Baiting Him (How to Catch an Alpha 2)

Touched by the offer, I reply, “That’s sweet, but I’m all done.” I smile as I toss the paper towel into the overflowing trash can. He opens the door, holding his hand up high enough that I won’t need to duck under his arm to get out. Once I’m in the hall, I look over my shoulder at him and smile once more. “Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” He winks, and my stomach flutters.

Like any smart woman dealing with a man who is far too attractive, I ignore the flutter and head back down the hall. The girl who was ahead of me is still in line for the women’s restroom, and when she realizes where I’ve just come from, she frowns.

I stop near her, then whisper, “I used the men’s room. There wasn’t a line. Also, just a guess, but it’s probably a lot cleaner than the women’s room.”

“Thanks,” she whispers back, then looks around before she gets out of line. I wonder if I should warn her about the man in there now, but then I shrug. She’ll figure it out on her own. I walk around the edge of the dance floor, searching the crowd for my friends until I spot them all dancing together, and then I join them.

An hour later, with my feet killing me and my throat dry, I shout over the music into Leah’s ear while I motion toward the bar. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”

“No!” she shouts back, grinning drunkenly.

“All right, I’ll be back.”

She nods, and I move off the dance floor and fumble my way through the crowd, saying “Excuse me” and “Sorry” dozens of times. When I finally reach the bar, I let out a happy sigh when I see an open stool. I take a seat and wait for one of the three bartenders to notice me. This—I know from experience—will take a while, because unlike most of the extraordinarily beautiful men and women here, I’m not special in any way.

I’m five three on a good day and have brown hair that is confused about whether it’s wavy or straight and sits just past my shoulders. My eyes, which are one of my more unique qualities, are hazel in color. My face is cute in a chubby cherub kind of way, and I’m plump. I’m not exactly overweight, but I do carry extra pounds that are the result of owning a bakery and enjoying the treats I make a little too much.

“Do you think maybe next time you’ll not tell every fucking woman in my club that they should use the men’s room?”

The question is growled into my ear, and I spin around on my stool to face the man pressed against my back, which brings us face to face.

“What?” I blink, trying to focus on him, but with the lights flashing every few seconds and the alcohol that’s still in my system, it’s not exactly easy to do.

“The line for the men’s room is now just as long as the one for the ladies’, since you made your exit and shared your wisdom about it being empty and clean.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth.

“Yeah, oh.” They slide back up to meet mine.

“I’m sorry, but in my defense, I only told one person.” I hold up a finger, and his eyes narrow on it between us.

“Yeah, and as usual with women, that shit went viral in about two point five seconds.”

“Did you say this is your club?” I ask, leaning back, not sure I heard him correctly. He looks young. Not as young as me, but definitely young.

“Yeah.”

“Then maybe you should think about having a couple more restrooms put in.”

“Thanks for the advice, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to get on that.”

Even though I know he’s being sarcastic, I still smile and chirp, “You’re welcome.”

His gaze lowers, skimming over my tight black dress. Without thinking, I cross my legs, causing my dress to ride up my thighs, and his jaw seems to twitch in response. Even though I tell myself I feel nothing, I still feel the flutter between my legs, and my heartbeat seems to pick up speed.

“Fuck,” he rumbles right before his gaze meets mine once more.

“If that’s all, I’m kind of busy trying to get one of the bartenders to notice me,” I tell him, and his eyes narrow; then he lifts his head and lets out a loud whistle.

“What can I get for you, boss?” a man asks behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder at one of the three bartenders behind the bar.

“Water,” the guy in my personal space orders, and I frown.

“Got it.” The bartender nods, reaches below the bar, and sets a bottle of water on the wooden surface before moving away.