Alpha in Heat Page 4

  He dropped the skewer back into his glass. “I was messing with him,” Dom said. “Next topic.”

  He avoided Gareth’s questioning stare, and he very definitely avoided Sinclair’s eyes for the next hour. Mostly, Dom let the rest of the guys talk—the less he shared, the less he’d be vulnerable to the alpha next to him.

  Later that night, Dom signaled for the bill. The waiter handed him the small leather folder; Dom slid his credit card inside and passed it back.

  Sinclair pulled out his wallet. “How much do I owe you? I think I have enough in cash...”

  “Jesse, no.” Alec laughed. “It’s bar night. It’s a treat. Dom and Gareth take turns footing the bill.”

  Sinclair froze, staring at Alec. Then he looked at Nate, who shrugged, and Gareth, who nodded at Dom.

  Slowly, like it pained him, Sinclair turned to meet Dom’s eyes. There was wariness in his gaze, and a sort of dread that Dom wasn’t sure he liked.

  Sinclair tightened his scarred fingers around his wallet, every rise of his chest stretching his shirt. Was he... scared? Or just feeling awkward?

  “Thanks,” Sinclair said, his voice low like an engine’s purr.

  “No problem,” Dom answered, his own voice dipping into a rasp. As though his body thought he was speaking to a lover. And because he wasn’t conscious of it until it happened, it unnerved him.

  A dark flush crept up Sinclair’s throat.

  “Thanks, Dom,” Alec chirped, snapping that tension between them.

  “Thanks,” Nate added.

  Gareth just looked at Dom like he wanted explanations, but Dom didn’t have any to give.

  The next bar night, Sinclair was conspicuously absent.

  Sinclair stopped showing up to bar nights for a long time. To the extent that they had another probie, York, join the station. By this point, York had attended more bar nights than Sinclair had.

  Almost a year had passed since that very first day. With each week, Dom felt the inevitability of this sinking in: despite how easily Sinclair got spooked, he handled most of his episodes well. He did his duties, he didn’t slack off even once. He got along with the rest of the team.

  Really, he was just as competent as a regular recruit, and the only person who still had a problem with him, was Dom.

  That was a secret. He’d buried it enough that even Gareth had gotten off his case. At the station, Dom addressed that alpha by his name. Inwardly, Dom thought of him as Sinclair, because he wanted to maintain some distance between them.

  He still remembered Mal, and how easily Mal had ripped his heart into shreds. Mal, who had managed to seem so normal before Dom had gotten to know him. In the years they’d been together, Mal’s mental health had been all over the place. He’d never talked to Dom about ending his life, though.

  That always felt like a betrayal, every time Dom thought about it.

  One week before Sinclair’s probie period ended, Dom overheard a conversation.

  “Aww, just join us this one time,” Alec said, his voice echoing all over the locker room. “You’ll graduate from being a probie next week!”

  “‘Sides, bar nights are fun,” York added. “You’ve been missing out on all the free booze. Come celebrate!”

  Sinclair’s voice was measured, hesitant. “But who’s paying for it?”

  Dom stared at the shower water pooling around his feet. Me. It figured, that Sinclair still remembered that first bar night. That Dom was the reason Sinclair didn’t want to show up.

  On a basal level, Dom was glad that they shared the same opinion about each other. The further Sinclair held himself, the better off Dom would be.

  “Uh, beats me,” Alec said. “Who even remembers stuff like that? All I know is, I owe Gareth and Dom a lot of drinks.”

  “I could ask Gareth,” York volunteered.

  “No, there’s no need to,” Sinclair said immediately.

  Because, what? He was afraid Dom would discover that Sinclair was avoiding him?

  “So you’ll be there?” Alec asked. “It’s just a couple hours. Nate volunteered to drive us home.”

  “Unless you have something else you’d rather be doing,” York added. “Do you?”

  “No,” Sinclair said eventually.

  “Then you’re joining us.” There was a smile in Alec’s voice. “Woohoo! Bar night’s gonna be fun!”

  “I hope so,” Sinclair answered defeatedly.

