15. Aria

15

ARIA

Preheats are like the premenstrual syndrome of the beta world—it's a two-week hell before the raging bleed happens. I can't really relate, though, because I'm an omega. I only bleed two weeks after a heat, which I suppose makes my entire definition moot.

Here's the thing—it also makes a little sense. I become moody, crampy, and hungry for all the snacks, and I mean all the snacks—salty, sweet, and maybe salty and sweet.

It's a problem.

I am starving.

Unfortunately, Quinn left by the time I woke up, and that was a whole day ago. I also did not go to judo last night because I'm avoiding Zane for now. I might show up tomorrow. Might.

The familiar routine of the salon feels comforting after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days. I'm spinning in my chair, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of Quinn's embrace that still lingers in my memory. My stomach growls, reminding me of my current predicament. As I wait for my next client, I can't help but wonder if I'll ever find a balance between my secret and my growing connections with the pack.

"You're making me dizzy," my boss, also the best beta I've ever met aside from Cayenne and Ginger, says. She has latent omega genetics, and according to the scientists of the world, she just needs to come across the right alpha to trigger them.

Of course, she wants nothing to do with them, and I don't actually blame her.

"Dia," I coo, twirling around until her not so smiling face comes into view. She's older than me by what I've theorized is about ten years. I don't actually know, though, because she refuses to tell anyone her age. "You look radiant this afternoon." She's dressed in smart, high-waisted, flowy black pants and a matching crop top. She always looks amazing.

"What is your problem?" Her heels clack as she walks over to the register and plops down in the seat. Our receptionist is off today, so it's up to us to man the phone.

She lifts it and sets it to the side, because we are about to get slammed.

It makes me giggle, but Claudia refuses to answer obnoxious people when we are busy. I don't really blame her.

"I'm hungry, that's all." I spin back around again.

The bell above the door chimes, and Dia looks up. "And your next victim is here," she announces in a singsong voice that makes me want to stab her with my scissors.

I don't, because that's homicide, and I know better than to allow my homicidal tendencies to come out of me while I'm holding shears…mostly.

I spin around, the familiar scent of hair products and the soft hum of blow dryers filling my senses. My eyes land on Dash, who's standing at the door with a stupid smirk on his handsome face. The bell above the door chimes softly as it swings shut behind him, and I can't help but notice how he stands out against the backdrop of pastel walls and gleaming mirrors.

"At least you're wearing a shirt today." I pop up and grab a cape. "I should have known it was you when the only thing in the book was ‘that guy . '"

"Couldn't have you knowing it was me, now could I?" He winks, and my gosh, this guy makes my heart race.

Once again, I'm thankful for the little apothecary, the scent suppressors, and heat suppressants.

I wouldn't survive this appointment otherwise. He probably smells delicious.

I already know Quinn is a possible scent match, so it isn't too far-fetched if the rest of his pack is a scent match as well.

Luckily for me, I have my trusty scent clips in my nose. These industrial-strength blockers cost me a small fortune on the black market, but they're worth every penny. Even the keenest alpha nose can't detect a whiff of omega when I use these bad boys. It's almost scary how effective they are.

Dash slides into my chair with easy grace, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So what's on the menu today? A little off the top, or are we going for a full makeover?" he asks me, as though I know what to do with his mop of hair.

I snap the cape around his neck a little too forcefully. "Depends. Are you going to sit still, or do I need to break out the restraints?"

Why did I think that was the smart thing to say? Control yourself, Aria.

He chuckles, deep and rich. "Kinky. I like it."

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. Damn him and his effortless charm. "Just shut up and let me work my magic, pretty boy."

I should shave his head. That will get rid of all of them, including Quinn, and I like Quinn. He knows my secret, so I should definitely get rid of them. But do I really want that? The thought of pushing Quinn away makes my chest ache in a way I'm not ready to examine. Still, I can't resist the urge to mess with Dash a little. A mullet it is.

As I begin combing through his thick locks, my stomach lets out another angry growl. Dash arches an eyebrow at me in the mirror. "Hungry?"

"Always," I mutter, focusing intently on sectioning his hair. "Premenstrual problems," I mutter, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. My skin feels too tight, and there's a constant, low-level warmth thrumming through my body. "My appetite is insatiable, and don't even get me started on the mood swings." I take a deep breath, grateful for the scent blocking clips in my nose. Without them, I'd probably be drowning in Dash's alpha pheromones right now.

"I might be able to help with that," he says, his voice dipping into a suggestive purr.

