“Shots!” the head of sales calls, and I don’t hesitate as I spin around to accept a little glass cup and knock back who-knows-what, numb to the burn.
I float on the music, having a fantastic time. Brilliant. “You’re brilliant!” I yell to the head of sales.
“No,you’rebrilliant,” he says back with a laugh. He’s just as drunk as I am. “We’re heading down to the dance floor,” he yells to me over the pulse of the music. “Want to join?”
I nod enthusiastically and follow him to the walkway by the table.
Morgan stands, and the head of sales whoops.
“Don’t get so excited,” she says, and even though she’s not yelling, every word is clear. “I’m just using the bathroom.”
I follow my group down to the dance floor, and we join the press of bodies. Standing at the table was alright, butthisis living. We become one organism together, letting the beat move us. I didn’t mean to get so drunk. But I like this feeling of being in my body, not caring what anyone thinks. It’s euphoric.
Eventually, I have no choice but to leave the dance floor to use the restroom, and I stop by the bar on the way back, planning on ordering another cocktail. Or maybe another shot.
“Oh hey cutie,” a woman says, and I see a swirl of brunette hair before hands close around my chest.
“I think you have me confused with someone,” I say, trying to gently wriggle free.
“No, you’re a handsome stranger,” she croons, breath smelling of gin.
Then her hand drops, groping my cock through my jeans, and I yelp. My body is frozen, brain struggling to process what’s happening. Fear lances through my chest—fear of the violation, and fear that others might thinkI’mthe aggressor if I push thiswoman away.
A grey manicure flashes by, and the woman’s weight is suddenly gone.
I spin, and Morgan has her by the chin, claws digging into the edge of the woman’s jaw.
The woman squeals and slaps at Morgan’s arm. “What the fuck, bitch?!”
A deep, threatening growl rumbles in Morgan’s chest. “Leave him the fuck alone.”
“I’m just being friendly!”
“No meansfucking no.”
“But I’m a girl, so it’s not like—”
“You don’t have to have a dick to be one.” The muscles in Morgan’s arm tense, and the other woman squeals as her weight lifts off the ground.
Other patrons turn and take wary steps back, but nobody dares confront the alpha.
After a deliberate, slow breath, Morgan drops the woman, lip pulling up with disgust.
The woman grabs her bleeding face as she falls back onto her feet. “I’m—I’m telling the manager!” She shoves aside other patrons as she storms off.
Morgan slides up to the bar next to me. “You okay?” There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness in her voice.
“Y-yeah.”
“Two waters,” she says to the bartender.
They slide over a moment later.
“Drink,” she says, and I obey. Even though the bar is slammed and I had to shove my way here only a couple of minutes ago, the other patrons give us a wide margin now.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Why?” There’s a fire in her eyes.