  Dom’s stomach flipped in the oddest way. It wasn’t like he’d followed up on that promise to fuck Sinclair. Nothing had happened between them. Everything was strictly professional—even if he’d had the occasional dream of that alpha bent over before him, wearing only his scars.

  There was no way Dom would admit that he’d woken up raging hard from those dreams, thinking his cock was still slick from Sinclair’s tight hole.

  Hell, even the thought of that—it was starting to make him hard.

  Quit thinking about that. It wasn’t as though Sinclair was an omega, anyway. His hole wouldn’t be slick. He shut off the water, drying his hair.

  When Dom stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, the conversation stopped.

  “Oh, hey, Dom.” Alec grinned. “Didn’t know who was showering. You’re gonna be at bar night, right?”

  “Yeah.” Dom headed over to his locker. He didn’t even need to look, to know that Sinclair had stiffened up somewhere to his right.

  “Tell us when we can return the favor,” York said. “You’ve been paying for our drinks for a long time.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Dom shrugged, pulling off his towel. Nudity wasn’t an issue in the locker room... except he could feel a pair of eyes on him. No points for guessing who.

  He pulled on his underwear and turned—just to see where Sinclair would look next. Even though he knew he shouldn’t.

  Blue eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. Yeah, Sinclair had been staring. Somewhere around Dom’s ass. And Dom remembered being in this same locker room a year ago, Sinclair’s bare cock pushed up against his pants. That had haunted his dreams, too.

  He pulled on his pants, then his shirt, his cock thickening with the fact that he still held every single ounce of Sinclair’s attention. It was twisted. Dom didn’t know what the hell was wrong with himself anymore.

  But as long as he kept it quiet, no one would be any the wiser.

  He shut his locker door, meeting Sinclair’s eyes again—just to show that he wouldn’t back down from a challenge. “Quit slacking around,” he said to all of them.

  Then he left the locker room, hoping like hell he would never soften up toward Sinclair.

  That would be the end of him.

  6

  Bar Nights Part 2

  Sinclair was late to bar night. Conversation had started up all around Dom, and yet he kept looking back at the empty seat across the table, waiting for that damn alpha to show up.

  “You sure are distracted.” Gareth leaned in so he could lower his voice.

  Dom narrowed his eyes. “I’m not.”

  Gareth only raised an eyebrow. “So tell me why you keep glancing at the door.”

  “That’s what you think I’m doing,” Dom retorted, because he wasn’t.

  Around them, York, Nate, and Alec were clinking glasses. Even Harris and Brad were here. The married alphas didn’t usually show up—Dom couldn’t fault them for wanting to spend time with their families.

  Today was for celebrating Sinclair’s graduation into a regular firefighter, though, so the whole team was present. Harris had wanted to foot the bill. Dom had arm-wrestled him out of it—because it was supposed to be his turn, damn it.

  Not because he wanted to pay for Sinclair’s drink. That was ridiculous.

  He was lifting the glass of whiskey sour to his lips, turning to Gareth to prove he wasn’t distracted, when he smelled cinnamon.

  It shouldn’t snare his attention like it did, but Dom looked up. Gareth followed his gaze.

  Across the
bar, Sinclair was stepping through the door, rain dripping down his face.

  “Huh.” Gareth looked pointedly at Dom. “Something you’re not telling me?”

  Like Dom had anything to say about Sinclair. “No.”

  “You still want him off the team.”

  Some days lately, when there were no reports of Sinclair going into a panic, Dom had to dig deep into his memory, to remind himself that he did not agree to Jesse Sinclair joining their station family. “Yeah,” Dom said. That was a stance he wouldn’t let himself forget anytime soon. “I regret not making him a probie for two years.”

  Gareth snorted. “You knew six months into his probation, that he’s perfectly capable. He’s proven himself over and over.”

  “He still hasn’t had a chance to fuck up big time.”

  Gareth’s stare almost made him uneasy. “Why, because you can’t stand the sight of him? Or because you don’t want to admit that you’ve got issues?”

  Because no one else was looking their way, Dom flipped him off. Gareth rolled his eyes.

  Dom focused on chewing up his lemon slice. He turned toward Alec and York, to try and join in on their conversation.

