by Aiden Bates
“He’s not ghosting, he’s just—”
Bzzzzzzzzt.
We all looked over to the counter where my phone was still laid face down.
A message.
Kevin finally texted me back.
“You look first,” I begged Damon. “I don’t think I can do it.”
Sighing, Damon picked up my phone and glanced down at the screen. His face fell immediately—a bad sign.
“What is it?” I asked. My heart was off to the races, galloping anxiously in my chest.
“Not a text,” Damon warned me. “Instagram notification. Kevin just posted.” He bit his lip, unable to meet my eyes. “You should take that man up on his dances, Ry. I gotta go—I’m on.”
He pushed the phone in my chest and jogged up towards the stage where Noah was already standing, tapping an invisible watch on his wrist and looking annoyed.
I swallowed hard. What could Damon have seen on Kevin’s Instagram that was so awful?
“Are you gonna look?” Carlos asked, peering over my shoulder.
“I guess I have to.” The phone felt like the sharp end of a blade in my hand as I turned it over.
I’d told Damon that I wanted proof. Some kind of evidence that what he and Noah had told me wasn’t just bullshit.
If nothing else, at least now I had it.
“Fuck—I can’t tell where one guy’s body ends and the next begins,” Carlos said slowly, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, well, I can.” I pointed to the face in the middle of a throng of naked male bodies, slick champagne bubbles and thick foam. A disco ball glittered overhead, illuminating Kevin’s messy red hair as he locked lips with one faceless Omega and stuck his hand down the pants of another.
“Shit, Riley…” Carlos touched my back gently. “I’m really sorry…”
“Don’t be.” I moved away, shaking his hand off. “It’s my own damn fault. Everyone warned me. Should’ve known better.”
Damn right, I should’ve known better. Being caught out in public with other Omegas. All those nights that he’d left early with the promise that he’d call when he got home—a call that somehow never seemed to come. The fact that he was never available—even when he was with me, Kevin was always on his phone. And when he wasn’t with me? He might as well have tossed that phone into the Hudson, for all the use he was getting out of it.
Or so I’d thought. From the looks of things, Kevin was getting plenty of use out of his phone when he was out at night—he was just using it to take pictures of his drunken escapades instead of using it to text his boyfriend back.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about texting me back again.
Nice Instagram pic. I sent the text to Kevin abruptly before typing the rest of what I had to say.
Before I could even finish typing, my phone buzzed again.
Kevin.
The asshole was finally texting me back.
Shit, the text read.
The phone buzzed again.
That was supposed to go to my other Instagram, babe.
I blinked. An excuse—but not even a sorry.
Another buzz.
You mad?
It was so ludicrous, I laughed out loud.
We’re done, I typed back to him. Have your shit out by morning.
“Damn,” Carlos swore. “That’s cold, Ry.”
“I know,” I said softly.
“Make you feel any better?”
I hung my head. “Not really.”
I should have felt vindicated. Righteously angry. Relieved, maybe. But no—all I felt was that pang in my chest that reminded me why they called it heartbreak. Kevin was my first serious boyfriend. I’d imagined a future with him—kids someday, maybe. A house. The same sweet, perfect life that my parents had raised me in. He’d get a real job—marketing or something, maybe. I’d run a dance studio where I’d teach our daughter tap and ballet.
And now it had all gone up in disco glitter and champagne foam.
The Alpha from the audience’s piercing blue eyes rose up in my memory again. He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from me—and here I was, tearing myself apart over an Alpha who didn’t even have the time to send me a fucking thumbs-up emoji—let alone stay faithful.
“What’re you gonna do now?” Carlos asked, his mouth turned down in concern.
I shrugged my shoulders back and jutted my chin out high. “I’ve got twenty dances booked for the night, don’t I? I’d say I better get started.”
Carlos’ frown shifted into a grin as he smacked me on the ass. “Atta boy!”
4
Max
“Another drink, sir?” It was a new cocktail waiter this time—the other one had disappeared backstage, apparently never to return. I’d waited long enough that my ice was clinking around the bottom of my glass loud enough to summon a refill.
Guess I should’ve taken the hint. No answer still means no.
“Single cask scotch,” I told the waiter. I’d never been one to give up so easily. Not for something I really wanted. “And make it neat this time, please.” The waiter gripped the glass to take it from me, but I held tight for an extra second so I knew I had his full attention. “That means no ice.”
“Of course, sir.” The waiter tucked his chin against his chest as he hurried off to pour me a new glass.
It didn’t surprise me that Mr. Riley Angel wasn’t taking me up on my offer. He moved well and he knew it. Like a wet dream poured into a golden G-string and strapped up in angel wings. Probably had regulars here who’d be sorely disappointed to find he wasn’t available for the evening. Regulars that he wasn’t willing to piss of for some random asshole fresh off the street.
Or maybe, I considered, he just liked a little variety in his night. Wouldn’t have surprised me either, really. I’d known my fair share of Omegas who were like that—my most recent ex only being the latest in a long chain of them. That was what killed relationships in the end, I’d realized long ago. Being with one person for so long like that—most people couldn’t handle it. In the end, they’d always go searching for something shiny and new. Forever sounded good in I love yous and wedding vows, but in practice, forever took work.
