7. Sawyer

7

"So… who were those guys?" Ronin, ex-tenant of mine, ink artist, hulking alpha and one of my friend Gigi's pack mates, sips at his black coffee as I wipe down the counter for the millionth time.

"…Hm? I'm sorry? What guys?"

"The guys you were staring at, at the bar the other night."

"Oh. Nobody."

"Nobody? I don't buy it," he says. "Besides, you said that too quickly."

"No, I didn't, Ronin Holmes. That's my natural speed."

"Ah-huh. You were ogling those guys."

"I was glaring at them," I retort. "It's different."

"Glaring? Why?" Suddenly he slams his coffee cup down on the bar. "What did they do to you?"

Have I mentioned he's also a good friend? I'm surrounded by nice people. If only I lacked family stress, and didn't feel weirdly lonely, I'd lead a charmed life.

"Calm down, Ron. Sit." I point at an empty stool. "Don't go all alpha on me."

"You're my friend. Of course I would!"

"I know." I push the cup back toward him. "Drink your coffee. Nothing happened."

He growls. "Spill, Sawyer."

"Fine, fine. One of them came by and decided to rearrange the books at the back."

A blank space in time. A beat of thundering silence.

Ronin squints at me. "And?"

"And I got mad! I have my system. It's working great."

"What do you mean? Did he play the alpha card on you? Alpha-splaining things?"

I shrug. "Not exactly."

He finally relaxes. Drinks some more coffee. "You're serious about your organization system, huh?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I don't think he cares about books. He's like you."

"Hey," Ronin says mildly. "I read."

"Not only mangas."

"Mangas are perfectly good books."

"I know," I mutter. "It's fine. Forget it."

"Sawyer…"

"That was uncalled for. Sorry. I…"

The door of the café opens, and someone walks in. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I wash the rag under the faucet, then wring it out. He has stopped in the middle of the café, looking around. The place is empty right now. A dead hour. He's well dressed, in a dark suit. With his dark hair and square jaw, he looks like a model who just walked out of the pages of a magazine.

Wait… he looks kinda familiar.

"What is it?" Ronin turns to look, his frown returning. "You have that look on your face again. Who is that guy?"

"What look?" I say, then freeze when I recognize him. "Oh, shit. It's the alpha from the bar!"

"Huh. Really? The asshole is back?"

"No, not the tattooed alpha who pissed me off. The other, the one he kissed."

"You were really paying close attention to them, huh? For a bunch of nobodies, they did well."

"What are you talking about?" I breathe.

"Well, you said you weren't watching anybody. You said?—"

"Shush. I'm going to talk to him." Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I walk around the bar and over to the guy.

"But… why?" Ronin asks from behind me.

Why, indeed. It's just that, I've never seen this guy around. And the odds of him calling in so soon after I saw him at the bar with the annoying, tattooed alpha are stacked against it being a coincidence.

As in… why did he come looking for me?

"Hi," I say as I approach him.

I have to look up as I navigate my way between tables and chairs, because damn, he's tall. You'd think I'd be used to being fun-sized in this society by now, though my height is fine for an omega, but these alphas are frankly ridiculously tall.

And ripped. Even with his suit jacket on, I can tell how muscular his arms are, his biceps bulging, straining the fabric. His eyes are hooded under thick brows. He reminds me of a dangerous animal, a tiger trapped inside a cage, ready to pounce the moment you open the door.

"You must be Sawyer," he says, and I can't help a flinch.

"How do you know?"

"My mate, Kyrian, said you had books in your café."

"What a weird topic of conversation," I mutter.

Kyrian. That was the name of the other alpha. His mate. Confirmation that they are a pack, as I suspected.

"Not really," he says.

"What?"

"Talking about cafes and bars we have visited isn't an unusual topic of conversation for us. Is it, for you?"

I shrug. Find my hands clenching at my sides and force them to relax. "So you came to check out my café? Or to check out the books?"

"Neither. I came to meet you face to face."

Bingo. I knew he hadn't happened to pass by.

"What do you want?" I ask, and it comes out pretty damn hostile.

"To see what got Kyrian so hooked. He normally doesn't even glance at omegas."

