by Bates, Aiden
Pretend I’m Yours
Aiden Bates
Contents
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1. Kyler
2. Saul
3. Kyler
4. Saul
5. Kyler
6. Saul
7. Kyler
8. Saul
9. Kyler
10. Saul
11. Kyler
12. Saul
13. Kyler
14. Saul
15. Kyler
16. Saul
17. Kyler
18. Saul
19. Kyler
20. Saul
21. Kyler
22. Saul
23. Kyler
Epilogue
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Pretend I’m Yours
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1
Kyler
I noticed them right away. They had that telltale air of superiority, that unfiltered arrogance that came from a lifetime of entitlement. Of getting everything they wanted. It wasn’t hard to pick up, especially after working at the Tall Oaks Country Club for a little under a year. The place attracted just that sort. Rich, definitely, but a different kind of rich. The buy your entire housing unit kind of rich. Or mess up your entire life with one phone call kind of rich.
The one who walked into the bar first was tall and skinny but muscular, with straw-colored hair slicked over to one side. Everything about him screamed wealth, from the flawless cut of his suit to the glint of gold in his watch. Yet there was something about him I instantly disliked. I couldn’t tell you what it was, but a feeling of dread swelled up in me as he swaggered over to a table and poured himself into it.
That’s when I caught his scent. I had suspected it as he walked in. He had the tell-tale dominant gait and aggressive stance of most alphas. He smelled like one too; a leathery musk that hit you right in the face. Even though I was standing a few feet away, there was no mistaking it. Definitely an alpha.
His friend emerged from behind him. He was easy to miss; he had so-so features, and nothing about him stood out in particular. This one was human, I had no doubt. He slipped into the seat opposite his friend, grinning like an idiot.
I looked around, hoping one of the other servers would attend to them, but none of them was within sight. Company policy dictated that guests should be met right at the door. I waited as long as I dared, then, resigned, I picked up the tray and walked over to the two young men.
They were both young, probably in their mid-twenties. They were deep in conversation, stopping abruptly when they saw me. Tall and skinny looked up at me, and there was a curious gleam in his eyes as he took me in. I felt oddly self-conscious standing there, like I was being inspected.
“Good day, gentlemen,” I said, adopting the most polite intonation I could manage. “Welcome to Tall Oaks. Can I get you anything?”
Tall and skinny continued to stare at me. His lips curled up into a grin, flashing shockingly white teeth. I knew he had picked up my scent and recognized that I was an omega. He glanced over at his companion and laughed.
“What do you think, Dale?” he asked.
“Definitely a twink,” Dale smirked without missing a beat.
I was sure I had not heard him correctly. Or that he was referring to something else. So I remained silent, waiting for them to correct their mistake.
“You are, aren’t you?” Tall and skinny turned to me. I recognized the mocking then.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir,” I said. There was an edge to my voice. I wondered if he had heard it.
“Sir? Did you hear that, Dale? Sir. I bet that’s what he calls his alphas.”
“Can I get you anything?” I asked again, desperate to regain control of the situation. I could feel the adrenaline beginning to seep into my system.
Please. Just order a drink.
I stared at him, silently imploring him. It would not do to make a scene. I needed this job. Tall Oaks had a bit of an open policy with regard to its treatment of its patrons. Whatever they wanted, they got. Regardless of what it was. It was a lesson I had learned the hard way before. Nod and smile, Kyler. Nod and smile.
The seconds ticked by, seemingly for eternity. We stared at each other, his eyes quietly daring me. He seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it, though. He waved a dismissive hand, as if willing himself to move on.
“Two whiskies. Neat.”
My relief came out in a long sigh as I headed back to the bar. I wasn’t even sure why I had let him get to me. It wasn’t the first time someone had made fun of me. Or the fact that I was an omega gay. There was a delicate balance in the world between heterosexual males and gays in general, whether alpha, beta or omega. Most of the time it hardly came up. But the one thing that seemed constant was the tendency to look down on omegas.
I usually wore my sexuality on my sleeve, and announced it proudly every time I got into a new environment. Even when I did not, it was pretty apparent from my tendency to ‘sprinkle the sass’ on anything I did, as my best friend Jess would put it. No, it was more the fact that they seemed determined to put me down. Like he had taken one look at me and decided right away he was going to fuck with me. Well, we would not be having that, not today.
I took a minute to get composed behind the bar. My hand was steady as I poured the drinks. Laying them on a tray, I planted a smile on my face and waltzed back to the table. I served the drinks and turned to leave right away.
“One more thing,” the cocky drawl called to me, and I knew this was far from over.