Up on stage, an impressively tall dancer was teasing his way out of a pair of football pants while the house band strummed out Gary Glitter’s “Rock and Roll Part 2”. In any other strip club I’d been in, it would’ve been cheesy. Trashy. A little gauche. But Heaven’s Ballroom chose their dancers well. The band played dirty, but never missed a note. The lighting made it feel like I’d been transported to another world—a classier time. It made me wonder what kind of stage show Riley Angel put on. Some kind of firefighter shtick to Elvis Presley’s “Burning Love”, maybe. An officer-in-uniform bit that gave a more literal meaning to “Fuck Tha Police”.
“Your drink, Mr. Griffin,” a sultry voice breathed into my ear. The smell of amber and vanilla accompanied it, curling around me like smoke.
I turned to meet a set of eyes the same color as my scotch.
“Riley.” I paused. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He came around the chair, still cradling my glass in his hand. He placed himself across my lap like a fine fur, winding an arm around my neck and holding my scotch a tantalizing inch and a half away from my lips.
“I hear you’re all booked up for the night,” I told him.
“Oh, I am.” He moved the glass an inch forward, teasing me with it—then pulled it away and pressed it to his own lips, taking a sip. “By a gentleman with excellent taste, as fate would have it.”
I watched him lick a lingering bead of scotch away from his lower lip with a dark pink tongue.
“I’ve never met an Omega who liked scotch before.”
He smiled, tracing his fingertips along my collarbone. “You’ve never met an Omega like me.”
“And this gentleman who’s bought all your dances for the night…” I closed my eyes. That touch of his—it was so fucking warm,
but he was still finding ways to give me the shivers. “He doesn’t mind you going around sitting on other Alphas’ laps?”
“Oh, he minds.” Riley’s fingertips delved lower beneath my collar, brushing against my chest just over my heart. “In fact, he’s a very jealous man.”
“He’d have to be,” I agreed. “Throwing away money to fill up your dance card like that.”
Riley laughed. It was the sound of cool water straight from the faucet after a long night of thirst. “He’s got money to burn. But you’re wrong—he doesn’t think of it as throwing it away.”
“You’re worth it, then?”
“Maybe you’d like to find out for yourself.”
“I don’t think your gentleman friend would like that.”
“No,” Riley agreed, with every implication that he didn’t give a fuck. “He wouldn’t like that at all.”
It had been a cute game at first, I had to admit. He was as clever as he was handsome. But now, it was starting to rub me the wrong way.
“You like stringing him along, then,” I said. It came out as gruff as I meant it to. I shouldn’t have been taking Ethan’s indiscretions out on this poor dancer at this nice club—but the wounds were still fresh enough, I found I couldn’t quite help myself. “You think it’s cute to cheat around a little bit.”
Riley paused. For a moment, he looked stunned. A little pang of hurt flashed through his eyes—a hurt I recognized all too well. In the next moment, he was staring at me with a look just as severe and serious as the one I must’ve been giving him.
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Griffin.” He drew away from me a little, the spell of our flirtation momentarily broken. “I take that kind of thing more seriously than you’ll ever know.”
It was my turn to look stunned. He was either quicker on the draw than I’d given him credit for…
Or he meant what he said.
Interesting.
“It’s Max,” I told him. My voice was softer now, and his gaze softened in response.
“Max, then.”
“Are you going to let me drink my scotch, or are you just going to tease me with it all night?”
“I was thinking you might like to drink it somewhere a little more private.”
Somewhere private with someone like him. It was my drink he had in his hand, but with an offer like that, it might as well have been my cock that he was gripping. He’d had me hard as soon as he’d touched me during that enchanting little opening number. He had me hard again now. I knew the rules—look, don’t touch—but they were rules that I was itching to break.
His fingers were warm as they wound around mine. He picked himself up off my lap, then pulled me to my feet, leading me through an archway to the side of the room and down a dark hallway full of red doors.
“Are we still in heaven?” I asked him as we came to the end of the hall.
“We might be.” He pressed his angel wings against the door and opened it, moving backwards and beckoning me in. “You’ll just have to come inside and find out for yourself.”
I barely had a foot in the door before Riley grabbed hold of my tie. He yanked on it, pulling me the rest of the way in. Outside in the main room, he’d been smoky and sensual. Eager, but restrained. But now, restraint seemed to be the last thing on his mind. He claimed lengths of my tie with his fists, pulling me toward him until his knuckles were at my throat and his head was craning up toward mine, lips poised for a kiss that required every ounce of my determination not to claim.
He noticed, too. He noticed more than he ought to have.
“Do you want to kiss me, Max?” he asked, an amused giggle in his throat.
“I might. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Tonight, I’d probably let you.” He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, releasing it with an aching slowness. It was purely suggestive. Made me imagine how good it would feel to sink my own teeth into those perfect lips of his. “I like you, Max.”
“It’s your job to like me, isn’t it, sweetheart?” I let out a little laugh of my own as he pushed be backward, marching me into an armchair in retreat.
