Page 22 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

So we aren’t exactly going clubbing, but that’s just as well. Clubs open late and despite the excitement, I’m already dragging my feet a little. There is a bouncer at the door, which surprises me, as I thought that was a club thing. He’s a tall and dark alpha, vaguely reminding me of Zayne, which…

No, Gigi, no thinking about Zayne!

Fine…

So the bouncer who doesnotremind me of Zayne lets us in and Coco leads us through the already dancing throng of people and the deafening music of the bar.

I forgot bars could be so loud.

And so full of people.

Look at me. I’ve become an old maid in my twenty-second year of life. Behold all of you who believe.

Also, maybe I should read less epic fantasy and hang out with actual people. I’ve started to speak like Legolas the elf.

At least he’s pretty.

Thankfully the girls pull me along, exclaiming over the names of the cocktails—of course the cocktails have alphabet names—and debating which one to get. Coco is already pointing out potential targets—I mean hunks, or so I think—and I’m… hopeful.

Hopefulness is intensifying.

Fortified with a cocktail called Betatron’s Wings—not sure that works but hey, I was bound to get any beta-titled cocktail, as we all knew—I glance around in my turn.

The beat vibrates in my bones, and faces flash as people mingle, dance, talk, laugh. A few couples are kissing in dark corners. I look and look. It’s like half the city is here. I’m bound to find someone for sure.

* * *

“Anyone catch your eye?” Bee asks after many songs and two more cocktails—I got a delta and a zeta cocktail but I can’t remember the names to save my life.

“Not yet,” I say. This may be Hunkville but strangely all the betas I see around me tonight are… bland.

“Maybe you should mingle a little.”

“Mingle?”

She nods to her right, and following her gaze, I find Coco engaged in conversation with a guy who looks like an alpha, judging from his built. A little further away, June is slow-dancing with a beta, ignoring the actual beat.

She found a beta to dance with and I still got nothing.

Nodding at Bee, because yelling is making my throat ache, I slurp the rest of my cocktail, get off my stool and toddle toward the dancing throng. I got this. This is who I am. I get things done. I’m an arrow flying toward my goal.

A red-headed missile hurtling toward a soulmate.

Visualizing is the trick, right? Visualize a handsome, kind beta with a keen interest in sports and psychology, health, and fantasy books and he will come your way. Something like that. Might have a British accent. It wouldn’t hurt. But it’s also fine without, quite honestly.

Here I come.

Wading through alphas and omegas, I search the crowd for a suitable beta. Beta women catch my eye, but I’m not into girls, sadly. It restricts the pool by a lot. Alpha, alpha, omega, alpha…

A beta man smiles at me, opens his mouth to say something, and I lift a forbidding hand.

Um, no, thanks.

There has to be a spark, right? A spark of attraction, and this one doesn’t ignite anything in me.

Then again, I could just forget the soulmate thing for tonight and just go for it. Go for a one-night-stand-level beta. No sparks necessary. I think. A reasonably attractive beta could do the trick.

But when the next beta man I see smiles, I actually take a step back.

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