Page 4 of Pack Baines

“You’ll get your money, girly. What I want to know is why you’re leaving so suddenly. You don’t like working here?” he grouches gruffly, eyeing a guy checking out my ass while I pour another beer.

Rolling my eyes and looking at the guy, I admit, “You know damn well this job sucks, with pawing hands and little tips.”

He grunts, almost in agreement, and I take pity on the pitiful look on the biker’s face.

“I got accepted,” I finally confess, biting back my grin as I slide over the cool beer to my patron, tallying his tab in my head before turning to look at Mack. His eyes have widened in shock, his lips twitching beneath the unruly beard he loves so much, and he’s shaking his head slowly like he’s as stunned as I am that I got into North Five University.

“Well, fuck,” he eloquently murmurs over the nineties rock music streaming from the classic jukebox in the corner.

“Mhm,” I nod, finally grinning at the big, burly guy. “Got the letter this morning. Only opened it just before I came here.”

“Well, fuck,” Mack repeats, right before he tears me into a bone-crushing hug that steals every ounce of air in my lungs. I’m pretty sure I hear my back crack like a glow stick, and I tap out rapidly when I think my lungs are going to collapse. Chuckling under his breath, he lowers me to the floor and steps back. “‘Grats, girly. Fucking proud of you.”

Well, hell. That almost makes me cry like a bitch, but I beat it all back with a stick. Instead, I grin and shove him, muttering, “Thanks. Worked my ass off for this, Mack.”

“No shit. Spent enough time here studying when you weren’t working,” he agrees, leaning against the bar while I wipe it down. “Hell. So, I really am gonna lose my best bartender. Why do you hate me? I thought you were pulling my chain.”

My head falls back with laughter, and I swat him with the towel in my hand. “I could never hate you. But I’m not gonna stay here watching a bar and getting my ass groped for the rest of my life. It’s North U, Mack.”

The big guy sighs, and I give him a sympathetic smile.

“I will miss you, though,” I offer, trying to lessen the burn and realizing pretty quickly that the words are very true. Mack is the only person in my life who’s stuck by me, helped me out, and made sure I was taken care of. I guess it’s in his alpha nature, to look after omegas. Not that he knows I’m an omega, since I’ve taken great care of keeping my designation on lock. It’s for my safety and his that I haven’t told him. Instead, Mack thinks I’m a beta with only the faintest scent of pineapple, and I’ve kept it that way for months.

Mack sighs deeply, glaring at another guy trying to get a peep down my shirt at my tits, before muttering, “Guess I’m gonna have to find a new bartender.”

“Looks like it,” I shrug, accepting a dude’s card with the instruction to close his tab. I do, returning to find Mackstill glaring at the guy, and I laugh as I hand the card back over to the other guy, only for him to slip a couple of notes in my hand with a wink.

Shaking my head, I stuff the hundred in my pocket, taking back the comment I thought before about tips being shit.

“Well, alrighty then. You got enough cash stored away for this big move?” he wonders, finally breaking his glare away from the guy now cowering in his seat.

I can’t hide my cringe from him, knowing I only have about two hundred left in my account after paying rent and electricity for the rest of the month. Clearing my throat, I try to save face, now that I have at least three hundred thanks to the generous tip in my back pocket. “I have enough.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he scoffs before heading to the register, pressing a few buttons, and diving into the register tray as it pops open.

Watching with a frown, I wait for him to finish rummaging, and I shake my head when he starts counting the cash. Alright then, weirdo. Leaving him to it, I go about serving other patrons, mixing drinks and thwarting advances off the regular alphas and betas that come in almost daily.

By the time things slow down again, Mack has left for a little while, my feet are aching like fuck, and my back is begging for a break. It’s almost closing, and only a few stragglers remain, so I do my job until the last one leaves and I’m cleaning the tables and stacking chairs. I’m the last of the staff left, so it’s no wonder why I almost jump out of my damned skin when Mack creeps up on me while I’m reaching for my purse from behind the bar.

“Holy shit, Mack. You scared the crap out of me!” I breathe, my hand slapped against my chest where I can feel my heart thundering against my palm.

Mack snorts, not a sympathetic bone in his damned body for frightening me, and says, “My bad, girly. Here, I want you to have this.”

Then he hands me a bulging envelope that I eye suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Take it and find out,” he counters, his tone calling me a dumbass without the words.

Narrowing my eyes on the burly man, I slowly take the envelope and open the flap, my eyes widening almost comically when I spy a huge fucking wad of cash tucked inside, along with a set of keys. Mouth parting, I look at Mack, only to find him smirking at me like a jackass.

Before I can utter a single word, he points at me and hurries to say, “I don’t want to hear shit about how you can’t take it, you hear? There’s the rest of your pay for the next week, and the rest you can call your leaving present or some shit.”

“And the keys?” I choke, my purse slipping from my shoulder, my shocked mind too stunned to save it from falling to the floor.

With a shrug, he says, “Figured you could use something that could get you to your fancy new school that was more reliable than the shit heap you call a car. Got an old truck out back that’s yours, so long as you look after her and treat her right.”

Ignoring the absolute disrespect toward my poor, battered, and painfully unreliable car, I bite my lip and look down at the cash in the envelope. There has to be about two grand worth of notes in there, and I find myself battling with my tears once more as Mack shows me that he fucking cares. The only one in life who actually gives a damn about me.

“Mack, this is too much,” I rasp, slapping the envelope against my hand.

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