I've had far too many beers to be driving. At least seven, maybe nine. Lost count somewhere around the fourth pint when that asshole Jasper started running his mouth about Reverie. The alcohol is making everything feel loose and warm and slightly fuzzy around the edges, but not enough to dull the irritation burning in my chest.
Which is exactly why Grayson is behind the wheel, navigating the dark country roads with the kind of careful precision he uses for everything. Steady hands on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead, Christmas music playing softly on the radiobecause he's the only one of us who actually enjoys holiday music.
Theo is in the back, his head resting against the seat like he can barely keep it upright. But I know better. I know he's simply trying to ignore my conversation, pretending to be too tired or too drunk to engage, which is even more irritating because we've known the fucker long enough to know he regrets absolutely nothing.
He's probably smirking in his head right now. That infuriating internal smirk that says 'I got exactly what I wanted and you're just mad about it.' And the worst part? He's right. I am mad about it.
This fucker probably had the best sex he's had in months. Maybe years, knowing Theo's track record with emotional unavailability and refusing to let anyone close enough to actually fuck properly. The man treats intimacy like a combat mission—get in, complete the objective, get out, minimal emotional involvement. And normally I wouldn't bat an eye at Theo getting laid. Good for him. About damn time someone cracked through that military-grade emotional armor. But deep down? Deep down I'm jealous as fuck.
Because Reverie was the hottest Ms. Claus in that bar. Hell, she was probably the only Omega who caught everyone's eye the moment we walked through that door into the Christmas chaos.
I could see it the second we arrived—the way people watched her move through the crowd with that tray of drinks balanced perfectly on one hand, her other hand steadying glasses with practiced ease. The way her silver wig caught the Christmas lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, making her look like some kind of festive angel or a snow queen who'd wandered into a small-town bar by accident and decided to stay.
The way she laughed at customers' jokes—that genuine, bubbly laugh that wasn't forced or fake or the customer-servicelaugh most servers use. Real laughter that made you want to be the one making her laugh like that. Made you want to be the reason for that joy.
She was serving drinks and yet drawing everyone's attention so effortlessly. Not trying to be the center of attention—not putting on a show or flaunting—just naturally magnetic in that way some Omegas are. The kind that makes Alphas sit up straighter and pay attention. Makes Betas lean in closer hoping for a smile. Makes everyone in the room aware of her presence without her having to demand it.
And her scent—even through the overwhelming bar smells of spilled beer and smoke and way too many competing pheromones from drunk patrons—I could catch hints of it when she passed close enough. Vanilla buttercream that made my mouth water. Caramel that was rich and sweet. Something else underneath—citrus maybe, or that fresh winter-snow smell that some Omegas have. The kind of scent that makes your hindbrain sit up and pay very close attention.
That attention only spiked when she was sitting on Theo's lap, looking as if that's exactly where she belonged. Like she'd been made to fit there, perfectly sized and positioned. The way she blushed when he touched her. The way her body leaned into his without conscious thought.
And when they kissed?—
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
It was the hottest shit I've ever watched in my entire thirty years on this earth. And I've watched a lot of shit. Seen things online in my younger, more experimental days. Seen things in person at parties that would make most vanilla people blush and clutch their pearls. Participated in things that I'm not ashamed of but definitely don't talk about in polite company.
But watching Theo kiss Reverie in the middle of that crowded bar, claiming her like he had every right to, watching her meltinto it like she'd been waiting her whole life for exactly that kiss from exactly that Alpha?—
I got hard so fast I thought I was going to embarrass myself right there in front of everyone. My jeans suddenly way too tight, my cock pressing uncomfortably against the zipper, my body responding to the sight like I was the one doing the kissing. Like I could taste her through Theo. Like I was experiencing it by proxy and it still wasn't enough.
And it was only the idea of any other Alpha daring to touch her—the thought of Jasper or any of his asshole friends trying to claim what was so clearly ours, trying to put their hands on her after talking all that shit—that shook me out of my arousal-induced haze enough to actually function. To remember why we were there. To focus on the mission instead of the distraction.
So am I annoyed that Theo got to fuck her senseless in the supply closet while Grayson and I handled the dirty work? While we dealt with Jasper in the back alley behind the bar, teaching him exactly what happens when you disrespect an Omega—any Omega, but especially one we've claimed—in our territory?
Absolutely yes. One hundred percent yes. We did the actual dirty work—literally got our knuckles bloody and bruised beating the absolute fuckery out of Jasper for talking shit about Reverie. For calling her fat and cringe and acting like she was worthless. For treating her like garbage when she's clearly fucking gold.
And we never got to say goodbye to Reverie because by the time we came back in—knuckles bleeding, Jasper and his friends run out of town with their tails between their legs—her boss Marcus had let her go home early since the rush had calmed down and she'd more than earned her pay for the night.
So Theo got the girl and the orgasm, while Grayson and I got the violence and the cleanup. Not exactly a fair distribution of labor.
And now, apparently, Theo has her number. Her actual phone number. The direct line to the gorgeous Omega who smells like Christmas desserts and looks like every wet dream I've had for the past month rolled into one silver-wigged package.
And the fucker is keeping it hostage.
"If you're just jealous," Theo mutters from the backseat, his voice rough and lazy, "just say that."
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest like a petulant child. "Yes. I'm fucking jealous. Happy now?"
"Too bad then," he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice even though I can't see his face.
Asshole.
Grayson clears his throat from the driver's seat, always the peacemaker. "Maybe he wants to call and make sure she got home safe? It's late. She was working. Small town, but still."
"I can easily do that," Theo replies, still not moving from his reclined position.
I twist in my seat to glare at the backseat properly. "And how are you gonna fucking do that? Stalk her?"
