree. Fuck," he drops his head in his hands, running his fingers through his straight, inky black hair. "I gotta admit, man. I'm worried about her. She keeps shit so buttoned-up there's no way to tell what's going on. She's a vault." Though worried, he sounds proud of her, too, her strength.
"Alright. So, we'll try to get her to come around. Maybe invite her to dinner here at the house?"
We discuss it a little more, not bothering to text Iggy, since Red will see him later this afternoon when he wakes up. It's not enough, it's not a solution, and I still don't have her in my arms, but I feel hopeful while I get ready for work, head downstairs, climb into my truck, and head to the club. I pull out my phone and text Imogen, grateful I've finally got her number, having already sent her good night and good morning texts, and tell her I'm thinking of her. She'd responded this morning to both, and even though the texts were simple, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong.
Saying what's up to Jess, who's manning the door, I pat his shoulder before slipping inside, the light from outside immediately swallowed by the club's darkness. The music bumps and the room is alive with an excitement I don't feel.
It's still early, and I find a couple of the servers behind the bar. Zach must be running late. Roxy, harried, bounds around the bar from the hallway, still wearing the velour tracksuit she wears over her set costume.
These dancers are strong. I noticed Imogen's body, even in the short few weeks she was here, harden and shape, definition in her abs and biceps cut and curve the more she practiced her inversions, her legs, and ass getting thicker, stronger. So it's no joke when Roxy's taloned fingers grip my shoulders.
"Ouch, woman, ease up," I joke, but kinda serious.
She lets go but doesn't apologize. "Chandra, Kay, and Franky and, like, half the dancers have the fucking flu. They all ate something for lunch yesterday that's making them… Well, I won't get into details. But we're short-staffed, bad, tonight. Zach's getting ready, he said he'll do two sets."
"He cool with that?" I ask, surprised. Zach doesn't mind dancing; he even likes it occasionally, but he's more comfortable behind the scenes.
Zach may be an omega, but he's not really submissive. Kind of like Ophelia and Roxy; it may be in their nature to be nurturing, but they don't downcast their eyes when an alpha speaks, they don't yes, and? like the OFA teaches. Imogen does it, but she's got an inner strength that's growing the more time she spends here around these strong-ass omegas.
And so, when people find out, or even suspect, that Zach is an omega—since he's always doused in scent-blockers—they have certain expectations about him as a dancer. That it'll be soft, somehow. The male alphas, the straight ones, who aren't fluid or bi or cross swords in their pack, mine included, to be honest, are always surprised to find themselves entranced when Zach dances. It's rare, he only fills in when we're short-staffed or if he's in the mood. That's when I can usually tell his heat's coming, but I'd never tell him I've noticed.
"Yeah, he's fine, and besides, I haven't asked him in a while. Imogen being around helped. I'm glad there aren't a ton of omegas in need of a job, but we might have to hire more betas soon." More than half the dancers are betas, but still, having even just a half-dozen omegas on payroll at any given time is more than some people see in one place outside of an OFA event in their lifetime.
Just hearing Imogen's name has me stuttering like an idiot, but I school my expression. I almost suggest Roxy call her to fill in, even though she quit, but I'm not sure how I feel about her being on stage now that I know she's my mate. I'm not sure how my alpha will handle it, considering how tenuous our connection is at this point.
Roxy runs off to prep the setlist. If she takes over more of the club, I'm gonna have to teach her to learn how to chill. Glad to be relieved of admin work for the night, I duck behind the bar to take over for Zach for the next couple hours.
It's busy, the place growing in bodies and noise, the further into the night we get, and I'm relieved of my worries while I focus on the tasks at hand, filling drinks, taking tickets from servers.
It doesn't matter how many pheromones are in here, how strong our air-descenters are, the moment she walks in, my attention narrows to just her, and I look up, everything else fading away. She could have a spotlight on her, the way she moves toward me. Fuck, she's so beautiful.
Her painted-red lips press together in that small smile she makes, and I hate that it's tentative, that she greets me like she wouldn't be welcome. It's fucking bullshit, and I'm such an asshole for making her think I wouldn't want everything, no matter what she was willing to give. I'd take it all, the good and the bad. I set down the drink I'm making to greet her properly, but Roxy comes out of nowhere, still screeching, thanking Imogen for coming in at the last minute.
Imogen nods seriously, swept up in Roxy's drama. I guess I should have expected to see her after Roxy telling me we were so short on dancers. I'm nervous, not sure how to act around her, worried I'll overreact when she gets on stage later, ashamed that I even have to debate with my alpha to find a reason not to let her up there. But I love that she takes our club, our work seriously and doesn't look down on this place just 'cause it's a strip club.
The place is packed, busier than it's been in a while. I text my brothers, telling them we could use the help. They don't respond right away, so I add, "Imogen's dancing" and they both reply instantly that they're on their way.
It's a fucking madhouse, and when the mouthwatering scent of cherries hits me, again, no matter how busy I am, everything else fades away. I look up before she greets me.
"Oh my goodness! I forgot about the blockers. I'm so sorry, I have some in my bag."
"Don't apologize, Im. You smell amazing. I don't love that every guy in here is going to be looking at and scenting you, but… goddamn." I lean in and drag my nose over her neck, letting my teeth scrape her skin, her scent blooming between us, stronger, laced with arousal.
It felt so natural to pull her close, that I'd forgotten all about our impasse last night.