If he says anything about his dick, I'm nipping his ear.

I pause mid-snip, narrowing my eyes at his reflection. "If the next words out of your mouth involve any part of your anatomy, I swear I will give you a haircut you'll never forget."

Dash holds up his hands in mock surrender, but that infuriating smirk never leaves his face. "Easy there, beautiful. I was just going to offer to take you out for a bite after this. My treat."

I can't tell if he's being genuine, or if this is another one of his flirtatious games. With Dash, it's always a toss-up, but the prospect of food is tempting, especially when my stomach feels like it's eating itself.

"I'm booked until closing." I pout, resuming my work on his hair. "No funny business. I'm not in the mood for your antics today."

"Scout's honor," he promises, holding up three fingers in a salute.

I snort. "Like you were ever a boy scout."

"You wound me, Aria. I'll have you know I earned my knot tying badge with flying colors."

This time, I do nip his ear…lightly, because I don't want to really hurt him.

"What the hell?" He leans forward and turns around to look at me with a shocked expression.

My grip tightens on the shears as I brandish them like a weapon. The sharp blades glint in the light as I open and close them with a menacing click. "Behave," I snarl through gritted teeth, my eyes wild with rage that I'm blaming on my preheat.

A smile stretches across his face, and he leans back. "I consider that foreplay."

"You would." I snort, going back to cutting a mullet into his beautiful hair. I only feel a little bad about it.

Take this as a lesson—bring pictures to your stylist.

"I'm serious, Aria." He meets my gaze in the mirror. "Let me get you girls something to eat."

I look over at Claudia, temptation on my lips.

"I want tacos," she says lazily, flipping a page in her magazine.

I sigh, weighing my options. On one hand, free food is always a plus, especially when my stomach feels like it's staging a revolt. On the other, spending more time with Dash could be dangerous. He has a way of getting under my skin, and I'm not sure I trust myself around him when I'm in this state.

The prospect of tacos, however, is just too tempting to resist. "Fine," I relent, snipping off another lock of hair with a bit more force than necessary. "But I'm warning you, I can put away an obscene amount of food when I'm like this. You might regret making that offer."

Dash grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Challenge accepted. There's this little taco place I used to go to with my foster sister before she moved away. Best tacos in town. I'd love to take you there."

My mouth waters at the thought. Damn him for knowing my weaknesses. "You're on thin ice, pretty boy," I mutter, but there's no real heat behind my words.

"Well, beautiful, I will have you know that I used to play hockey as a teenager." His eyes sparkle with mischief.

I nearly choke on my own spit. "Of course you did. Let me guess, you were the star player who had all the girls swooning in the stands?"

"Nah," he says with a casual shrug. "I was more of an enforcer. I kept the other team in line, if you know what I mean." He flexes his biceps for emphasis, and I have to tear my gaze away before I do something stupid, like drool.

"How noble of you," I deadpan, focusing on his haircut. "Defending your team's honor with your fists. A true knight in shining armor."

"I prefer leather, actually." His eyes dance with amusement. "Much more practical for skating and other activities."

I nearly snip off more than I intend to at that loaded statement. "I'm sure," I mutter, willing my cheeks not to flush. Damn my traitorous body for reacting to his shameless flirting.

I also don't want it to end. Luckily, I'm only halfway through his haircut. Usually, I can whip these out in fifteen minutes or less, but I also book a full thirty minutes for a haircut.

As I work on Dash's hair, I can't help but steal glances at his reflection. His eyes are a captivating shade of blue, like the ocean right before a storm. Just like with Quinn, I feel a pull towards Dash that both thrills and terrifies me. These growing connections with the pack members are dangerous. The more I let them in, the harder it'll be to keep my secret. But a small part of me wonders what it would be like to belong, to have a pack of my own. I quickly squash that thought. I can't afford to think like that.

It's unsettling how easily he can get under my skin, but I have to admit, there's something magnetic about him… Probably his muscles. He was absolutely a surfer in a past life.

"So," Dash begins, breaking the comfortable silence, "how did you end up working at this salon? Not that I'm complaining, of course. I just can't picture you settling down in one place."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Believe it or not, I actually enjoy the stability. Plus, I get to meet interesting characters like you." Oh, and the chemicals hide my natural scent.

"Interesting, huh?" He smirks, arching an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Take it however you like," I retort, snipping away a bit more hair, "but don't let it go to your head. It's already big enough."

