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She nudges my shoulder. "Okay, none of that. I have to actually dance tonight." She giggles.
She didn't pull away, although she has her angel mask on. Maybe that's why she wears it here, so she has one place where she can be herself, however hidden.
I growl, dropping my head back, looking up at the ceiling. "You smell too fucking good, sweetness. And you look…" I bite my fist, and she laughs. At least she's wearing a bra, and with her mask—minus the wings, for the moment—she's a vision, but also a secret one. Maybe this won't be so hard after all.
The music changes, slows down nice and deep, echoing like a siren's song through the club. Zach's signature. No one else dances to it, and if you're a regular, you know what that beat means. I take advantage of the distraction, everyone's attention momentarily drawn to the stage—those who know what's coming are readying in anticipation, those who don't are wondering what all the fuss is about.
I catch up on drink tickets, happy to have Imogen back here beside me. She offers to help but admits she doesn't know how, and I tell her it's fine and to just chill.
But she keeps trying to help me, and I catch a look of determination in her eye, and I suspect she'll be working with Zach back here before I know it, teaching herself how to bartend.
She's pack now, a part of us, and this club is a part of us too. Which means it's hers. And Imogen takes care of her own. At least, she will, when we put all these nameless obstacles behind us and we can finally be together.
She wipes up after some spills, and I keep mixing, but after a few minutes, I notice she hasn't offered help in a few. I look over and see she's drawn to the stage, mouth gaped open.
"Should I be jealous?" I joke.
She snaps her jaw shut, and even in the dark, almost purple glow of the lights, I can see her blush. She shakes her head, but I cut off any apology, "Don't worry, he has that effect on everyone."
She looks back at Zach. Nearly his entire set, he's actually fully clothed. But he's just taken off his shirt, his baggy skater pants will come off last. He didn't change, he wears the same clothes behind the bar. Like he's telling everyone watching, it's his way or nothing. I'm straight, but even I can admit… damn. He's a good-lookin' guy.
I watch Imogen, whose mouth is open again, a faint scent of arousal in the air. It's not strong, and I'm not jealous. I like that she's turned on.
Zach's hand trails down his bare chest, pausing at his belt, thrusting his hips in time with the music, dipping low to the ground with his knees open. As soon as his fingers work the belt in an almost animalistic way, Imogen clears her throat and turns away. I can't help it, all the tension between us, the unknown, the distance we allowed the night before, for a moment, it disappears while I laugh at her, and she falls into my arms, burying her face in my chest in embarrassment.
"He's very pretty, but you're prettier," she mumbles into my t-shirt.
"I appreciate the lie," I muse.
Holding her close, I breathe her in, smelling the top of her hair. We let go, and I cup her cheeks and lean down, pressing my lips to hers in a quick kiss, my alpha howling that she let me.
She plays with one of my braids, giving it a gentle tug. "Who does your hair?"
I smirk, "I do, who else?"
"I don't know, but I enjoy picturing Red or Iggy helping you with it. It's maybe the messiest mini-braid I've ever seen, but with all your hair sort of knotted around it, there's something so primal about it..." She trails off, shivering, turned on by the lazy way I do my hair. The braids stay put, that's why I like 'em, but if they turn on my omega, I'll do it like this every day. "Anyway, don't ever let me braid your hair."
I laugh, "Why not?"
"Because it will be too perfect. I like it like this. Messy. Wild."
She smiles sadly, and I suspect we're talking about more than my hair. She winks, then ducks behind the bar, back to work.
We almost make it through the evening without incident. After Red and Iggy arrive, they have a hard time keeping their attention off of Imogen while she struts around the club in nothing more than a bikini and her mask and wings, and I have to keep reminding them not to hide her away in the office, it would upset her.
Zach works behind the bar between his sets, so I take advantage of the free time and seek out my pack mates, finding them out front hanging with Jess. I suspect they're doing the same as me, attempting to act chill when we feel anything but. At least I don't look so unhinged; Red looks confused, stuck somewhere between our conversation this morning, worrying about her, last night, upset with her, and right now, wanting to storm back into the club and pull her off stage.
Iggy's somewhat the same, though I can tell his penchant for violence is keyed up; not because of Imogen, but because of all this unspent energy and stress at the situation. It's out of his hands, he can't solve any problems with fighting or… well, maybe fucking. We'll see how our apology tour goes. Certainly not well if they go in there and don't let her dance, though.
"What are you laughing at?" Jess asks when I join him and my brothers.
"Nothin' man," I chuckle, leaning against the brick wall beside Red, with Iggy pacing beside Jess, who looks cool as a fuckin' cucumber. "Hey man, lemme ask you something."
"'Sup?"
"I know we've talked about it before, but… how does your alpha handle seeing Roxy on stage?"
Jess's gaze darts between the three of us. It takes a second before he busts out laughing. "Lemme guess. Imogen? I guess that heat went well, huh?"
