Page 19 of Heat Hesitation

One of Roxy's mates, Jess, opens the back door, alarmed when he sees us. I give an awkward thumbs up and a wave to assure him I'm okay. He apologizes for interrupting, ducking back inside.

Sully laughs, but it doesn't seem like he finds the situation funny. "Oh, I see how things are in South Loop. Of course, your employer knows. He probably loves it. Are you fucking him?"

I grit my teeth, "You know what? It's none of your fucking business how I make a living or who I'm fucking." I storm toward the door and bang, the metal sound echoing in the alleyway. Jess opens the door again. He's a bouncer, though he only works on nights Roxy's here. Sometimes they work the back rooms together. I'm pretty sure they make more than a month's rent on those nights.

"Ophelia," Sully growls, the sound causing shivers to run down my spine.

I want to hear him fed up and punishing me with an open palm on my ass. I shake the image away before ducking beneath Jess's meaty arm and heading to the changing room, leaving a sputtering, enraged Sully in my wake.

I find my locker, slipping on my fishnet tights, black bootie shorts and ballet flats. Most girls wear heels, and I'm already exceptionally short, even for an omega, but no one wants to see me wearing high heels. I'm just pushing my bustier up, reclaiming my near non-existent cleavage, when Roxy, glistening from practicing on stage, sneaks up behind me.

"Spill it."

I scrunch my face and turn. Anyone would feel inadequate next to Roxy. She's pretty tall for an omega. She also has the perfect shape, the kind the OFA tries to engineer through diet and exercise with all their graduates. Perfectly proportioned, with a slim hourglass figure. On heels, and especially on stage when she's dancing, she's stunning.

I'm not jealous. Sure, I wish my ass and legs were a little smaller and less curvy and that maybe I filled out my bra like some of the other girls, but I love my body.

I wonder what Sully would think of me in my work clothes. I wonder what he'd think of her.

She slaps my hand away when I start nervously adjusting my top, thinking of Sully and the guys in here and seeing all these gorgeous women and finding me lacking—and fuck them for thinking that anyway, I don't even want them to want me! And around and around I go. I think I'm going insane.

Roxy adjusts the corset for me, saving me from myself. Covered in rhinestones, it's the most expensive thing I own. Black and lacy, and since my chest is on the smaller side, my nipples are nowhere near the cup lining, so it's full coverage, but I still feel sexy in it.

Like the expert she is, she adjusts my straps, spinning me in place to fix the back, whipping me back around, manhandling me to make everything fit.

"Jess told me you were hanging with an alpha, and things seemed… heated," she gossips like the information is new to me.

"He's… I don't know. Trying to court me." I think.

Roxy gasps, "Oh my god! Ophelia, that's huge! Are you letting them? Has he got you any gifts yet? Does he have a pack? You didn't try to dance for him, did you?" She winces while I duck beneath her prying gaze to put makeup on in front of the mirror.

"No, I didn't try to dance. Why would I?"

"Okay, phew, that's good." I shoot her a look, and she giggles and shrugs, like, what can you do? Taking the seat next to me, touching up her own makeup, she continues the interrogation. "So? Pack? Lone wolf?"

"He has a pack… the… Constantines…" I wince, but when she gasps dramatically, I slap my hand over her mouth. Another dancer comes in to change her outfit. It's still early in the afternoon, and the girls mostly use this time to practice new routines, so they change their outfits often.

"I don't want anyone to know they're coming around. Okay? Please, Roxy, promise me you won't say anything."

"Of course, I won't. But if they're courting you and coming around here, I doubt it'll take long for everyone else to find out. But… they're kind of a big deal, right? The Constantine Pack is always on the cover of the Daily Rag. How did you even meet?"

On the bridge where my family died. "It was… at the catering gig last night. Anyway, don't say anything. Especially to Dante," I whisper, and she nods sagely. Dante Pack is my family, and they would have a lot to say if Constantine starts coming around here. They have just as much against the OFA, and therefore, OFA sponsors, as I do. She's right, though. I doubt it will take long for everyone to find out.

I finish getting ready before making my way out front. The bar is slow and likely won't pick up for another hour or two, but I make the rounds, refilling and serving drinks, collecting tips as I go. Afternoons are usually pretty quiet, so I relax as I work, checking in with friends and hanging with Cass, Red's packmate in the back office, helping him with monotonous busy work. I avoid Roxy and Jess most of the night, but each time I see them together, they're conspiring, giving me knowing glances. I wonder how long it took before she told Jess who Sully was.

"Do you know who that is?" Chandra, one of the dancers, whispers from behind a thick, heavy velvet drape as she peers onto the main floor.

"That is Asher freakin' Constantine!" Franky gasps beside her.

My steps abruptly stop in the hallway behind the girls, who are gossiping at the hall's entrance.

"Can we just appreciate the gravity of a Constantine being in South Loop? The Rag says their pack's worth, like, billions. I wonder what he's doing all the way out here," Chandra hums. "Maybe he's interested in a private dance?"

Chandra winks at Franky, slipping out of the hall onto the main floor. Anxiety ignites in my gut, and I tread after her. My omega is a jealous green-eyed monster. I'm nothing like Chandra. She's tall, beautiful, much more the image of all the other betas and omegas the Constantines are always pictured with—minus the stripper clothing.

The reminder that they're seen with so many other women slows my steps. The thought of any of the Constantine alphas with another sends a hot burning poker through my brain. It's a violent feeling, and only when Franky's gentle hand resting on my arm pulls my attention up do I realize I'm standing, staring at nothing, in the middle of Queenie's. She eyes me suspiciously, but I tell her I'm okay, brushing it off and heading back behind the bar, scanning the floor, looking for Asher. He must be here; Chandra said she saw him. And they know where I work now. Roxy was right, that didn't take long.

If only Chandra knew why he was really here, even if the truth is incomprehensible. I mean, me, Ophelia from South Loop, orphan, broke ass bitch, best friends with the Dante Pack of C-Street, is a scent-match to one of the wealthiest packs in the country, certainly in our city. Makes no sense.

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