"Doesn't he?"

"No," the alpha says, shoving his hands into his pant pockets and giving me a smirk I can't quite decipher. "He doesn't."

"Well, too bad for him. And you, I suppose."

"Is it?"

"Oh, omegas not doing it for you, either?"

His eyes sweep over me in an assessing way I shouldn't like. "Not normally, they don't."

I lift my chin a little more. "Well, you don't know what you're missing."

Oh, fuck me, where did that come from? That's so cringe, Sawyer. You're embarrassing yourself.

"Yeah," is all he says, which isn't a real reaction, is it?

I try to regroup. What am I doing? I need to be professional, not act like a freak, with my customers.

"Please, have a seat." I gesture at the nearest table. "Would you like something to drink? We have excellent coffees and teas, and delicious pastries from the?—"

"I want to check out the books."

I blink. "Fine, but?—"

"And I would like an espresso and a cookie. If you have that."

I splutter. "Of course I have that. Chocolate chip cookie, blueberry cook?—"

"Blueberry sounds good." He turns toward the shelves at the back. "Ah, there they are."

And he leaves me there, in the middle of the café, to go explore my books. I try not to stare because, damn, the sight of the tall, hulking alpha among my bookshelves is hot enough to make me hard.

I harrumph, telling my dick to sit down. He's here for my books, huh? Fine.

He'd better not mess with them, too, or he'll feel my wrath.

It occurs to me as I take the espresso to the dark and moody alpha, and not for the first time, that I have created this café for myself rather than for others. How else to explain my annoyance when my systems are messed with? I might as well hang up a sign that says ‘Don't touch the books.' Which would fucking defeat the very concept of a Book Café.

I told myself that I put the books there for people like me—slightly antisocial bookworms who prefer to hide behind a book while having a coffee. Or for lonely people.

Like me.

Which is absurd. I'm not lonely. I'm almost always surrounded by people, many of whom are good friends.

I'm not lonely.

And reading books doesn't equal loneliness, and that's a fact.

Stop second-guessing yourself. Not liking it when people mess with your perfect café doesn't mean you only created this place for yourself.

"Your coffee," I announce as I step around the shelves, looking for my customer. "Mr. …? Your coffee."

I discover him in the romance section. That's unexpected.

And now you're letting prejudices in, I scold myself. Just because alphas look like cavemen—sexy ones, whatever—that doesn't mean they don't care about love.

I set the coffee down on one of the small tables. "Here you go."

He nods his thanks. "I'm Archer by the way. Archer McGraw."

The name suits him, but I only nod in return. "I saw you at the Alpha Bet the other night."

"Yeah, that was my pack. Kyrian and Roman."

Roman. That has to be the handsome bartender he was with. "Right."

"Was that your pack you were dancing with?" he asks. "Tell me about yourself."

I open my mouth to do just that, instinctively about to obey the alpha command, and stop myself. "What do you mean? Am I interviewing for something?"

"Maybe."

"For what, exactly?"

"For being allowed near my mates."

Anger grips me. Who is this fucking guy anyway? My curiosity is replaced by cold fury. "I am sorry, I think there has been a misunderstanding. Have your coffee and go. Courtesy of the café. Drink up, leave, and don't bother me again."

His dark brows go up. "Yes, I think there has been a misunderstanding."

"If you'll excuse me," I bite out, "I'll leave you to it."

What is this arrogant ass doing in my café? Dammit. Maybe I should make it a private club for friends only and fuck profits. Who needs money anyway? Who needs food and clothes and bill payments and independence from their family?

Fuck.

Yeah, don't I wish.

Fuming, I make it back to the bar. Thankfully, Ronin has already left, or I might give into temptation and let him go pick a fight with this alpha.

Archer.

I busy my hands with a stack of dirty cups and saucers so I won't give into temptation and go throttle the man myself. I'm not a cuddly teddy bear just because I'm an omega. He may be able to bench press a Mini Cooper, but I can throw coffee into his face and all over his expensive suit. I can also throw a book at his head. I have good aim.

Alphas, this is a serious announcement: Beware café owners and book lovers. Who said books and coffee don't have practical applications in real life?