“It’s my job to say I do.” He ran his fingers along the side of the armchair, closing his eyes as he stroked its velvet. It was black as midnight. Soft as mist. “Mm. But it’s another thing for me to mean it.”
“And do you? Mean it?”
Riley opened his eyes suddenly, looming over me and staring me down. There was the strangest look in those eyes. Something dangerous lingered around the edges of it. Like he wasn’t entirely sure where the edges were between us. Between what was fake and what was real.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he purred, straddling me. “Maybe you can help me make up my mind.”
Overhead, a slow beat flowed from unseen speakers. Not cock rock or country or rap—nothing that I’d ever heard in any strip club I’d been in before. Riley lowered his hips against mine, riding me in pantomime, as Michael Jackson wailed “Give Into Me”. If it hadn’t been for the logistics of getting my slacks off in that moment, I might have obeyed him.
Even then—it would only take a flick of my belt. The lowering of a zipper. My cock was straining hard against the lap of my slacks already—and the first dance had only just started. Twenty dances. What the fuck had I been thinking? Another nineteen of these with Riley, and I’d be stopping by my dry cleaners just so I didn’t have to drive all the way home with cum staining my boxers and dripping down my thigh.
Strip clubs had never been my thing. I’d been dragged to enough of them by my pervert of a boss back when I first started as an intern at Hayward Financial to know how they worked, but I’d never really enjoyed it. Not like Malcolm did. He’d ordered us all out, men and women alike. To gentlemen’s clubs. Alphas’ clubs. To drag shows and burlesque acts. Some of the other interns had quit immediately. The others had petered out slowly, turning in their two weeks in a cascading fashion.
And there, at the end of the waterfall, only I’d been left. Rough upbringing gave me a knack for keeping my nose to the grindstone and my head where I wanted it to be. It had earned me a promotion. Intern to the firm’s top financial analyst in eight short months. Malcolm Hayward could’ve taken me by the ear and hauled me to hell and back without fazing me. While I’d played wingman for him, I’d had strippers offer me blowjobs. Blow. Ecstasy, anal—everything under the sun. Never anything that I’d wanted. I wasn’t an easy man to tempt.
But Heaven’s Ballroom wasn’t just any strip club. Riley wasn’t just any stripper.
And this wasn’t just any night.
Above me, Riley dipped his lips down toward my neck. He shaped his mouth into a wide O and blew a hot breath of air against my jugular, then puckered and blew cold. Shivers shot up and down my spine again, prickling in the thick muscles over my shoulder blades and strumming my nervous system to life.
I wanted him. I wanted him bad.
Daringly, I raised my hand up to his thigh. He had a dancer’s legs, long and lean with muscle. He let me feel the way that muscle rippled beneath my palm before he swatted my touch away.
“You’re not allowed to do that,” he told me. His tone didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like a challenge to do it again.
“You know what they say. Idle hands.” I raised my palms up level with my shoulders where he could see them. “You’ve still got my drink.”
He wound his arms around me, cradling my glass behind my head. “You’re telling me if I gave you your scotch, you’d play nice?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” I moved my hand to his hip this time, winding my fingers around the firm curve of the bone there. The other darted up to his jawline, capturing it in my palm. “But if I didn’t have both my hands free, I wouldn’t able to do this.”
“Maybe I like you with your hands free.”
“Made up your mind about me already?”
“I think quicker on my feet.”
“You might think quicker off of t
hem.”
A little light caught in his eyes. A mischievous glimmer. Like an ember that had been smoldering deep inside him for a while now, just waiting for the right bit of kindling to come along.
“What are you proposing, Mr. Griffin?”
“Max.”
“Mm. Answer the question, Max.”
I ran my thumb along his chin all the way up to his lower lip and pressed down, rolling it toward me. Every moment I touched him was a gamble—but he didn’t stop me. Not this time.
“My car’s out in the lot,” I offered. “Nice car. Roomy.”
“Leather interior?”
“Suede.”
He smirked. “Not a good fabric if you’re looking to get messy.”
“We’ll have to keep things clean, then.”
The smirk widened. “You don’t seem like that kind of man.”
“Maybe you’d like to find out for sure.”
I saw his breath catch in his throat. His gaze rolled over me, hesitating. Like he was looking for a good reason to take me up on what I was suggesting—or a better reason to say no.
“Maybe I would,” he said finally. He tipped the rest of my drink down his throat—liquid courage?—and placed the empty glass on the end table to my right. His left. “Lead the way.”
5
Riley
I pointed Max to the back door out to the parking lot, leaving my angel wings inside.
“Shit,” he swore. “It’s cold out.”
“It’s not that bad.” A blast of wind hit my bare chest and thighs, giving me a full-body shiver that betrayed my lie.
“Here.” Max shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it around my shoulders, tugging the lapels tight across my chest.
He was broader than I was. Bigger and taller and thicker. His jacket dwarfed me, but I wasn’t about to give it back to him. It was a sweet gesture, for one—and for another, he was right. It must have been close to freezing out here, and Max’s jacket was still full of his body heat. His warmth.