"Touché." He laughs. "But seriously, you seem like you have a lot going on. I mean, you're clearly driven, and there's this fire in your eyes… It's intriguing."

I pause, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "Maybe I do have a lot going on, but everyone has their own battles, right?"

He nods, his expression softening. "True. Life has a way of throwing curve balls, but you seem like you can handle it."

"Sometimes," I admit, resuming my work. "Other times, it's a bit overwhelming, but I manage."

Only because I have no other choice.

"Well, if you ever need someone to talk to…or distract you with terrible jokes, I'm your guy." He smiles with his whole face, as though his happiness beams out of him. "Beautiful," he adds, making me blush and causing all my omega parts to perk up.

I laugh, genuinely amused. "I'll keep that in mind, Dash, but what about you? What do you do when you're not annoying me with your charming presence?"

"Charming, huh?" He grins, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. "I dabble in a few things, mostly freelance work. It keeps me busy and lets me travel. I like the freedom."

"Freelance what?" I ask, genuinely curious. "You don't strike me as the desk job type."

"You got me there," he admits. "I do a bit of everything—photography, writing, even some consulting work. It's a mixed bag, but it suits me." He snaps his fingers. "And I work for Malachi in an adult job. You know, keeping people safe and shit."

"That sounds…exciting," I say, a bit envious of his freedom. "I bet you've seen some amazing places."

"I have," he says, a wistful look crossing his face. "But you know, sometimes the best moments aren't about the places but the people you meet along the way."

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks and quickly look away, focusing on his hair. "I suppose that's true, but still, traveling the world sounds like a dream."

I'd need a passport, and Noah set mine on fire, literally.

"It can be," he agrees, "but it can also be lonely. You start to miss having a place to call home."

"Home is overrated," I mutter, instantly regretting it. I don't want to give too much away. I don't even have a nest.

Dash studies me for a moment, and I can see the curiosity in his eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe it just hasn't found you yet."

I shrug, trying to keep things light. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not cut out for it."

He doesn't push, sensing my reluctance. Instead, he changes the subject. "So any hobbies outside of making people look fabulous?"

"Actually, I love reading," I confess, grateful for the shift. "There's something about getting lost in a good book that just…calms me."

"A bookworm, huh? What's your favorite genre?"

"Fantasy, definitely," I say, a smile spreading across my face. "I love the escapism, the adventure…the magic."

"Magic?" He leans back, his eyes twinkling. "I can see that. You seem like someone who believes in a little bit of magic."

"Maybe," I reply. "What about you? Any secret passions?"

"Music," he says without hesitation. "I play the guitar. It's my way of unwinding."

"Really?" I say, intrigued. "You'll have to play for me sometime."

"Deal," he says, his grin widening. "But only if you promise to read me one of your favorite books in return."

"Deal," I agree, feeling a strange sense of warmth spread through me. Maybe there's more to Dash than what meets the eye, and maybe getting to know him won't be as dangerous as I thought.

As I finish up his haircut, I can't help but feel a little more connected to him. There's a vulnerability in his eyes, a hint of something deeper that makes me want to peel back the layers and see the real Dash. For now, I'll settle for tacos and churros and the promise of more banter in the future.

With a final flick of my wrist, I finish Dash's haircut and whip off the cape with a flourish. Nerves tickle my belly, because I know he's going to hate it. That was the whole point of giving him a mullet. "All done. Try not to let it go to your head, pretty boy. Even a mullet can't dim your shine."

He stands up and runs a hand through his freshly shorn locks, the shorter sides contrasting with the longer top that drifts to his nape in a sweeping motion. It should look ridiculous, but somehow, he makes it work.

Damn him and his effortless charm.

I really tried to give him the worst cut possible, and here he is, looking like a rock god. The only person I have to blame is myself for making him look delicious.

"I love it," he declares, shooting me a wink in the mirror. "You've got magic fingers, Aria."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small thrill of pride that runs through me. "Flattery will get you nowhere," I warn, but my lips twitch with a suppressed smile.

He turns to face me. "We'll see about that. Now, about those tacos…"

My stomach chooses that moment to let out another embarrassingly loud growl. I clap a hand over it, as if that will muffle the sound.

He sweeps in and smacks a kiss on my cheek, surprising the hell out of me, which I guess was his goal all along.

"I'll be right back, beautiful." He sweeps out of the salon with a flourish.

I turn to Claudia, who is still flipping through her magazine, slowly shaking her head with amusement. "You are so fucked."

Yeah, I'm starting to realize that too.