Page 6 of Such a Delicious Omega

“I’m sure.”

Salma yelled out our order to the chef and then came back with tall glasses of horchata.

“How long have you been a member of Cuffed?” I asked, trying to get to know as much about this man as I could, in case this was the only chance I had. My wolf was telling me all kinds of things. He was my mate. He was ours. We belonged to him.

I had to admit, my wolf had been quiet on the mate front. I couldn’t shift for a long time after the accident and, even now, the times I did were few and far between.

But sitting across from Samuel, my best was louder than ever. Even howling, trying to catch the alpha’s animal’s attention.

“I started out as a bar manager. They hired me right on the spot. Talon, one of the other owners, tends to do that. He has a sense about employees and whether they will work out or not. We let him do most of the hiring.”

I took a sip of the horchata while he spoke. It was perfectly sweet, rich with cinnamon and vanilla. “You said the other owners. Are you an owner of the club?”

Samuel smiled, showing his white teeth while he readjusted himself in the seat, crossing his legs the other way. “I am of late. It’s still weird to say. I’ve been the bar manager for years.”

“That’s incredible.”

He nodded. “It is. Still getting used to it. Honestly, I just invested money. For the most part, I am still in charge of the bar. I like it. What about you? What do you do for work?”

“I’m a front desk clerk for a hotel. It’s a small place. I like it. It’s interesting to see who comes in and out.”

“Sounds like a fun place to work. See anything interesting? Any crazy stories?”

“Let me tell you about this throuple that came in…”

Chapter Six

Samuel

I never took anyone from Cuffed here, although it was only a few blocks away. It met every bit of the definition of a dive. The antithesis of our club with its perfect design, Salma and Amos had a whole different kind of flare that took place in the kitchen. As I walked in with the omega, I tried to see it as they might. As in, why would this alpha bring me here? He didn’t know I was a club owner—something I’d just started to figure out myself—but my suit told him I was not exactly the janitor, and he might have expected a fancier meal.

I could have taken him somewhere with better decor, more expensive menu items, and a sommelier who would turn his nose up at anyone who ordered the house vintage. But I could not have taken him somewhere with tastier food.

The cloth on the table where we sat had been washed so often it was frayed a bit at the edges, and not all the stains had come out, but I’d never paid attention to that before. If Echo minded, though, he didn’t say a word. No sooner had we placed our order than we were exchanging stories about our experiences with customer service. Echo worked at a hotel, which put him face-to-face with a lot of characters, and even though we were a private club, sometimes our members and their guests could be vastly quirky.

I was just finishing up a story about a member who brought their boss to the club in what must have been a major brain fart when our dinner arrived. I’d ordered the horchata after Echo said he’d have what I was ordering. The smooth rice beverage could be very helpful in cooling the burn of Amos’ favorite serranos.

“People always worry about things like ghost peppers and habaneros,” I warned, as Echo picked up his first taco. “But serranos are sneaky. Even if you can tolerate it, if it’s too hot for you to enjoy, say so. Understood?”

He nodded, opening his mouth wide and taking a big bite. He chewed and swallowed, but his eyes were wide and shining, face flushed, and he puffed in a breath. “Good,” he said, voice trembling just a little bit before he picked up his glass and gulped the horchata.

If he’d been in a cartoon, he’d have flames shooting out of his ears and nose. I crooked a finger and Salma came over, lips twitching in amusement. She set a glass of milk on the table and winked. “Would you like anything else, Samuel?”

“Maybe some carne asada tacos and an order of beans and rice for the table?”

“Right away.” As she disappeared back into the kitchen, I pushed the glass toward the omega who still appeared distressed. “Drink this. And don’t feel bad. Serranos can be sneaky.”

He grasped the glass and drank it down then sighed. “You’re not kidding. I usually manage whatever the Mexican place by my house can throw at me, but it never gets this hot.”

“I’ll finish yours. The asadas are just as delicious, but you add your own salsa to them, to taste.”

A few minutes later, Salma returned with a platter holding a half dozen tacos, bowls of their amazing rice and beans, and the little stand with the various salsas. “Should I bring more milk?”

I glanced at the omega, who shook his head. His cheeks were still red, though, either from embarrassment, spice, or both. It was a good look on him. “No, just a refill on the horchatas if you don’t mind.” After Salma left with our glasses, I reached over and picked up his plate, transferring the remaining tacos to mine. “Now…taste the asadas and tell me what you think.”

This time, when his eyes went wide, it accompanied a broad smile. “Oh my gods. How have I ever thought my local place knew how to make tacos?” He spooned a bit of each salsa onto a chip and tasted it carefully before adding some of the tomatillo version to his taco. “So good.”

“I’m sure the other restaurant is fine. This one is just extraordinary. Or maybe you haven’t tried their very best item. Try asking the employees what they like to eat. It’s often not even on the menu, but can be great.”

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