Page 10 of Follow the Rhythm
‘Can I come over soon? See those boots in person?’
‘Enjoy your work thing,’I sent back, right as Austin knocked on my door. They were wearing a cropped vest top that showed off their top surgery scars and high-waisted black pants, and they'd slicked their red hair back from their forehead with some kind of shiny pomade.
“Is that a hickey?” Austin said when I let them in, homing in on my neck.
“Fuck,” I whispered and hurried back to the mirror. I swiped some concealer over the bruise peeking above the collar, but it didn’t hide it completely.
Austin pulled the lace down to see my neck. “Holy shit, did you get mauled? Please tell me you reported this guy,” they said, wide-eyed.
I blushed and batted their hand away. “It was consensual,” I said primly. “And also none of your business.”
Austin goggled at me. “Since when do you like being marked?”
“None of your business!” I trilled and sprayed myself with a shocking amount of descenter. Since I’d just had my heat, my scent was at its calmest, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. “Now, let’s get this over with. Am I overdressed for your role-playing game party? Mixology class for Lord of the Rings-themed cocktails?”
“You’re never going to guess, so I’d just stop trying,” they said and followed me out the door.
We arrived at a seedy-looking club that, since it was in one of the trendiest neighborhoods of the city, was actually probably owned by a venture capitalist or a senator. There was already a line of people waiting to get in.
“I did not sign up for this,” I grumbled, looking at the line. At least my Docs were comfortable.
Austin grabbed my hand and led me to the front of the line. The bouncer looked appreciatively at me, and I scowled.
“Names?” he asked, turning his attention to Austin.
“Austin Ridgefield and Jessica Moretti.”
We passed over our IDs, and he inspected mine closely, no doubt clocking the “Omega” designation, before waving us inside.
“Since when are you on the list at hot nightclubs?” I asked.
“I contain multitudes,” they replied.
The club wasn’t pumping in descenters, so the mix of scents was chaotic, but I had learned to fight the discomfort. We made our way to the bar and grabbed drinks. My plastic cup of hot red wine cost way too much, and I chugged it immediately before it could get even more vile.
It was a rock club, and the music was decent. There was a stage at one end of the room that was clearly set up for a band to perform. My mind flashed back to the last time Austin had taken me to see live music, and it had been something called “polka core.”
I groaned and leaned over to yell in Austin’s ear. “Are you making me watch one of your friend’s shitty bands again?”
“Just wait,” they replied with a mysterious smile.
We made our way closer to the stage. I was very glad for the extra few inches my boots gave me, so I wasn’t lost in the crowd.
Austin grilled me about my heat partner as we waited for the show to start. I refused to give too many details, but when I admitted we’d exchanged numbers, Austin looked alarmed.
“You’re willingly seeing the same Alpha again?”
“It’s not like that,” I protested. “It’s a friends with benefits situation.”
They shook their head. “Yeah, okay, keep telling yourself that. Alphas and Omegas don’t do ‘friends with benefits’ situations for a reason. You’re gonna end up bonded to a hot idiot, and I will have no sympathy for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “To be fair, I don’t think he’s actually an idiot.”
“You’re defending him now?” They shook their head, looking tragic. “You’re totally fucked.”
Before I could respond, the lights dimmed and the house music cut off. The crowd whooped half-heartedly as the band trooped onstage in the dark.
The bass line for “Bleach” off of Velvet Howl’s second album,Home of the Free, started up, and I clapped a few times along with the rest of the crowd. If I had to listen to a cover band in a pretentious, pretend-grunge club, at least they had good taste.