  Except it was damn distracting when Sinclair pulled his chair away from the table, and the rest of the team greeted him.

  “Hey, Jes!” York waved.

  “Sure took your time, son,” Gareth said.

  “Congrats on making it through the probie stage,” Harris added.

  Sinclair cracked a smile, like he sometimes did with the others. It made him look younger, actually. Less burdened by the world. Rain had streaked down his T-shirt, and a droplet clung to the side of his jaw.

  A small silver band wrapped around his earlobe—it hadn’t been there before. Somehow, Dom knew the smooth, metallic weight of that earring on his tongue, even before his conscious mind caught up. Why the hell does this keep happening?

  Sinclair sat down, his gaze locking onto Dom. And that electric tension was back, that wordless defiance in the set of Sinclair’s jaw. That Dom wanted to fuck out of him.

  Brain. Stop. Not right now.

  Dom didn’t look away. Instead, he waited until the waiter came up to take Sinclair’s order, and Sinclair turned first.

  “Yeah, you’ve got a problem,” Gareth muttered.

  Like Dom needed to be told that.

  The waiter left. The rest of the team fussed over Sinclair; Brad pretended to ruffle Sinclair’s nonexistent hair. Nate hugged him. Alec actually pulled out a flower crown, setting it on Sinclair’s head.

  They were accepting him into their family—dangerous. Dom scowled at Harris. But Harris only smirked. They’d argued about hiring that alpha. Now, Harris had won.

  Dom hated losing.

  Sinclair’s drink arrived shortly after—a marbled mix of dark and white, same as what he’d ordered that very first bar night.

  “A toast for Jesse.” Harris raised his glass.

  Everyone followed suit. Dom went along because it didn’t pay to make a fuss now. As much as it displeased him to welcome Sinclair to the team.

  Over the drinks, his stare locked with Sinclair’s. The man’s lips moved soundlessly: I win.

  Like hell he had.

  A coil of hot anger hissed through Dom’s veins. He didn’t agree to this. Not to having that guy as his family, not to waking up drenched in sweat, his cock so hard it hurt. Because of him.

  Dom swallowed a large mouthful of whiskey, focusing on the burn down his throat. Keep it cool. He’s not worth it. There wasn’t any point in making a scene, not when he wanted to pin Sinclair down and wipe that smugness off his face. With a cock up that alpha’s ass.

  When everyone had settled down, and when they’d eased back into conversation, Dom excused himself to use the restroom.

  It was only when the door had shut behind him, that he slammed his fist into the wall. No one else has a problem with him. Only you.

  Why? Because no one else had someone like Sinclair rip their life apart?

  In his head, he heard Gareth’s voice: He’s not Mal.

  Only because Dom was fighting to keep it that way. If he hated Sinclair, then there was no way Sinclair could walk out on him, and leave Dom crashing.

  Except Dom was still pissed. Because Sinclair had dug under his skin, striking a nerve somehow. I can’t let him get to me.

  The fucker hadn’t even tried, and here Dom was, ready to punch a hole into the wall.

  Breathe. He sucked in a deep breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. Then he repeated the process another five times. He went to the sink to splash water on his face, the shock of cold distracting him slightly.

  The door squeaked open. Dom straightened, wiping his face off.

  Of course, who else had to show up, but Sinclair himself?

  Dom smelled the cinnamon immediately. He kept his eyes on his own reflection, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to dry his hands. But he couldn’t ignore the intense presence that had stepped into the restroom, he couldn’t ignore the anticipation that pulled his entire body taut.

  They’d been alone together on the job. Dom had ignored Sinclair as best as he could then. But right now—this wasn’t Dom being Sinclair’s deputy. This was just them as alphas. Not family.

  He felt Sinclair turn a little to look at him. Sinclair stepped over to the urinals. Then came the rasp of a zipper in the silence, Sinclair pulling his cock out.

  Dom remembered the thickness of that cock, the way it had rubbed up against his own. It had grown hard in Dom’s dreams, it had spurted all over, Sinclair roaring beneath him.

