Page 10 of Rut Bar

“It’s because he’s a grower,” Darlene says. She switches her machine to brown thread and digs around in a drawer for brown elastic. “He’s got a lot more to swing around when he’s hard. Funny how that happens mostly during dress rehearsals when you’re watching him dance.”

I frown at her. “What’sthatsupposed to mean?”

She gives me a wry face and doesn’t answer my question. The whirr of her machine fills the silence until she pulls the fixed piece free and snips the threads. “Here.”

“Thanks.” The loincloth is still warm from his body heat and saturated in his suntan lotion scent. It should smell bad, like chemicals and minerals, but it’s coconuts and joy instead. Warm summer sun with a hint of salt. The scent reminds me of all the days we spent at the beach until Mom got sick and we traded beach days for hospital stays.

With one hand gripping the black curtain divider, I pause and glance over my shoulder. Darlene is busy sorting through her bolts of fabric to dig out the fake leather. I know I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t bring the loin cloth up to my nose to drag his scent in deeper, but my omega urges are too close to the surface from being in preheat. From being trapped in a tiny room with a compatible alpha for days. I can’t ignore them.

I ball the loincloth into my hand and pretend to scratch an itch on my nose. A groan swells in my throat and I strangle it before it can turn into an actual purr. Before I get caught and teased, I force my hand with the costume back down and push through the curtain.

My dancers are back to their routine, and Nate snaps out their cues as he drills them with the mercilessness that makes our cabaret show one of the best on the West Coast. Jamie sticks out like a sore thumb with his black thong compared to all the others. With their brown leather loincloths and Margot’s leather fringed bikini and their summer sun-kissed skin, it’s like they stepped right off a movie set. They stomp their feet together and bang their fists against their sternums, and then they all kneel around Jamie and raise their arms as he prepares for the grand finale.

Jamie throws his head back, flexes until his abdominals and pecs look like you could bounce a quarter off them, and gives us his best Tarzan yell. It echoes in the enormous space until it’s deafening.

The omegas are going to eat this act up with a spoon. This is probably Nate’s best work to date. Even the Singing in the Rain set that we installed a very expensive rain simulator for doesn’t compare to this routine. There’s raw, primal energy here. My alphas look like they’re ready to toss an omega over their shoulder and run off into the tree line.

It’s perfect.

I clap around the loincloth still balled in my fist and my cheeks hurting from how hard I’m grinning. The dancers break from their positions and follow Nate out back to take a well-earned break while Jamie hangs back.

“Here’s your costume,” I say as I hand it to him. He takes it, but he doesn’t follow the dancers like I expect him to.

“Do you have a minute?” Jamie asks. He won’t meet my eyes and he’s fidgeting with the costume in his hands.

My first thought is that he knows. He knows I nuzzled his costume like some creepy pervert. But there’s no way he could know that. My heart races in my chest as a thousand possibilities run through my mind.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” he asks again when I don’t respond.

Oh, shit. He’s going to quit. My most popular dancer is going to quit and then the show will fall apart and I’ll fail my audit and Rut will shut down, and then what the hell am I going to do with my life?

“Of course,” I say, covering my inner meltdown with a blanket of professionalism. “Do you want to get dressed and meet me in my office?”

He nods, hesitates, then walks away. I watch him go, then catch Anthony eyeing us with interest. He’s cleaning glasses at the bar and he arches one brow at me in a silent question. I shrug, then head up the stairs. The IRS agent glances up from his stack of paperwork, and I mentally curse because I forgot he was here today.

The scent of coconuts and sunshine makes me turn in time to see Jamie climb the stairs behind me. Faded blue jeans are slung low on his hips and he’s wearing a pair of brown flip flops and that’s it. No shirt. He probably didn’t change out of his work thong either.Why did he throw on clothes so fast? But this is a good sign, right? If he was about to walk out on me, he’d have gotten fully dressed.

“Could you give us a few minutes, Agent Hall?” I ask as I head to my desk and perch on its edge.

“Of course. And just Brendan is fine. This is a good time for a dinner break, actually.”

“Thank you. The taco truck two blocks down is the best one in the neighborhood. And there’s a little park with benches not too far from it.”

“That sounds perfect.” Brendan pats his stomach over his jacket and smiles. “I love tacos.” He glances between me and the still shirtless Jamie and looks the alpha up and down. “I’ll be back in a half-hour.”

They nod at one another in that weird way that alphas do when they’re sizing each other up. I ignore them and sit, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. Was that thirty-minute remark insinuating something? A warning? Does he think I brought Jamie up here to fuck?

Brendan pulls the door closed behind him and I’m tempted to tell him to leave it open, but Jamie asked for privacy and his comfort is more important than avoiding looking suspicious.

Jamie pulls a chair out and sits, his knee almost touching mine. God, he’s tall. I’m torn between moving away from where I’m leaning so I can sit, which risks this conversation feeling scary and important, and needing to put distance between us.

His suntan lotion scent is filling the room, and somehow it’s mingling with Brendan’s fresh bread scent deliciously. Coconut bread. I’ve seen it being sold at the Jamaican restaurant by my place, but I can’t recall if I’ve ever had it. My mouth waters. I bet it’s delicious.

“What can I do for you?” I ask to break the ice.

“It’s more what I can do for you,” Jamie says. “Anthony told me I should ask if you need help over the next few days. Because of the tax dude.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he never does. If Jamie recognizes the uncomfortable silence, he doesn’t seem disturbed by it. “Help me with what?” I ask. He can’t possibly think there’s anything he can do to help with the audit. Jamie is sweet, and he is my best dancer, but I don’t get the idea he’s good with excel spreadsheets.

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