“There’s my pretty Little Rose.” Atlas gives me a beaming smile as I take the barstool in front of him.
“Stop it,” I grumble, my cheeks growing two shades brighter at the stupid nickname he loves to tease me with.
When I was brought to Gideon’s mansion, I was asked what my name was. Out of fear of the possibility of them sending me back to my stepfathers, I gave them a fake name.
Sleeping Beauty was something my mother would read to me every night, a movie we would watch together all the time as a kid. It was the only good memory I had with her before life went to shit.
I’ve always loved the name Briar, finding it simple but pretty. So instead of telling them my real name, I replied with Briar. And from that day on, that's who I’ve been. Briar.
It wasn’t until we started working on Widows Peak that I needed a last name. Lark helped me create a fake ID and I looked at a list of possible last names and chose Davis. Not sure why, I just liked it.
Anyways, one day I got really drunk and spilled my love for not only Disney movies to Atlas, but especially Sleeping Beauty.
Ever since then, he’s called me his Little Rose, or his pretty Little Rose or when I’m in a bad mood, his prickly Little Rose.
I act like I hate it, but in reality I love it. Possibly a little too much. It doesn’t help the stupid crush I have on this man.
I’ve never had feelings for another person. Not until I met Atlas. Sometimes this crush feels more like an obsession, and I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to deny myself the chance to be with him.
I’m an omega. I have needs. It’s built into me. And as each month goes by, I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind and this man in front of me might be the person who can save me.
If I let him.
“Never,” he winks, making my stomach flip flop and the butterflies loose in my stomach. “Cranberry vodka spritzer?”
I nod, “Please.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I watch him work on making me a drink. Every second my attention stays fixed on him, I risk the chance of this whole damn place smelling of lavender rather than the fruity body spray it normally does.
“Thanks,” I tell him as he slides the drink over my way.
“Of course,” he nods, then leans against the bar, bringing his face closer to me. Fuck, I can smell him. Musky and manly. I still haven’t been able to figure out if that's his scent, or just his cologne. I could ask him, but that leaves room for awkwardness and I don’t need him wondering why I want to know what he smells like.
“So, what brings you here tonight?” he asks.
“The girls, like always,” I grin.
“Yeah?” he laughs.
“What can I say, I enjoy the beauty of a woman,” I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “Don’t you?”
Being the owner of a strip club, Atlas is around half naked women all the time. But he doesn't see it like that. These girls are like his family, his sisters. He’s made that known a few times over the years.
The Rusty Pipe is in some ways similar to Widows Peak. Our town is a safe place for omegas to live their lives, while this club is a safe place for the women to do their job and not be sexually harassed. They’re treated with respect by not only the staff, but customers.
And if you disrespect someone, you’re dealt with.
The first time I watched Atlas toss some scumbag out on his ass for making nasty remarks to one of the dancers, I nearly came in my pants.
I thought seeing him in an aggressive way would upset me, but I knew what he was like, that he wouldn’t be rough with a woman, and only was with men when need be.
“Depends on the woman.” His gaze bores into mine and fuck, did it get hotter in here?
Seeming to know how he affects me, he lets out a deliciously sexy chuckle before pushing off the counter to help a customer.
For the next hour I talk to Atlas on and off, sneaking glances when he’s not looking. It gets to the point where I need to excuse myself to get some fresh air.
“Leaving already?” Atlas asks as I get up from the stool.
