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“Now an alpha cocktail,” I say and he gives me a hard stare.
He orders it anyway, since he insists on doing the ordering for me. He acts like an alpha right now, but he’s not one. Is it an act, thinking he will impress me, or is he leaning toward the alpha side of the spectrum?
“So tell me.” He leans in, all smiles. “Want to go jogging with me this Sunday?”
No, I go jogging with Ronin,I almost say and gulp down half the cocktail instead. The alpha cocktail is spicy, actually spicy with chili sauce, and it makes my eyes water. It reminds me vaguely of Ronin and Zayne, but their scents are much more complex and the taste of their mouths sweeter.
God, why am I thinking of that now?
“You look very pretty tonight,” he says. He has finished his cocktail—I bet it’s the beta cocktail, so predictable.
Why do I feel annoyed about it? I have no right to judge, do I?Oh God.
I finish my cocktail, put it down on the bar and gather my courage. “Ronald, listen…”
“Let’s dance,” he says. “Come on. It’s nice music.” He grabs my hand, tugs. His smile is wide, and I’m sure he’s attractive. Reasonably so. I just don’t feel it. “You’ll love it.”
“I don’t think so. Ronald, we have to talk?—”
“Later. Come on.”
“I said, I don’t feel like dancing.” I pull my hand free and nod at the bartender. “An omega shot, please, whatever it’s called.”
“What’s wrong?” Ronald asks and it’s an echo of Ronin’s voice, Zayne’s voice, all their voices. I want to weep.
Because he’s a nice guy and none of this is his fault.
“I can’t date you,” I whisper, and when he stares at me I down the shot the bartender brings me. The omega shot is sweet and chocolatey like a liquid brownie. “I don’t want to date you, Ronald.”
“But…”
“You’re a great guy. But I’m not feeling it.”
“You’re not feeling it,” he repeats, his voice growing cold. “Right. I won’t take up any more of your time, then. Take care.”
And sliding off the barstool, he walks away, pushing his way through the dancing crowd.
Suddenly, he’s gone from the bar and my life.
It hurts a little, a light sting. Not nearly as much as it should. The sting is followed by a giddy feeling of relief as he disappears in the direction of the exit. I want to laugh out loud at how easy it was to tell him how I feel, something I had dreaded to say. It was freeing.
But if I laugh, it may turn to tears, and in my experience, it’s easier to keep the tears back than to stop them once they start.
I stare down at my empty shot glass, wondering if to ask for another, or for another cocktail. I could go to straight whiskey. Fall deeper into the hole. Fall lower.
Now I’m without men. Any men. Even those I truly want. What is there to do but drink and forget? I’m already dizzy, my limbs loose, a warmth in my chest that had been lacking for ages. An artificial warmth, but beggars can’t be choosers—and why does that make me think of Grey?
Oh God, I can feel the tears coming.Rewind, this is a bad idea. Don’t think. Stop thinking.
“Bartender!” I wave at him, and open my mouth to ask for the strongest drink on the menu, when a familiar tall shadow falls over me.
I lift my gaze up and up until I find a familiar, handsome face. “… Zayne?”
24
GIGI
“You seem surprised to see me,” Zayne says. “What, am I too old for this place?”