  He wished he could stop listening to Sinclair piss. He knew he should walk out, right now. But something kept his feet planted to the floor, his tongue heavy, a low thrum of anger still coursing through his veins.

  Dom wanted to fight him. He didn’t know how the hell that would turn out.

  Sinclair finished with his business, tucking his cock back into his pants. His fly rasped. Then he stepped over to the sinks, took the one right next to Dom’s, and washed his hands.

  He could’ve used the one on the far side. He didn’t. He was getting into Dom’s personal space—a challenge.

  Dom met his gaze in the mirror.

  “You hate me,” Sinclair said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?” Sinclair rounded on him, his eyes flashing. “Because I’m not right in the head?”

  Dom kept his own answering violence in check. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

  The man narrowed his eyes, a low growl rumbling through his chest. He was getting ready to fight. And maybe Dom would enjoy this—grabbing him, subduing him. Shoving his entire body against Sinclair’s, feeling that raw muscle buck against him. He couldn’t smell anything but cinnamon, now.

  The second before Sinclair lunged, the door slammed open.

  It bounced loudly off the wall, a sound that cracked through the entire restroom like a gunshot.

  Just like that, Sinclair startled, the anger in his face transforming—into shock and fear. He whirled around, turning his back on Dom like he’d completely forgotten Dom was there.

  The two alphas who had stepped in looked up, surprised and wary. Sinclair raised his fists—did he think they were going to attack him?

  “Psycho,” the woman said, dragging a man along behind her.

  Regardless of what Dom felt, Sinclair didn’t deserve to be called that. “He’s not.”

  “Whatever.” The woman and her companion left a wide berth around Sinclair, but Sinclair took a step forward, like he was about to attack them.

  Dom grabbed his arm to stop him. Sinclair whirled around instead, his lips twisted into a snarl.

  If this had been a fair fight, Dom would’ve released him. But the look in Sinclair’s eyes—he wasn’t present anymore.

  Sinclair swung his fist. Dom grabbed his hand to catch the blow, shoving them both around so he could pin Sinclair against the wall. Sinclair lunged. Dom threw his entire weight against
Sinclair’s chest, knocking him back. Sinclair was bulkier, with more muscle; Dom almost couldn’t hold him down.

  “Hey,” Dom growled. “Snap out of it.”

  Sinclair tried to punch him again. Dom shoved harder at the man, chest on chest, grasping both of Sinclair’s wrists to stave off more attacks.

  “Sinclair,” Dom barked.

  Hot breath puffed onto Dom’s chin. There was a wild look in Sinclair’s eyes, fueled by anxiety.

  What had happened to him, to make him this fucking scared?

  Scarcely had that thought crossed Dom’s mind, than his instincts rumbled, Protect.

  More so now, than what he’d felt that very first day. And the need to give in, to protect Sinclair—it scared the shit out of Dom.

  No. Hell no. He doesn’t fucking need it. “Jesse,” Dom snapped. “Shape up!”

  Still struggling, Sinclair blinked. Then he froze against Dom, his stare sharpening.

  In the moment after Sinclair’s wildness had passed, and before his guard fully went up, Dom glimpsed the man that was Jesse Sinclair—lost and uncertain, and a little afraid.

  He saw the dampness on Sinclair’s lips, he smelled the coffee liqueur on Sinclair’s breath. He felt the heat of Sinclair’s body soaking into his own. And Dom suddenly knew the taste of a white Russian on those lips, inside that mouth—without even kissing that man.

  He could claim Sinclair, right here.

  I’m not kissing him. Why the fuck would I think that?

  He released Sinclair’s wrists, rolling his weight back onto his heels to put some distance between them. He needed to be angrier about this. He needed to wash his hands off this alpha.

  The scowl faded off Sinclair’s face, replaced by a guardedness that Dom felt better about. “What the fuck happened?” Sinclair asked.

  “The door slammed. You freaked out.”

  Something flashed through Sinclair’s eyes—resignation, maybe? “Right.”

  Just as Dom thought things couldn’t get any more awkward, the pair of alphas emerged from the bathroom stalls, the woman throwing a baleful stare at them. “Psychos,” she muttered again, dragging her companion out of the bathroom.