Page 27 of Iris
Two gay men? Here? In Sabine?
I know there’s a gay community on the island, but like most things the Council doesn’t approve of, they stay hidden. It’s not illegal, just…frowned upon, which is stupid, if you ask me. I’ll never understand why the Monarch feels the need to poke her nose into other people’s personal lives. But that does seem to be her specialty.
Man, it must be lonely at the top of her perch.
Two gay men who own a bar and have a daughter? It’s so different and unlike anything you find on the Upper Side that I’m suddenly eager to meet them.
And what about the Delta woman I first saw her with? How does she fit into all this?
I’m intrigued.
We close in on the Black Briar bar, deep in the heart of the Lower Side.
The e-map’s a little convoluted, but Emmie seems to know where we are. At least the area, but it becomes clear the little girl is as confused by the unnamed cross streets, the way things twist and turn, as I am.
Emmie squeezes my hand and tugs me along a crooked street. There are more people out and about as the late afternoon closes in. Then she turns, crosses the street, and pulls me around a corner before stopping.
She looks at me and says, “What if we never find it?”
“We—”
“Emmie!” A man storms up and scoops her up into his arms. His too-dirty blond hair is a stylish mess on the top of his head, his eyes the same blue as Emmie’s. He’s in a black tee and jeans, both darkened by water stains. They’re the clothes of a man who works for a living, most likely in the bar we’ve been searching for. There’s dark scruff on his jaw and upper lip, and a stud earring in his ear. But it’s that darkness that clings to him, of a seedy underbelly that offers illicit good times, thrills, and charm—along with a broken heart.
Not that I know a thing about those things, but I read; I watch movies. What hits me the hardest is his scent. The sweet tang of blackberries and sun-kissed lemons filles my senses, making my head fog. No blockers? He can’t be wearing them. The scent’s too strong for him to be.
Is this something normal for the people living here? Wearing their natural scents? But since blackberries are a natural fragrance, that answers my next question—he’s an Alpha. Only Alphas and Omegas have scents that occur naturally. And the way my heart’s beating rapidly tells me that the possibility of him being a male Omega is a firm no.
As he holds Emmie close, the muscles of his arms flex. I try not to stare. He’s tall, too. Like really tall. Maybe not as tall as my silent dance partner but almost.
He’s…sexy.
It’s somehow even sexier seeing him holding a little girl in a girly dress like she’s his most favorite thing in the world.
Like he’s her father.
Because I know the look.
Dad used to look at me that way, at my sisters. Like we were his little jewels.
But when this man’s gaze hits me, there’s nothing platonic about it. The look is a powerhouse of sexual energy, and I burn from its heat.
I want that look aimed at me always. Fuck…
Oh, that’s right—is he gay?
“This is Daddy!” Emmie hugs him and kisses his cheek. “I’m hungry, Daddy. Icy brought me home. She knows Delores. See?”
She points carelessly in my direction and then tries to get free like she’s sorted it all out. But he doesn’t release her.
“Emmie,” he says sternly.
“Daddy? I was good. See?”
“You ran off. Papa is looking for you. Freya, too. Maybe I should send you to bed hungry.” He gives her a stern look, even as his eyes sparkle. It’s clearly all for show. “What do you think?”
“Nooooo.” She laughs uproariously. “No, Daddy, you won’t. You never do.”
“God, you’re a menace, Emmie. You’re lucky I love you. Come on, I’ll make you something to eat.” He tosses her over his shoulder and starts to walk off, but then, as if remembering I’m standing there, he turns.
