16. Dash

16

DASH

As I step out of the salon, a grin spreads across my face. The kiss I planted on Aria's cheek still tingles on my lips, and the surprise in her expression plays in my mind like a cherished memory. The spring air feels invigorating against my skin, and I adjust my stride, feeling like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Aria's presence has a way of cutting through the haze of my life, grounding me like never before.

Her use of scent suppressants adds to her mystique. I can tell because she has no scent. Even a beta has a scent, whether it's natural or perfume. What does she smell like? Will she be a match? Deep down, I already know the answer—a resounding yes echoes in my mind. On a good day, my scent mirrors the purest form of the ocean, salty and invigorating. It's a reflection of my untamed spirit and unwavering determination. It envelops me like an invisible shield, silently daring anyone to challenge me…or at least I think it does, and to be honest, I'm just going to manifest that shit.

As I walk briskly down the street, the sun warms my face, and my thoughts bounce between the immediate task of getting tacos and the larger, more complex puzzle that is Aria. She's a whirlwind of contradictions—tough yet vulnerable, guarded yet intriguingly open—and she has secrets. Big ones. The kind that make me want to dig deeper, even if it means getting my hands dirty.

A smirk curls my lips as I reminisce about her threat to give me a haircut I'd never forget, but the mullet now feels like a rebellious badge of honor instead of a disaster—a symbol of the electric tension between us since I first stepped into her domain.

It also looks amazing. Even though I know her intention was to make it the worst haircut ever, like those of the nineties, she gave it a modern flair, and I actually love it. I'm never changing my haircut ever again.

The aroma of sizzling meat and spices wafts from the taco stand, pulling me out of my thoughts. The warm scent wraps around me, mingling with the city's cacophony of honking horns and distant sirens. The sizzle of meat hitting the grill sends a spray of tiny droplets into the air, catching the sunlight like miniature fireworks. I inhale deeply, savoring the blend of cumin, chili, and lime that tickles my nostrils. The vendor's calloused hands move with practiced efficiency, chopping cilantro with a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that syncs with the rumble of passing traffic.

I mentally touch on my pack, feeling a sense of comfort and belonging as their bonds rumble back to me. We aren't just colleagues, we are brothers. But sometimes, in quiet moments like these, I wonder about my place in it all. Am I truly fulfilling my role? The others seem so sure of themselves—Malachi's leadership, Quinn's tech genius, Zane's intensity. And me? I'm the joker, the musician, the free spirit. Is that enough? The doubt gnaws at me, even as I feel the warmth of their presence in my mind. I push the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. Maybe with Aria, I can find a new purpose, a way to prove my worth not just to the pack, but to myself.

As I place my order at the food truck, my mouth starts to water. The vendor's practiced movements, the hiss of the grill, and the sight of freshly made churros add to the sensory overload. For a moment, I'm transported back to my days before Quinn came back for me, when the smell of street food was often my only comfort in unfamiliar cities. The memory stirs a familiar ache of loneliness that I quickly push aside, plastering on my usual carefree grin. It's easier to be the charming, flirtatious Dash that everyone expects than to confront the vulnerability lurking beneath the surface. I add a generous serving of warm, crispy churros to my meal, the sweet scent blending perfectly with the savory tacos.

Aria is about to experience something she never expected, and not just with the tacos. I want her, and my pack wants her, except maybe Zane, but I'll work on him. It's the first time we are even interested in a woman who isn't an omega, and there is something unexpectedly liberating about it. With betas, there's no biological imperative driving us, no overwhelming instinct to claim and mark. It's just us—raw attraction and genuine connection. The lack of pressure is refreshing, but it also terrifies me. Without the excuse of biology, every interaction feels more meaningful, more real. And that vulnerability? It's both thrilling and terrifying.

She is ours, she just doesn't know it yet, and I'll do anything to convince her of it.

I wonder if it's too soon to offer her a bonding bite. Yeah, totally too soon. Not to mention how rare and complicated alpha-beta bonds are. But with Aria, I'm willing to break all the rules.

I've noticed the way her eyes betray a hint of hesitation whenever I get too close to uncovering any aspect of her truth. She's clearly running from someone or something, but I know better than to push her too much too quickly. Trust is delicate, and I am determined not to shatter it.

Besides, with the four of us actually working as bodyguards, she is safest with us. I just need to show her that we have her back.

As I wait for the food, my mind wanders back to Aria. Images of her keep popping up in my head, drawing me in with a magnetic force. I can't deny the pull she has on me. It's a Cupid's chokehold, and I want her to suffocate me with those little hands of hers.

"Well, if it isn't the hero from the bar," Logan says, a playful smile on his lips as he approaches the taco truck.

I look up, surprised to see him just as I grab my bag from the vendor. "Logan! Didn't expect to see you at a place like this."

He chuckles, ordering his own tacos before turning back to me. "Everyone has to eat, right?"

"True enough," I reply. "So what brings you here? Besides the obvious."

