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Summer
The morning sunis streaming in through my kitchen window, providing just enough light for me to read the manuscript in front of me. I'm doing another passthrough of Dillan's novel, really taking my time this go around. It's no wonder Jerrick was so surprised I finished editing it over the weekend. This kind of attention to detail is taking me a lot longer than the first time I read it.
I've been ready for at least thirty minutes, having woken up from what I think was a nightmare. I can't really remember it, I just remember jerking awake, feeling like I'd free fallen off a building, and my heart was racing. Which is preferable to the horrifically detailed nightmares I've been having. I think that means I'm right, that the time or distance is making it easier, and I'm not feeling the effects of our mate bond as strongly anymore. So instead of rushing through my morning routine and heading to work early like I did last time, I took a long shower, enjoyed a full breakfast, and have been editing until it's time to go into work.
The apartment is so quiet, I can hear the birds chirping outside and the soft ticking of the wall clock. The clock that is edging closer to the time I have to leave for work. I gather all my dirty breakfast dishes into the sink and stuff the manuscript into my purse in case I want to work on it in my free time today or during lunch. Speaking of—I mosey over to the fridge so I don't forget the pasta leftovers from last night.
Keys, phone, purse, and leftovers in hand, I head out the door, locking up as I leave. It's late enough still that the sidewalks are packed with commuters but early enough that everyone is walking at a leisurely, unhurried pace. Nobody is rushing about, fast-walking to work because they overslept. It's nice. I'm half walking to work, half people watching, when my phone rings. It's Ava. I frown at the screen and wonder why she’s calling this early again. Before it can go to voicemail, I answer the call. "Hey, Ava. What's up?"
"Hi, Summer. I'm so sorry to call you this early, but I figured you'd be awake anyways. Listen, Emery called in sick for her shift this evening. Do you think you could cover for her, and she'll cover for you tomorrow?" I wasn't working a twelve hour shift on Saturday this weekend. I was supposed to split it between tomorrow after work and Saturday.
"Ummm..." I pause, thinking for a minute. Is there a reason I couldn't? "Yeah, I can do that. I get off at five," I tell her. She lets out a relieved breath.
"That's fine. Just come in when you're done. That's a huge help. Thank you!" she says fervently.
I laugh. "It's really no problem. I'll see you tonight."
"See you tonight. Thanks again," she says and then hangs up. Well this kind of sucks. I was looking forward to a quiet evening. But then my mood lifts as I realize this means my Friday night is free again.
* * *
My day only got better from there. It's like the Goddess saw my mood this morning and gave me a day to match it. I was productive at Pen2Paper Press, getting so much done and clearing Jerrick's day up enough that he offered to take a look at the new edits I'm doing. Then he gave me a few notes, but mostly a boat load of praise. I had lunch with the other assistants in the office and felt like I'd made a few more friends.
The sun is shining as I leave the office to walk home real quick to change and then to The Hog's Head. Spring is in full bloom now, giving way to sometimes unpredictable temperatures, but today is sunny and so warm I pull off my blazer on the walk home. Maybe I'm just radiating good energy, because I swear more people have smiled at me today on my walk home than the past three months combined. A few different alphas even winked at me saucily enough that heat rushed to my cheeks.
Back at my apartment, I change quickly, donning a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Before I head out, I make sure to snag the light jacket off its permanent place on the back of my raggedy couch just in case the temperatures drop tonight before my walk home.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm behind the bar at The Hog's Head with my serving apron wrapped around my waist. I jump right into cleaning up the area a little since they've been short staffed for the day because of Emery's call in. I pick up empty bottles, sweep the floors, wipe the countertops, and restock the liquor that’s low. It's a nice way to pass the time because when I look at the clock again, two hours have passed and the dinner rush has started. Now that the place is clean again, I'm taking and filling drink orders while Joe, the bartender that's been here all day, goes on his lunch break.
The door opens, and a cocktail of delicious scents floating into the bar has my head turning. The permanent smile that's been on my face all day gets even wider as I see all the members of Pack Whitlock walk in. Hudson is walking in front beside Maverick, both dressed in dirty clothes like they've been doing manual labor all day. Despite their ruffled appearances, they lookgood.Their work shirts stretch deliciously over their chests and biceps. I only stop staring at them so I can look at Brooklyn, who is walking beside Mason a few feet behind them. I can't help but notice the handsome beta looks just a little less cheerful today than he has the past few times I've seen him. Not in an overt way, but there's a little less sparkle in his striking hazel eyes.
