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.
Sinclair flinched, avoiding Dom’s eyes.
As much as Dom didn’t want to reach out to Sinclair, he knew he couldn’t let this slide. “You’re not one.”
Blue eyes snapped up, incredulous. “What do you mean?”
Dom shrugged, turning away. He wasn’t explaining how hurt Mal had been when people called him a psycho.
“You hate me.”
He had to. Dom didn’t know what he felt anymore. But he sure hated the fact that, for a second there, he’d been tempted to taste Sinclair’s lips. He’d wanted them to fight, so he could feel Sinclair’s body against his own.
“Why the fuck are you like this?” Sinclair hissed, grabbing Dom’s arm. He swung Dom around, getting all the way up into Dom’s personal space.
Dom met his eyes, his heart pounding, his lungs filling with cinnamon. For an instant, he wondered how Sinclair would react, if Dom went and kissed him hard on the lips. Then he dismissed the thought completely.
A kiss like that would change everything.
Dom wasn’t prepared, not in ten lifetimes, to get involved with Jesse Sinclair.
He yanked his arm out of Sinclair’s grip, striding out of the bathroom.
7
Bar Nights Part 3
“Everyone keeps hooking up with omegas,” Alec groaned, taking a swig of his drink. “You’ll all stop coming to bar night. Pretty soon, it’s gonna be just me. You’ve gotta promise me, Jes. Don’t let me suffer alone.”
Jesse shifted uncomfortably. Alec was getting drunk—something had set him off today, and he’d been ordering twice as many rum and colas as he usually did. Jesse wasn’t sure what he’d do with a drunk Alec. “I’ll try. You’ll probably end up getting hitched, too.”
Alec scowled. “No, I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Alec flushed, refusing to say more. Did he have someone in mind? “Anyway, you’re gonna find someone next, Jes. I just know it.”
If this had been a private conversation, Jesse wouldn’t have minded so much. But Dom was sitting across the table, listening to every word. Probably judging Jesse more with every second that passed.
“Give Jesse a break, Alec,” Nate said. “For all you know, he’s enjoying being single.”
“Are you?” Alec squinted.
Jesse shrugged. Mostly, he didn’t want to discuss this in front of Dom. He’d been flipping through a dating app on his phone; none of the options had caught his eye. He knew what he was looking for, though—someone who made him need.
Someone who could erase the tumult of emotions shooting through his gut every time he thought about Dom—the anger, frustration, and shame.
He couldn’t erase the memory of that bar night a year ago, when he’d gone into a panic right in front of Dom, and Dom had seen Jesse come undone. Because someone had opened a fucking door behind him.
Jesse hated that Dom knew his weaknesses, he hated that Dom had seen him at his worst. He hated that he still remembered the press of Dom’s body against his own, Dom’s breath heavy on his lips, his stare piercing into Jesse like he’d seen all of Jesse, and found him lacking.
Jesse had won—the rest of the team had welcomed him with open arms. Except Dom’s disapproval carved deep into his bones, like an ache he couldn’t claw out.
He needed to prove himself, so Dom would stop looking at him that way. Or maybe he just needed to plant his fist into Dom’s jaw. Maybe that violence would be enough.
You’re not a psycho, Dom had said. As though he actually saw anything