“Yes, sir?” I turned back, still smiling.
“My buddy and I need your help settling a little debate we have going on.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a twink, aren’t you?” He said it so casually, as though he was asking me the time.
“I’m not sure what that’s got to do with anything…sir.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grinned, the mad glint back in his eyes. “Dale here thinks you’re a bottom. He just bet me his Porsche, actually. I think he’s wrong. You look submissive, but I think you have some aggression in you. I can see it in your eyes.”
What he couldn’t see was the balled up fist of my right hand, tucked away behind my back. I was still smiling, but my eyes were hard. No doubt that’s what he meant. I tried to think of a reasonable response that was also courteous. A joke, perhaps? To play it off? Ignoring him was clearly ineffective. Maybe if I just excused myself… snuck out for some air? I could track down one of the others and ask them to take over the table.
“So? Are you going to settle the wager? I’d hate to take the man’s shitty car, but hey. When you know you know. Am I right?”
“Respectfully, I don’t think my sexuality is any of your business, sir,” I heard myself say.
“Isn’t it, you little bitch?” His tone changed so suddenly it was almost like someone else was speaking. So too did his demeanor. Hi
s eyes were now cold, and the mop of hair that had been styled onto one side was now falling into his face.
Without warning, he stood up and took a step towards me. I was uncomfortably aware of how close he was, and it occurred to me, somewhere in the back of my mind, that he was not unattractive. I shoved the stray thought away and focused on the angry set of his jaw.
“My grandfather owns the company that owns this club. As far as I’m concerned, I own you. Do you understand? And last time I checked, the club wasn’t hiring disrespectful faggots like you. I could have you fired like that, do you understand?”
He lifted perfectly manicured fingers and snapped them in my face.
“I own you!” he repeated. “When I say jump, you jump. Now, don’t make me ask again.”
I barely heard him. As he ranted, it occurred to me what it was that had bothered me about him first. Tall and skinny represented the closeted gay bully I had grown up in fear of. The one who was so afraid of his own sexuality he took it out on the other kids. Particularly the ones he was afraid he liked a little too much. This was just an adult version of that bully with more expensive shoes.
And there was only one way to deal with a person like him.
I reached up to tall and skinny, grabbed his shoulders and planted a firm kiss on his lips.
I think it’s the shock of it that held him in place. I tasted cherry lip balm as my lips met his with gentle pressure. For a few seconds, he was frozen. And then sense returned to his body, and the lips beneath mine contorted and were snatched away.
He took such a dramatic step backwards it was almost comical. His hands came up in defense, ironically too late. The shock in his eyes was apparent, as was the anger now stretching his face into an unpleasant scowl.
“I hope that clears it up for you,” I said sweetly.
That seemed to jolt him, like a pinch in the arm. He glanced over at Dale, then back at me, then he opened his mouth and positively roared.
“What the FUCK?!”
Heads turned in our direction. The amiable chatter around the room died down instantly. Someone pointed. Another one gasped. I found that I was surprisingly calm, even though I knew there was no coming back from this.
“You fucking bitch! How dare you! I’ll have your head for that, you fucking twink!”
Spit was flying from his lips as he raged. Deciding words were not an effective enough weapon, he made a lunge for me with his right hand. I reacted instinctively, but not quickly enough. The full weight of the blow missed me, but the hand caught the tray as I swiveled out of the way, sending it clattering away. Undeterred, he took another swing, this time aimed at my head.
I stepped back again, raising my own arms to protect my face, the old money maker. I was wondering whether to tuck and run when a booming new voice announced the arrival of the club president. Strong, unyielding arms went round me, holding me in place. I had not heard the security officer arrive.
Mr. Barkley, the club president, rushed into the room in a huff. His glasses, usually balanced perfectly on his pointed nose, were now teetering dangerously on one side. He looked around the room. His eyes rested first on me, and there was something of a solemn acceptance there. A knowing “Of course he’s involved”. Then he saw the other guy, and his jaw dropped. He rushed over, both arms outstretched, and he grabbed hold of Dale and his buddy.
“Mr. Richard! This is a pleasant surprise. I did not know you were coming over!”
Mr. Richard? Stupid name.
Barkley went on, clearly determined to lick every inch of the man’s ass.
“You should have called ahead, dear boy, so we could clear out the terrace for you! I’m terribly sorry about the server… he’s new…”
“Rude is what he is,” Richard cut in.
“Yes,” Barkley bleated. “Quite rude, if he made such a scene. My sincerest apologies, Mr. Richard, on behalf of the club.” He turned to another server. “Set up the terrace for Mr. Richard. Right away!”
