Page 9 of Rut Bar

The banality of polite office conversation makes my eye twitch. “That’s right. I’m taking over one of Janet’s cases while she’s out on leave.”

Sharon’s eyes light up, and I realize my mistake too late.Fuck.Sharon goes into a long winded and mostly one-sided conversation about the latest news regarding Janet’s birth. I learn all about the baby boy Janet just had—six pounds, seven ounces and twenty-one inches—and then Sharon moves onto her own experiences as she recounts her own birthing stories and the harsh adjustments to life with a newborn as a first-time mom.

“—and it’s so hard to find a good daycare around here that doesn’t?—”

I nod dutifully and make faint conversational noises whenever there’s a lull as I pack my briefcase back up. Why did I ever hope that I’d get some work done at the office? You’d think by now I’d know better. Sharon probably wouldn’t stop talking if I croaked and died right at her feet. She’d keep going and only notice something was wrong hours later when it was time to go home and I didn’t walk out with her. I snap the briefcase closed and stand, straightening my jacket.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I lie. “But I have to get back out there. I only came back for my…” I grab the nearest thing on my desk without looking. “Got it!”

“Stapler?” she asks, perplexed.

“Yes.” I put the stapler in my jacket pocket. “Would you believe they don’t have one? So weird. See you later, Sharon.”

Before she can start up again, I hurry toward the door.

If I’m not going to get any work done because of the distractions, then I may as well look at a pretty little omega while I’m unproductive. Anything is better than Sharon’s prattling. That woman wouldn’t know brevity if it tripped her.

ChapterThree

VERONICA

Rehearsals go bettertoday than they did two days ago, and I’m feeling better about tonight’s unveiling of Rut’s new act. Hopefully it won’t be a disaster that makes the patrons ask for their door fee back.

“Okay! Places, everyone!” Nate yells over the music. “Let’s reset. Cue the music from the top. On three, two…” Nate moves into the first part of the choreography while my dancers do their first dress rehearsal. “Now hip dips. That’s right. Knock knock, who’s there? Thighs, that’s who. Slap on three, two… Good. Now walk away. Show them what they’ll be missing… and come back, you’ve changed your mind. Feel yourself. Show off those abs and chest. Hold yourself. The jungle gets cold without your omega to warm you. Good, now fall back so Jamie can take the center. Here’s your solo, Jamie. Make it personal. Don’t forget to connect with your audience.”

Jamie stares at me as he practices and I stand there and pretend to be a crowd of screaming omegas for him. Some dancers do fine without a fake audience, but others need their practice to be more realistic. He reaches a hand inside his faux leather loincloth and palms the base of his cock as he makes slow hip swivels. There’s a peek of trimmed hair as the loincloth dips while he strokes himself until his bulge is more pronounced.

“No pubes, Jamie. We’ll lose our liquor license,” I bark.

He flashes me a sad puppy smile that sayssorryand pulls his hand out of his loincloth, then moves back into his solo routine. When he drops to the floor in a dolphin dive that drags his package along the floor in a sort of pseudo push-up, there’s a loud ripping sound.

“Oops,” Jamie says as he goes completely still.

Nate groans and puts his hands on top of his head and the other dancers shift on their feet. Our DJ cuts the music.

“It’s fine,” I reassure them. “This is why we do dress rehearsals. Let’s go get your costume sorted, Jamie. You can switch into regular underwear and get back to rehearsals while Darlene fixes it.”

Jamie pops up, the movement making his loincloth tilt precariously as the faux leather string holding the sides together sags. He presses the front down to keep himself covered and hops down from the stage. The back of the loincloth hangs, and I have to stare at his gloriously sculpted bare ass the entire way to Darlene’s costuming closet.

She peers over her machine at us, one pencil thin eyebrow raised as she takes in the damage.

“Please tell me you can fix it in the next half-hour,” I say.

“Hmm. Let me see it. Strip.”

“Sorry, Miss Darlene.” Jamie hooks a thumb in the good side and shoves the loincloth down his thighs so he can hand it to her. “The string snapped when I was humping the stage.”

While Darlene inspects the broken costume, I sort through the pile of freshly laundered thongs until I find the ones with his name written on the inside. I hand it to him while keeping my eyes firmly above his nipples. “Here.”

“Thanks, Miss Vee.” He steps into it and tugs it up, reaching inside to pull himself into place. “I’m sorry I broke it.”

Once his cock is covered, I can breathe again. “It’s fine.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Accidents happen. What do you think?” I ask my seamstress.

“It’s the fake leather. There’s no stretch to it. I can sew the front and back together with brown elastic. It won’t be as pretty, but it’ll hold. I can make it nicer tomorrow. Sew fake leather on top, but leave the sides open so it can still flex.”

“Sounds good. All right, Jamie, get back to it. We’ll bring you the costume when it’s finished.”

He leaves us, and Darlene snips the broken fake leather away and picks at the stitches. “He rips more costumes than any of the other dancers,” I say under my breath.

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