Page 46 of Iris
I roll my eyes as the girl crouches to Emmie so she can touch it with her sticky fingers. “Look, Delores. She is red. Isn’t she beautiful? Like Icy. I’m Emmie.”
“Quinn.”
She gasps. “A queen witch!” Then she pauses. “Or a green witch. Do you want to see my room, green queen witch?”
“It’s Quinn,” the girl says with a laugh.
Emmie nods. “Quinn. So, do you want to see my room? I have an owl collection.”
“If you’re got an owl collection, how can I say no?” Quinn says.
“You can’t,” Iris agrees.
“Both of you come with me.” Emmie drags the two up the stairs.
I lean over the bar and retrieve a clean glass, dropping the sticky candy into it.
“That was interesting,” Freya says as she passes me a beer to drink and a napkin.
I use it to wipe my hand. “That’s a weird way to say annoying.”
Shaking her head slightly, she chuckles. “I don’t know who’s happier she came back, you or Emmie.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I grunt. “Them being here makes everything more complicated.”
“If you say so.” She goes to serve another customer at the bar, and I sweep my glance around the room, skipping over the women who are eyeing me. I don’t need that either.
I don’t need any of it.
The bar’s quiet, as I expect it to be at this hour. It’s getting dark, which makes me both admire and question Iris’s venturing down here. She’s an elite, a virgin Omega, priceless to the Council.
But she’s also not my problem. Sure, she gets under my skin, arouses me when she shouldn’t.
A different man might lie and say it’s interesting as I don’t know her, but that’s fucking Sabine bullshit. Not one Alpha who enters the Season cares about pedigree or getting to know the girl first before wanting her.
They want as soon as the chemistry hits. Oh, they might be in it for a match concerning money, but attraction? No one has to know the person to want to bone them.
A woman approaches, one that maybe I’d be interested in back in the day. But there’s Emmie and I try not to pick up here.
I ignore her until she leaves.
I drink slowly but I become aware of something after a while and my breath catches as warmth trickles down my spine.
Iris is back.
“Quinn’s still with Emmie,” she says. “Is that okay?”
“You’re the ones who barged in here.”
“It’s a bar. I wasn’t aware they handed out invitations,” she says, picking up the drink Freya made for her.
It’s been sitting there a while, she’d be in her rights to want one where the ice hadn’t melted, but she just takes a small sip and reaches into a hidden pocket on her skirt. She puts down a couple of twenties on the bar.
The drinks, with tip would be about twenty, so the overkill, while always pocketed, can be seen as condescending, a flashy show of money.
But with her, I don’t think so. She’s uncertain and it’s more like he isn’t sure how much anything is.
For some reason I find it cute.