"Just finished up an interview nearby," Logan says, his eyes sparkling with interest. "Thought I'd grab some food and maybe run into a familiar face. Lucky me, huh?"

I grin, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with him. "Well, you found one. How's the job hunt going?"

Logan drops his head back, his eyes closing as he groans almost in defeat.

"That good?" I laugh at his obvious distress.

"It's impossible to find a job that pays a living wage ya know." He looks back at me, his head tilted to the side. "What do you do?"

"Not as much as you'd think," I tease. "Our pack lead owns Puritan City Alpha Security."

"Like what you guys did at that rally?" he questions.

"Yeah, right now with alpha and omega dynamics, a lot of our jobs are protecting politicians." An idea pops in my head. "You should apply."

"Maybe, I'll keep it in mind." His reply is almost absentminded, as though he thought about it then quickly thought about something else.

"What happened with the journalism gig?" At least that is why he was at the rally.

"Eh." He shrugs. "It was just something to pass the time. Not really my calling, you know?"

"Yeah I get it," I reply, feeling a connection to his words. I love working with Malachi and the guys, but it really isn't my calling. "Speaking of which, any chance you'll be at the Red Door on Friday?"

Logan's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Might be. Why, you planning to serenade someone?"

"Could be," I say with a wink. "You should come by. It'll be a good time."

"I just might take you up on that," Logan says, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. "I have to say, Dash, you're an interesting guy."

"Likewise, Logan," I reply, feeling a strange pull toward him. "You sure you're just a reporter?"

"For now," he says cryptically, turning around because his order is ready. "See you around, Dash."

"See you around," I echo, watching him walk away. There's something about Logan that I can't quite put my finger on. His scent lingers, a mix of something familiar and yet new, sparking my curiosity. I find myself looking forward to our next encounter, wondering what other surprises he might have in store. It's been a while since I've met someone who piqued my interest so quickly outside of the pack. For now, I'm content to let the mystery unfold naturally, excited about the possibility of a new friendship, or maybe something more.

With my food in hand, I make my way back. The afternoon sun casts long shadows on the pavement, and I find myself thinking about the future in a way I haven't in years. Maybe it's Malachi and the pack's influence, or maybe it's just Aria. Either way, I feel a subtle but undeniable change in my perspective.

By the time I reach the salon, I have a plan—I'll take it slow, earn her trust, and maybe I'll get to see what lies beneath the surface of the alluring Aria. With a deep breath, I push the door open, the bell above jingling cheerfully. Claudia glances up from her magazine, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Back so soon?" she teases.

"Couldn't stay away," I reply with a wink, "and I brought reinforcements."

I hold up the bag of tacos and churros triumphantly, and Claudia's eyes light up. "You're a lifesaver," she says, grabbing the bag and peeking inside. "Aria's in the back."

I nod, my heart beating a little faster. As I make my way to the backroom, I run my sweaty palms down my worn jeans. There is another woman in a chair with a bunch of tin foil in her hair like she's trying to get the best radio station.

Aria glances up as I enter the backroom, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of me. "That was fast," she remarks, setting down her oversized drink bottle.

Good, she's hydrating.

"I aim to please," I reply with a grin, holding up the bag of food. "Hungry?"

"Starving, actually." She stands, stretching her arms above her head, and I can't help but admire the way her shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of smooth skin. "Gimme."

I tear my gaze away before she catches me staring and gesture to the woman in the chair. "Client?"

Aria nods. "Mrs. Kowalski. She's a regular." She leans closer, lowering her voice. "Comes in every six weeks like clockwork for her cut and highlights."

I chuckle, picturing Aria dealing with the woman's demands. "Sounds riveting."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, it is. There's nothing like the smell of bleach to really get the appetite going."

"Well then, it's a good thing I brought tacos." I set the bag down on the counter and start unpacking the foil-wrapped food.

The room is small and packed with more stuff than is necessary. Aria grabs the bag and a timer and jerks her head to the backdoor. "Picnic with me?" She glances at the timer. "I have twenty minutes before I have to get back to it."

"Speaking my language." I hold my own meal, and without hesitation, I follow Aria out the backdoor and into a small, sunlit courtyard. The space is cramped but charming, with potted plants lining the brick walls and a wrought iron table tucked into a corner. She sets the bag of tacos down and plops into one of the chairs, motioning for me to join her.

As I sit, I can't help but notice how the sun catches the highlights in her hair, turning the locks to an almost silvery blonde, with the faded pink strands standing out even more. It's obviously not her natural color, but I'm not sure I'd want to ever see her natural color when this is an option. Aria unwraps a taco and takes a big bite, closing her eyes in bliss as the flavors hit her tongue. A small moan escapes her, sending a jolt of electricity through me. There's something incredibly satisfying about seeing her enjoy something I brought her. It's the simple moments like these that make me want to know everything about her.

"Good?" I ask, my voice coming out a bit rougher than intended. My cock strains against my jeans, and thankfully, my T-shirt falls over little Dash.