They each walk right up to the bar where I'm pouring a drink for an alpha at the end of the bar and take a seat side by side. The four of them take up half our bar seating, and Maverick pulls four menus from the holder to the right of him, passing them down the line. I catch his eye, and he winks at me. My mind immediately goes to the date we're having Saturday evening, and I flush at the possibilities. The smile I shoot back at him hopefully conveys at least a modicum of confidence, so I don't seem as shy and inexperienced as I suddenly feel. How I feel around all four of them, really.
I hand the alpha at the end of the bar his cosmo. "Thanks, beautiful," he says, leering at me in a way that I've mastered ignoring. As an omega bartender, it's an unavoidable byproduct of serving liquored up alphas. His stench isn't anything like the four people I'm trying hard not to be distracted by. Where theirs makes me want to curl up in a nest full of blankets that smell just like all four of them, buried under the delectable sandalwood and citrus combination Hudson and Maverick are giving off right now, this alpha's smell is putrid. The burnt cigarette smell makes me want to recoil, but I keep my customer service smile firmly in place. "Why don't you give me your number, sweetheart, and we can meet up when you get off," he slurs, leaning over the bar and reaching to touch me.
I take a step back at the same time four growls rumble from behind me. My head whips around to see Mason, Brooklyn, Hudson, and Maverick all glaring at the drunk idiot. The three alpha's growls make sense, they can be a very territorial lot and feel threatened easily. But the charming beta glowering at the aggressive alpha makes me pause. I've never seen Mason be anything but bubbly and sweet, so his reaction sends a ripple of surprise through me.
The aggressive alpha growls back at them, but it's broken up and slurred due to his drunken state. Maverick starts to stand from his chair, but I raise a hand at him. He stops midway through standing up and settles back in his chair without any further prompting. I'll marvel later over the fact that an alpha took a command from an omega without question or hesitation. For now, I bring my fingers to my mouth and whistle, the sound ringing through the bar sharp and loud.
Ava comes barreling out of her office not ten seconds later, bat in hand. She looks around, scanning the crowd—most of whom have stopped mid-bite or put down their drinks to watch the growing scene—until her eyes land on me. I nod to the idiot who can't even stand up straight and is leaning heavily on the bar. His eyes are fighting a battle between glaring at me and Pack Whitlock and trying to focus on staying open. The latter is winning.
Ava rolls her eyes and groans. She stomps over in her signature work combat boots, all five-foot-eight inches of lean muscle, and pokes the alpha in the back of his knee, causing him to buckle a little as it bends forward. The man lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a hiss and whips around to face her. She's a relatively tall omega with her thick boots on, and still he towers over her by several inches. Despite the size difference, Ava doesn't cower, nor have I ever seen her look the least bit ruffled in the face of aggressive patrons. She has a little bit of a reputation around here because of it. Not that she's unstable or overly hostile or anything, people just know not to mess with her.
This man doesn't seem to be much of an exception. When his eyes land on her mop of silvery blonde hair and startling blue eyes, he recognizes her immediately. He still puffs up his chest a little in an attempt to save face, but his eyes turn wary. Ava doesn't even say anything, she just points with her bat toward the door and glowers at him. They stare at each other for almost thirty seconds, the tension in the bar mounting, until he stalks off toward the door, shoving it open with one last show of strength. Ava follows him out, as she usually does, to make sure he gets in a cab and not behind the wheel of a car drunk.
As soon as she is out the door, the buzz of conversation fills the bar again, making me realize everyone has stopped talking. I try to breathe through my mouth for a few seconds because the smell of burnt cigarettes is still lingering and making me nauseous. My eyes snag on the man's spilled drink cup I didn't notice earlier, and I grab a wet rag to wipe up the mess before it gets sticky. The only four people at the bar waiting on their order to be taken after I'm done are my new...friends?
I think I can consider them friends at this point.
I walk over to them, stopping in the middle of the four of them and leaning my hands against the bar. With a smile, I look at them one by one. My heart picks up under the intense stares I'm getting. They're filled with a heat that sets my blood on fire. A little bit of my perfume permeates the space, and there's absolutely no way I can even try to reign it in this close to my heat. I clear my throat as heat fills my cheeks and stare at Mason, who feels the safest to look at right now. "What can I get you?"
"Gingerbread cookies sound great," he says, voice sounding deep and husky, and sending shivers across my skin.
My mouth feels so dry I can't talk all of a sudden. But I don't really need to talk to lay myself out on the bar for him. I'll be his own personal gingerbread platter...
Goddess.
I clear my throat. "Maybe something on the menu?" my voice sounds a little more than a croak.