“I want him fired,” Richard said. His eyes darted once to me, and there was cold fury in them. It was beautiful to see.
“Eight months is still pretty impressive for you,” Jess said when she came to pick me up. She had not even asked for an explanation when I called her. Just an amused “oh” when I told her I had been fired. I suppose that was one of the perks of having a best friend. She knew me too well.
“It’s not funny,” I replied, throwing my box of possessions into the back seat before sliding into the front of her Beetle. Jess’s car was one of my favorite things about her. It had been a gift from her father, and it was nothing short of a miracle. It was one of the earlier Volkswagen models, held together by bits of duct tape and faith.
“Come on, you drive,” she said suddenly. She got out of the car and walked around the car. I stepped over into the driver’s seat.
“Why?” I asked.
“Something I have to do real quick. Go on, then. Drive.”
I narrated the incident to her as I drove out of the club. She listened with an amused expression, bursting into laughter when I told her about the kiss.
“Oh, that was brilliant, Ky. He must have been livid.”
“He went nuts. Almost popped an eyeball.”
“Hmm. How was the kiss?”
“Ugh. Come on, Jess. I only did that to fuck with him. You know he’s not my type.”
“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting. You like the grandpas.”
“Older gentlemen,” I corrected, grinning. “But hey, if he’s a grandpa and he can still get it, who am I to deny him all this?”
“Uh huh.”
All along, she had been jabbing away at her phone, pausing every now and then to look thoughtfully at me. I waited for her to tell me what she was doing, but when she continued to tap away at it, I leaned over and peeked at her phone.
“What have you got there?” I asked her. I caught a glimpse of a bio profile, but before I could make sense of it, Jess whipped the phone away.
“Tell you in a minute,” she replied. “Hey, watch the road, dude! I’m too young and too poor to die.”
“I thought you’re a vibrant young photographer?”
“That’s just what my portfolio says. Translation: young and poor.”
Jessica Toddwell, ladies and gentlemen.
“Hey, do you mind if I drop by and see my dad on our way home?” I asked after a brief pause. “I want to see how he’s settling in at the new facility.”
Jess nodded, still swiping at her phone.
It had been a week since I had taken my dad to Cranberry Woods Assisted Living facility. I had resisted the idea for long enough, desperate to find a way to care for him myself. But it was hopeless, and we had both known it. Dad’s dementia symptoms were getting worse, and we both knew it was only a matter of time until something happened I had no idea how to deal with. It was also impossible to give him the kind of attention he deserved, considering I was at work most of the time. In the end, my dad insisted that I look for a good facility.
Cranberry Woods was one of the pricier ones, but it was excellent. At least Dad had full-time care there. It suddenly occurred to me that my recent firing might pose some problems if my dad was to stay there.
“All done!” Jess announced suddenly.
“What?” I prompted.
“Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Shit, Jess. What did you do?”
Knowing her, it was another attempt to set me up. If I wasn’t mistaken, that would be attempt number 307. The woman simply refused to admit defeat.
“Promise!” she squealed.
“Okay, okay. I won’t be mad.”
She flashed me a grin and then waved her phone in my face. I looked over at it, saw the words ‘MAIL MISTERS’ at the top of the screen and frowned.
“This isn’t another dating site, is it?”
“Yes and no,” Jess replied in her best mysterious voice. “It is a site where couples are matched up, but it isn’t about dating
.”
“What do you mean? What else would it be about? Fucking? Don’t we already have apps for that?”
“Look, Ky. I’ll just be blunt. This omega dating thing isn’t working out for you. Okay? I mean, you’ve tried dating a few times and that hasn’t led anywhere. You just got fired again. I thought it might be a good idea for you to try Mail Misters.”
“I still have no idea what that is.”
“Hear me out, okay? It’s a mail groom order service.”
It took a moment for her words to register. I though initially that she was joking, as she so often did, but there was no telling smile on her face, no cheeky glint in her eye.
“Are you joking?” I asked. She shook her head. “Groom? As in you want me to get married?”
I pulled into the driveway of the facility, parked and turned to stare at Jess.
“Well, why not? You can’t tell me you’re still waiting on this true love thing!”
“Really, Jess…” I protested.
“Just hear me out, okay? All you have to do is sign up and create a detailed profile, right? The site caters exclusively to these rich billionaires who are looking for boy toys or who have no time to date and marry the traditional way. Which is perfect, because it cuts straight through the bullshit. Once you match up with one, you get paid really well, and that’s before the adventure begins. Think about it. Trips abroad, a room full of designer clothes…”
And then I remembered that she had been typing all the way here.
“Wait. Did you already sign me up?”