Lindsey loves it.
“Boo, party pooper.” She sighs and turns the music down. “There’s a hot night club that opened a few weeks ago. That place is popping every night of the week. You game?”
“Pick me up at nine?”
“Sure thing. Wear something hot.” She hangs up, and I sigh.
We’re both low pack, but Lindsey doesn’t like riding in my beater, and she hates when I look poor. I’m not sure if she realizes we’re both actually poor, especially compared to the high packs, but I’m used to her insults. We’ve been friends long enough that they don’t bother me. Lindsey is who she is.
I head to the bedroom and strip, removing the tracker taped between my breasts and putting it in the bedside table. As soon as I hit puberty, the Omega Council inserted a tiny chip into my forearm. They called it a safety precaution. I called it bullshit. They simply don’t want to lose their precious cattle. Lindsey’s brother helped me cut it out after I got cited for the second time. The scar has faded, but I still have to cover it with concealer so no one notices the faint white line. I keep the tracker taped to my body most of the time. When I go out, I leave it in the drawer. No more citations and more freedom means I get to do whatever I want. I could still get in trouble, but with the suppressants and fake identity, the chances of me being caught are low. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Besides, it’s not like the Omega Council really gives a fuck about the low pack omegas. They’re more concerned about pampering their high pack omegas in their fancy apartments on the other side of town. The only reason I got caught in the first place was because of the tracker.
By the time Lindsey arrives, I’ve eaten a few slices of pizza, showered, curled my hair, and put on a cute black mini-skirt and a light pink halter top. The nude heels are already starting to hurt my feet, but a few shots of vodka are all I need to forget about that. I grab a small clutch I found at a thrift store and put my phone and ID inside. Lindsey’s car idles at the curb, and I hop in, barely closing the door before she pulls onto the road.
“That’s what you’re wearing?”
Streetlights flash over the car. I glance at my outfit.
“It’s cute.”
“If you say so.” She ruffles her blonde curls and puckers her glossed lips at herself in the rear view. “The pills are in the dash. I’m getting my next pickup on Thursday.”
Meaning she’ll have more drugs to stash in my apartment while she slowly sells them off.
Wasting no time, I open the compartment and grab the prescription bottle. I take a suppressant and swallow it without water. A bitter taste coats my tongue, and I wrinkle my nose, waiting for the flavor to fade. The medicine will last until tomorrow morning, long enough for me to enjoy my night without having to worry about being targeted because I’m an omega. Sometimes it’s nice to blend in with the betas and deltas.
“You good?” Lindsey turns up the music before I can answer, bobbing her head along to the electronic music.
This is how it is between us. We both like to party, but we don’t ever talk about important things. She’s a beta and always says she doesn’t understand omega stuff. She has the pills I need, and I have a safe place for her to keep her supply. Our friendship isn’t normal, but that’s how we both like it. Hell, Lindsey not giving a damn about my life is part of the reason I haven’t run from her. I suspect she feels the same way.
Lindsey pulls into a parking structure a block away from the club. She cracks a mini vodka and passes it to me. Once she opens one for herself, we cheers and drink them in one big gulp. We hiss at the same time, climbing out of the car and laughing at our matching reaction to the cheap alcohol.
Time to forget.
* * *
Four drinks later, the room spins, but the music vibrating against my skin keeps me on the dance floor. Lindsey and I grind against each other. A man with tight black slacks and a charcoal gray button-down shirt catches my eye. He’s leaning against the bar, gaze traveling over my body. I turn, giving Lindsey my back and swaying my hips. His lips twitch into a smile, and I lift an eyebrow to say, come over here then.
He finishes his drink and prowls toward me. Forgetting about Lindsey, I push through writhing bodies and meet him in the middle of the dance floor. His skin is golden brown, and his eyes are dark green and hooded. A flash of white lights his face, highlighting a strong jawline with a bit of stubble. His jet-black hair is swept to the side, but one piece falls into his eyes as he tips his head down, gaze traveling over my bare legs.
“Hi,” I say, wrapping my hands around his neck. My clutch dangles from my wrist. The zipper is secure, so I don’t worry about losing anything. Liquor warms my stomach and makes touching a stranger easier. The fact that we’re in a club full of people helps too. Safety in numbers and all that.
“I’m Asher,” he says with a wicked grin. I catch traces of his scent under the smell of liquor, sweat, and perfume filling the room. Cedar and musk. He’s an alpha.
I panic for a moment then remember the suppressants I took. He won’t know I’m an omega. I soften against his body, grinning when he places his hand at the small of my back and presses against me.
“I’m Whitney.”
“Dance with me?” he asks, swaying to the beat since I’ve already agreed. Asking is only a formality at this point.
Nodding, I hang on and follow his lead. He moves to the music, letting his body do all the talking. Asher is fluent in these hips don’t lie, and I match his movements. Heat floods through me the longer we touch and tease. My scent is muted, not nearly as sweet as it normally is, but it still cloys in the air, letting him know exactly what I’m thinking. Desire dampens my panties when he presses his leg between my thighs, giving me something to grind on. I should be ashamed of how I instantly press into his quad, but it’s strong and sturdy. His dark chuckle sends a shiver down my spine.
Pressing his cheek against mine, his lips find my ear. “Good girl,” he rasps.
I’m buzzed and horny. I take the open invitation and hold his neck and gently rock against his leg. A soft growl fills the air between us. I pause, shock flashing through me until I see him wet his lips and lower his face to meet mine. Our lips collide, and like thunder chasing lightning, I race to keep up. He groans when I softly bite his lips, and he squeezes my ass.
“Fuck me,” he mutters. He traces his tongue along my top lip and claims my mouth again, a soft rumble building in his chest.
