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“People don’t usually stand there while an Omega is being harassed,” I accuse, needing his attention back on me and not happy with my desire. “They either intervene or turn away.”
Orien’s head cocks to the side, as if he finds me fascinating. “Do you need people to intervene?”
“No.”
“But you want them to?”
I puff my cheeks out at the question. “I came here to look pretty and be seen. Beating up someone twice my size ruins the image.”
“I think you look pretty,” he says as he bends down, his nostrils flaring as he takes in my scent, “while beating up someone twice your size.”
Around us, the bar has returned to normal, conversation rising to fill the gap, attention redirecting.
No one stares, but quiet flashes of curiosity keep drifting my way. The band shifts to a slower song, the tempo dropping to match the settling atmosphere.
“You handled yourself well enough,” Orien continues. “Competence is far more attractive than being a damsel in distress.”
My foot starts tapping in annoyance. “Noted.”
“What’s your name, trouble?” he asks.
“Lee.”
Orien studies me for a beat. “Is that so?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Got a problem with that?”
“You don’t look like a Lee.”
My foot taps faster. “This is when the other person introduces themselves.”
“Not the time.” He bites his bottom lip as he takes me in again. “But come again, and we’ll see. I’m here most Thursdays.”
My nostrils flare with irritation. “I didn’t ask.”
“No, but you wanted to know.” He reaches out to flick the jewel dangling from my nape guard. “See you around, trouble.”
The brief contact sends a jolt through me as he turns and walks away, weaving between patrons with the same unhurried confidence he arrived with.
My eyes follow him until he disappears, my pulse racing. I resist the urge to chase after him and discover how much trouble I can get into in one night.
Instead, I return to the bar to finish my drink. The whiskey burns as it goes down, cutting through the lingering tension in my body.
When I signal for my tab, the bartender shakes his head. “It’s on the house.”
I search the lounge until I spot Orien, back at his spot near the stage. He lifts his chin in acknowledgment, but not invitation, so I leave a tip and head for the exit.
The night air hits me the moment I step outside, cool and biting after the warmth inside the lounge. The music fades behind me, replaced by the sounds of traffic, the wail of a siren blocks away, and laughter from down the street.
As I strike off toward the sidewalk, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I answer without a greeting. “I just left.”
“Did you make contact?” my brother asks.
“Yes.” My attention drifts back to the light bleeding through the lounge door as a laughing couple exits. “I have his attention.”
“Good.”
