Page 2 of The Cheerleader

I hear laughter fading as whoever it is walks away. I rest my forehead against the cracked mirror.

The club’s alive outside this room. Bass thumping through the floorboards, shouts and howls from drunk shifters. It’s a show. A circus. And every night, I’m the goddamn ringmaster in a pleated skirt and knee-high socks shaking my pom-poms.

And yet ... part of me likes it. No, I don’t like it, I fucking love it.

Not the performing. Not the fakeness. But the power.

I may be an omega, but in here, I run the room, the entire damn world. I make Alphas beg with one wink. I control the heat of their gaze with the curve of a hip. They don't know what I am—they think I’m some beta with attitude—and that makes me feel safe. Safer than I’ve felt in years. But it is making me complacent and I need to keep my wits about me.

I lean back and stretch. The door creaks open.

“What the hell?” I grab for my kimono but it’s too late.

Abel’s already in the doorway. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. His eyes drag down my body like they have every right to. The heat in his gaze sends desire spiraling through my system.

I pull the kimono tight around my frame and glare at him. “Do you mind?”

He steps in and closes the door behind him. Just like that. Like he owns the space. Well, technically, he does.

“You didn’t finish your shift notes,” he says, dropping a clipboard onto the counter. “Next time I have to chase you down, I’ll dock your pay.”

My heart slams in my chest, hard enough I think he might hear it.

“What are you even doing back here? The owner doesn’t usually slum it up with the dancers.” I avoid the issue at hand. I fucking hate paperwork. I’m here to dance, not write notes.

He shrugs, walking around the room like he’s casing the place. “Maybe I wanted to make sure The Cheerleader was keeping her panties on tonight.”

Heat shoots up my spine. Not from embarrassment, from rage. He has no right to speak to me that way and I am quickly getting tired of his bullshit.

“You’re disgusting,” I hiss.

He turns to me. “You’re in my club, Juliet. Don’t forget that, little girl.”

“You may be my boss, but you are not my Alpha. What I do in my private time has fuck all to do with you.” The words are out of my mouth before I can reconsider what I am saying.

His nostrils flare. For a split-second, something wild flashes across his face. It’s gone so fast I almost think I imagined it. Almost.

He takes a step closer, and my breath catches. My body wants to submit. I want to bare my throat, drop to my knees, and let him have his way with me. But I clench my fists and fight back against the urge.

“Watch your mouth,” he says lowly, glaring at me. “I don’t care who your father is.”

“You say that, but he’s the reason you gave me a job.” I smirk.

“I gave you a job because you were desperate, and I’m not a monster,” he counters.

He could’ve fooled me. We stare at each other. The air between us feels like a live wire, buzzing and sharp. Then he turns and walks out, just as fast as he came in. No apology. No explanation. He’s just gone.

I wait until I hear the door click shut before I let out the breath I’ve been holding. My pulse is still racing and my skin feels too tight. The new patch isn’t kicking in fast enough, and I feel wrong, like the room is too small and the walls are pressing in.

Something’s coming. I don’t know what it is yet. But I know it’s got Abel’s name all over it.

As I’m packing up my things, the hallway lights flicker, just once, like a warning. I brush it off, but my skin prickles. Down the hall, I hear the click of boots. Heavy. Measured. Abel walks past my dressing room without a word. But he pauses. Just long enough to make sure I know he’s still there. Just long enough to remind me who owns this place. Just long enough to make my patch sting like it’s trying to peel itself off.

I press my fingers to the skin at my jaw, breathing slow. It’s fine.

I’m fine. Everything is fucking fine. I don’t care what kind of look he just gave me. I don’t care how deep his voice gets when he says my name. I don’t care that something in my blood reacts every time he’s close. Because he doesn’t know what I am. And if he ever finds out I’m screwed.

I may need to find a new job.

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