Page 27 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
ChapterEight
ASHER
I ended up meeting Hayden around seven-fifty. At eight-thirty, we’re one beer and a shot in, but Hayden is still agitated. His fingers tap on his bottle, and he keeps looking around like the boogie man is going to jump out. I finish my beer and set it on the bar top.
“All right, what’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re fine either because I know you, dude.”
He gives me a nasty look. “Nothing is going on.”
“Right.” I nod and tip my head at the bartender. She smiles and reaches into the fridge for two more domestics. “You’re antsy as fuck. Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” He chugs the half beer he has left. “It’s nothing.”
“Sure, pal,” I say, shaking my head. “Did you get a look at the omega? I know Trev says we can’t have one, but damn, man. I’ve never been so fucking horny.”
“Why don’t you go fucking jerk off then?” he snaps, scowling at me.
I narrow my eyes. “It’s the omega, isn’t it?”
“No.” His brown hair looks halfway torn out. I guarantee this is about a woman.
“So she was hot.”
“Two beers,” the bartender says with a sweet smile. “Anything else you need?”
Yeah, wrong tree, sweetie. She’s cute but not my type. I like my women feisty, and she’s way too nice.
“Come on, Hay.” I shove his shoulder.
He slaps my hand.
I make a noise, and he growls.
“Fuck you, Asher.”
“Fuck you, Hayden. What the fuck is going on?”
“Hey. Chill on the fucks, okay?” The bartender glares at both of us.
A few other patrons are looking at us, ready for Hayden and me to break out into a brawl. I grab my beer, but my work phone starts to ring.
“Shit,” I mumble. Trev doesn’t ask me to bring it when I’m off duty, but it wouldn’t feel right to miss his call if he needs me. “Sup, Trev?”
“I need you and Hayden. Sneaky led us to Twisters. We’re raiding the place at ten.”
I glance at my friend, the miserable dick. “I’m with him now. We’ll be there within an hour.”
“Bye.” Trev hangs up, and I put my phone back in my pocket.
“We’re on duty now.” We haven’t had much to drink and our enhanced metabolism means we’re still sober. If Trev had called any later, we’d have to call a cab.
“Where?”
“Twisters.” I stand, giving him a serious look. “Are you up for this? I need you present. No mistakes.” Distraction can be the difference between life and death in these situations.
“I’m good.” He tosses a fifty on the bar top—way more than our tab, but the bartenders treat us well here and we like to make friends with the civilians when we can.
We get in the car and start the drive from the dingy bar to the station. We’re the last to arrive. I pull into the packed lot and take one of the few remaining parking spots. Trev is wearing all his gear, bullet proof vest on over his uniform. He’s telling an officer something, but his eyes shoot in our direction when we get out of the SUV.
