Much to her surprise, he agreed to come to the bar to meet with her but was also quick to tell her he couldn’t stay long. She knew how that went too. It was a way out if he needed it. If things went well, he’d just say he could blow off whatever it was that he’d said would keep him from hanging about. Whatever the case, he must live close by, as he said he’d been there in ten minutes. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or concerned.
She paid for her drinks and stepped down from the bar, making her way toward a cozy little table where they’d be able to sit and talk. Once she was seated, she ordered a ginger ale from the server. On the off chance that he wasn’t a frog, she didn’t want to be smashed when he arrived, and the martinis had already begun to go to her head. She considered her thinking. Why did it matter? This was just for an article. It wasn’t like she was out to meet her lifemate on Alpha Meets Omega.
Ten minutes later, he showed up right on time, walking toward her with a large smile on his face. He wore jeans, a white button-down, and a pair of brown leather walking boots. His dark hair was cropped short, but with a slight bit of curl to the ends. He was something she rarely thought of a man being—absolutely beautiful. In fact, she felt his effect take hold deep in her core before he even spoke a word.
“Adriana?” he said in a deep, husky voice—a man’s voice, she thought.
“Yes. DJ?”
“Sure,” he replied, slipping into the booth beside her but keeping a polite distance between them.
“I was surprised you were able to make it so quickly,” she told him.
“Well, you said you were supposed to meet someone here and they didn’t show. I couldn’t leave a woman just hanging out alone in a bar.”
It sounded both sexist and thoughtful. Adriana was left feeling confused about how she should take it, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for now.
“You must live nearby,” she told him.
“I was out in the country,” he said, leaning in closer to speak quietly. “I flew here. I’m really fast.”
“And yet you’re perfectly dressed,” she countered, not sure if he was kidding or why her head was now swimming with whatever divine scent it was he was wearing.
“I have a spot,” he told her.
“Of course,” she replied.
A lot of people “had a spot” where they stashed clothes for emergencies or convenience. Usually, it was a grab bag in a tree in the woods or some vacant space somewhere, though. His shirt seemed perfectly pressed. He was a lot more put together than she had expected someone who worked in construction to be. Then again, she guessed owning a construction company was a bit different than being one of the workers.
“What’s your poison?” he asked, pointing toward her glass.
“Oh, just ginger ale.”
“Non-drinker?”
“I had a few while I was waiting for my friend. I didn’t want to get too out of hand.”
“Responsible,” he commented, waving down the server and speaking to her. Adriana didn’t miss the way she fawned on him. It seemed he had an effect on other women, as well. “Can we get another ginger ale for the lady and I’ll have a beer. You have any Guinness on tap?”
“We do. I’ll get those right over to you,” she said with a little giggle before sashaying away.
Much to his credit, he didn’t linger on her curves as she disappeared toward the bar, and she was definitely jiggly as well as giggly. Instead, he immediately turned back to Adriana, leaning back against the cool leather of the booth and making eye contact. She could feel the wetness between her legs. Jesus. He was temptation personified.
“So, Adriana. Do you have another name to go with the first one?” he asked.
“Lee,” she replied.
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Her middle name was Lee, and he hadn’t specified a last name. Not that she could have given him her last name anyway. She was known among the various pack communities, but they only recognized her byline, not her face. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be an issue to just say she was a journalist. Journalists need love too, but you’d be hard-pressed to find an Omega working in a position like hers.
“How about you?” she asked, realizing she might have come off as being a bit curt with her answer.
“Me? Dane Johnson, DJ to my friends.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“Honestly? Dane. DJ sounds like someone’s punk little brother,” he laughed.
“And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Someone’s punk little brother.”
“Actually, no. I’m an only child now.”
“Now?”
“Well, I had a brother, but he isn’t with us anymore.”