She nods enthusiastically, swallowing before replying. "Amazing. I haven't had tacos this good in ages."

"Not even the other night, when Quinn drove you home?" I challenge.

She squints at me before she looks back at her taco. "Did you get tacos from somewhere else as some kind of competition?"

Yes. Yes, I did, and I can't wait to tell Quinn what she said. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would do that?"

"Yes," she says without a moment of hesitation, "and I'm not mad about it."

Laughter bubbles out of me, because she already has me pegged, and I'm pretty sure I'm in love.

I watch as Aria devours her taco, savoring every bite like it's her last meal on earth. There's something undeniably sexy about a woman who knows how to enjoy her food—no pretense or dainty nibbles, just pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"I need to know everything about you," I say, leaning back in my chair and fixing her with a curious gaze. "Why did you choose to become a hairstylist, Aria?"

Shit, I already asked that, I think. I'm fucking up this getting to know her shit. With an alpha and an omega, it's all physical, but with Aria, I want to know everything about her.

"You already asked me that." Aria raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on the corners of her lips. "Why do you want to know more about me?"

I shrug, taking a bite of my own taco. The savory blend of seasoned meat and fresh toppings bursts in my mouth. "You know, you're smart, sassy, and drop-dead gorgeous. I figure there's got to be a story behind someone like you ending up in a place like this."

"Oh, and you're an expert on career choices now?" she retorts, wiping a bit of salsa from her chin with the back of her hand. The flicker of amusement in her eyes makes my heart skip a beat.

"Nah, but I know there's more to you than what meets the eye." I wink at her, enjoying the way her cheeks flush at the compliment. The hint of pink spreading across her skin is almost as enticing as the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's fighting back a smile. If I get a smile like that every time, I'll keep asking questions.

"What are you doing Friday night?" I ask, then I take a big bite of my taco to hide my blush. The heat from the spices mixes with the embarrassment simmering in my chest. Usually, women come to me, begging and pleading, and I don't have to do much work, but with Aria, I have to try, and that alone intrigues me. It makes me want to chase her.

"Why?" she asks suspiciously, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"I have a gig," I tell her with food filling my mouth. I hope I don't sound as nervous as I feel.

"A gig?" Aria repeats, her curiosity piqued. "What kind of gig?"

I swallow my mouthful of taco. "The kind that involves music, dancing, and maybe a little bit of trouble. My band's playing at the Red Door."

"You're in a band?" Aria's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Let me guess, you're the brooding lead singer with a tortured past?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Close, but not quite. Guitar." I pause, because she is also mostly right. "And lead singer."

"The pack?" she asks, and is there a little bit of expectation there? I think she's intrigued by my pack.

"They don't play in the band." Not because I don't want them in the band, but because they are all completely tone-deaf. It's a problem. "A few of the other local alpha packs have musically inclined alphas."

"So it's just you who plays in the band?" A little wrinkle forms between her brows.

"Just me, but they are my biggest fans," I say with a grin. "And maybe someday, you will be too."

"So like an alpha from another pack." There's a little frown on her forehead as she speaks. "I thought packs did everything together."

"We do," I reply, trying to keep my tone light and informative. "But it's also healthy for us to have friends outside of pack dynamics."

"I never would have thought of that," she muses, her voice softening.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. The wood is cool against my skin. "There's a lot about pack dynamics that might surprise you. We're not just a bunch of knot-headed alphas grunting at each other."

Aria snorts, nearly choking on her taco. "Knot-headed alphas? Did you really just say that?"

I chuckle, knowing I have a talent for words. "But seriously, you should come to the show and see for yourself that we're not just clichés." Her eyes light up in amusement, and I can't help but smile back.

She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the half eaten taco in her hands. I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she weighs the pros and cons. The smell of food and the noise of the surrounding patrons fade into the background as I focus solely on her.

"I don't know, Dash. I don't…" She pauses, taking a deep breath. "I don't do bars."

I forgot about that. There has to be a way I can get her there.

"I'd love to see you there," I tell her, leaning in closer. Her unique scent of orange and vanilla envelops me, intoxicating and heady. "You can just come, have a drink, listen to some tunes. If you hate it, you can leave. No hard feelings. No pressure."

Aria chews her bottom lip, a gesture that sends a jolt of desire straight to my groin. I want to lick her tortured lips.

She nods slowly, her gaze meeting mine. "We will see," she says.

I'll take it. "It's a date then." I lean in and kiss her cheek again, feeling the warmth of her skin against my lips.

"It's not a date," she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's a date." I spin around, walking away before she changes her mind. "Friday, the Red Door, seven sharp."

"Dash," she whines, sending the last of my blood to my cock. She whines just like a sexy little omega. "It's not a date."

"We'll see," I call back with a grin. I turn around and ignore her protests, and just as I'm about to turn the corner, I yell, "But I'm pretty sure it is."

I slip behind the building, hoping like hell she shows up. Anticipation thrums through my veins, mingling with the lingering taste of tacos and the sweet sound of her laughter.