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You can't be a pack without an omega. Even if the law changes we still wouldn't qualify.
Chapter Eighteen
Dexter Clark
"Wanna smoke?" Issac asks, popping his head in my door.
We had another late night, practicing with Oakley. That shit is not coming together the way Jamen hoped. We're both Southern rock, but me and Issac have a dynamic and Oakley isn't vibing with our style nor our stage performance. Even Kitten cringed a bit. She swore she'd talk to Jamen for us and see if she couldn't change his mind.
The pro-pack fundraising shows are gonna start soon. Jamen is convinced having Oakley perform with us will be a good launching point to gauge interest in her, which is fine. Those shows are basically charity anyway.
Issac and I are in agreement that she's not jumping in with us permanently. A few charity shows are one thing. She's not joining Matted Whine, not even as a recurring guest.
"Just woke up," I grumble.
"Wake and bake. It's the best high of the day," Issac says, chuckling in his deep timbre.
"All right, fine. You convinced me," I say, tossing my blanket off.
"Dude, warn me next time." Issac laughs, closing the door.
"Ehh, I haven't gotten laid since we got back from Vegas. I've got to jerk off sometime." I call through the closed door. I find a pair of sweatpants thrown over a chair and hop into them. "Lead the way, fuck-face." I laugh, opening the door to find Issac leaning against the opposite wall.
"Fucking wash your hands," Issac says, nodding to the kitchen as we walk through.
I handle that and head to the patio.
I fall onto one of the chairs. It's humid and hot as fuck. I never much cared for Tennessee, but Florida is like living ten feet away from the fucking sun.
Issac hands me the blunt and I take a hit.
"Love got offered a last-minute art show to present some of her older pieces. It's this weekend," Issac says, coughing out a huge cloud of smoke. "We can't go. We've got that performance Saturday night."
"That fucking sucks." I frown.
I hate that Issac's and my career has managed to trump Baby's at every turn. We've always tried to support her art, but the success of Matted Whine has eclipsed any notice she's gotten. It sucks. Our shows and contractual obligations have made it impossible at times for us to be there to support her. She's understanding, but it still leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
"She's going to see about taking Riggs and Walker with her," Issac says, taking the blunt back.
"They're a little too close for comfort, don't you think?" I ask.
I'm getting fidgety. I hate sitting still. My body rebels against it. I move to crouch on the chair and pop the rubber band around my wrist a few times to stay focused.
"You look like a vampire when you do that," Issac says, passing the weed back. "You mean they're too into Love to protect her without being distracted?"
I sigh, bouncing on the balls of my feet. My elbows rest on my knees and I ache to jump or flip or fucking do something.
"They're into Baby." I hit the blunt and pass it back. I don't really like the way weed makes me feel. I smoke it to be social, but it's not my favorite.
"It's clear they are," Issac agrees, nodding. "I don't think they're bad guys. Having people around to look out for her when we can't be around isn't a bad thing, Dex."
I frown. Walker is all right, but Riggs? He's an epic fucking asshole to me all the time. I tell Issac as much, and he sighs.
"Why do you think that is?" Issac asks. His eyebrows rise and he looks at me like I'm an idiot. I hate it when people look at me like that. Like I'm purposely being stupid.
I'm fucking not.
"Why?" I grind out through clenched teeth.
