“I need a favor…”
“No, I’m getting slammed over here as it is,” I tell him truthfully as I make my way over and toss myself down in my desk chair.
Taking over Dry Dock and the bed-and-breakfast from our parents’ pack has been a learning experience. Next year, we’ll know better than to let so many employees off all at once. For now, we’re suffering with the consequences of our actions.
“I don’t have anyone extra here tonight,” I say. “We’re going to have to toughen up on letting the staff off at the same time.”
“Yeah, I know,” Rush agrees. “I’ve been working the bar and the check-in desk all damn day. That’s not why I’m calling, though.”
I frown, scratching at my beard.
“I had a pretty little omega check in this afternoon.” He sighs, and it reminds me of an old man. Usually, I’m the surly one. “She’s on her way to Dry Dock right now.”
Apparently, I’m not getting the point. “Okay, so her pack should keep a close eye on her?—”
“Listen to what I’m saying, Bear,” he growls. “She’s an unbonded omega. No pack. She’s alone.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, swiping a hand over my face. “This is the last shit I need tonight.” The phone receiver hums, picking up the sound of my heavy exhale. “What does she look like?”
“You’ll know when you see her,” he says, like he’s purposely trying to piss me off.
“Rush!”
“Her name is Lennox. She’s five-five or five-six,” he says. “Long brown hair, big hazel eyes, and she’s young. Her ID said she turned twenty-one last month, so you’ll need to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”
I pull the phone away from my face to check that it’s really my brother I’m talking to, but it’s the landline.
“I’m not her damn babysitter,” I growl. “She’s a grown woman.”
“Yeah, tell me if you feel the same way after you catch a whiff of her. She smells like…” He trails off, and my mind races.
“Smells like what?” I shove myself out of my chair and head for the door.
“Like creamy orange heaven, with hints of vanilla. It’s a light, juicy scent. I know that makes no fucking sense, but trust me, you’ll get it when you smell her.”
“Great,” I mutter, hanging up on my twin.
Tonight is never going to end.
That woman needs a goddamn keeper. No, she needs an alpha to toss her over their shoulder, cart her out of here to somewhere safe, then tan her backside until she learns her lesson.
I watch her drink not one, not two, but three and a half mixed drinks.
It’s the middle of winter in New England, and she doesn’t have a fucking coat.
I’ve turned up the heat in the building three times. The other customers are sweaty and complaining, but they’ll live.
She might not if she catches fucking pneumonia.
My palm actually itches as I watch her grind on the dance floor between two of the fishermen who come in regularly. They’re drunk, too, from the looks of it, but that’s not going to fly as an excuse tonight.
You don’t run a bar without learning when to cut someone off.
I ignore a lot of tipsy patrons leaving to hook up.
It’s a nightly occurrence.
I always make sure no one is utterly shitfaced and do my best to intervene if I think someone is past the line, but I’ve also been told to fuck off and mind my own business more times than I can count.