I walked into the crowded O-zone Lair, or Big O as we locals call it, and looked around the packed club. I made a beeline for my favorite seat at the end of the long mahogany bar. My buddy Greg was manning the bar tonight. Before my butt was all the way on the cracked vinyl cushion of the worn out stool, he had a full draft poured and was sliding it across the counter.

It had been a long sucky-ass grind of a week and all I wanted was a cold beer, a hot omega, and three days of uninterrupted sleep. I couldn't do much about the latter two items, but I sure as hell could get a drink.

"How's it hanging, doc? Just ending another week of strutting around that big fancy hospital like you're God's gift to the nurses?" He took the $50 bill I tossed down and put it in the register. Greg would let me know when I needed to kick in more, he was skilled in that department.

I snorted and held up my drink. "Shit. I wish. You don't want to know what my week was like. Let's just say that you read my mind with this and keep 'em coming."

Greg leaned with a leering smirk. "Well, I've got something that might cheer you up. We have a new boy. He's dancing in the cage by the DJ booth tonight. His name's Tofer and he's wearing a bright green jockstrap and enough glitter to make Tinkerbell choke. Or, if blondie isn't what you're looking for tonight, then maybe look out on the dance floor. There's a certain ginger out there that I've seen you eyeballing in the past."

I forced myself not to automatically seek him out. I wasn't going to give Greg the pleasure of knowing he was right. Instead, I gave a noncommittal shrug and took a long drink. After running the back of my hand across my mouth to wipe away the foam, I casually looked around the club.

"He's over there dancing by the caged blonde I mentioned, if you're looking for him." Greg wiped the counter and put a clean dish of nuts in front of me. "By the way, I know you're not interested, but his name is Tom. He manages the Sweet Ballz."

I had just taken a drink and pretty much choked when I heard that. Coughing and sputtering, I glared at the smirking little prick. "Seriously? Did you time that shit on purpose? You do know that if you kill me off, you won't have a doctor friend the next time you cut your hand on broken glass, right?"

"Aw, come on! That was a one time thing, it could have happened to anyone. There was a broken glass in the dishpan. The fact that I may or may not have been a little bit sloshed at the time and had no business in the kitchen has nothing to do with it."

He studied his hand, looking yet again for the invisible scar that didn't exist because I was just that good. I smirked as I shook my head and popped a handful of nuts into my mouth.

Greg got sidetracked a few minutes later by some other customers, and I took the opportunity to spin on my stool and look around the bar. There he was, just as Greg had said, dancing in front of the big birdcage and laughing with the dancer inside.

The little ginger was glorious. His toned, limber body moved fluidly under the moving lights, not missing a beat while laughing and chatting with the caged blonde. There were seven of the large silver cages spread around this bottom floor area. Each one held an omega dressed in a different color jockstrap with his body painted in glitter to match it. Most of the other cages had alphas swarming around it, except for that one by the DJ booth. There were a few alphas hanging around dancing in the vicinity, but not being creeps about it.

The blonde vaguely reminded me of a dirty elf, for some strange reason. Even from here, I could see that his almond shaped eyes were just a little too big and his nose a little too pointy. Of course, that could just be an optical illusion, brought on by the holly green glitter and jock strap he wore.

A well dressed blonde alpha came walking over and took the stool two down from me. He ordered two straight tequila shooters with beer chasers, then looked over at me with a grin and shoved one set my way.

"Here, man. Don't make me drink alone. It's been a shitty fucking day that topped off a craptastic week." His green eyes sparkled in the light of the bar as we clinked our glasses and did the shot.

I sucked on the little lime wedge that Greg had stuck on the salt coated rim of the glass and held out a hand. "I'm Colin, by the way. Thanks for that, I've had one of those weeks myself."

The other alpha grinned in solidarity and shook my hand. "Ian. Glad to be a bright spot in your week."

"Shit. You have no idea. I was half-assing the idea of picking up an omega for the night, but I think I'm too fried for that shit." I shook my head with a self-deprecating smile and took a pull from my beer.

"I hear you on that one. Rosy Palm is a lot easier when you're worn the fuck out. You don't have to worry about being gentle or if you used enough lube. Rosy don't give a shit about no stinkin' lube." We both laughed at that one.

"So what do you do, Colin? I'm an attorney, myself. I lost a pretty big case in L.A. today. I just got back to town an hour ago. The Big O is always a good place to blow off some steam, right?"

"No, shit. Sorry about your case. I'm a doctor. I work in the emergency room at the hospital here in town. One of my favorite patients, a little girl from the foster system that comes in a lot with different problems, was finally diagnosed today with non-Hodgkin lymphoma. She was admitted to the hospital, and her foster parents are backing away right when she needs someone the most. People fucking suck, you know?"

"You win, dude. Shittiest week award goes to you, doc." Ian frowned sadly at his beer. What I'd shared had been a little heavy for Friday night at the Big O.

Changing the subject, I brought up the latest ballgame. We drank our beers and bullshitted for awhile. We sat with our backs to the bar. I was enjoying the man's company. It was as a good way to unwind as any, I supposed. Ian's eyes flitted around the room, checking out the different omegas but not settling on any one type in particular. I had just ordered another round for me and my new buddy when a familiar red-headed dynamo came flying up out of nowhere.

Practically springing up on tippy-toe, he threw his arms around my neck and planted a big kiss on me. He was wedged in between my open legs. If he got any closer, we'd need some lube so nobody got hurt. I barely had time to register what was happening, let alone respond to the tongue that quickly slipped in and out of my mouth before it was over.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Daddy. Tom was caught up in the music." He pouted out his words, then turned to do an overly dramatic double take in Ian's direction. "Ian! Tom is so, so sorry! Tom would never flaunt the hot daddy in front of Ian, even if Ian did make stupid choices."

Ian rolled his eyes and gave the ginger twink a lazy grin. "Hey, Tommy boy. Didja miss me? I missed you."

Tom gave Ian a cold eyed smile and waved his fingers dismissively as he spoke in a cheerfully passive aggressive tone. "Has Ian been gone? Tom didn't notice. Hmm. Maybe it could be that Ian was never around enough for Tom to notice one way or the other?"

I was really confused at this point. Was the ginger talking in the third person and his name was Tom? Or was there a third guy they both knew named Tom? Either way, this didn't look amicable and I was a little too buzzed to process subtlety right now.

"Who the fuck is Tom?" I asked a little more rudely than I'd intended.

The ginger looked back at me and turned up the flirt level. His smile was pretty, but didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were blank, like this was just an act for him. I wished I was more sober so that I could try and figure him out better.

"Silly Daddy! Like Daddy doesn't know Tom! Although," he stopped and tapped his lip thoughtfully, "maybe we got to the naughty stuff so fast last time that we never got to the name exchange?"

Ian stood and drained his glass. He looked at me with an insolent grin. "He's all yours, buddy. With my blessings. Consider him your prize for winning the award. I'm done with this on again, off again bullshit. I never wanted more than a fuck buddy anyway. Enjoy him though, he's really bendy if you haven't discovered that yet."

Tom turned his back on the departing alpha without a word and held a hand up to get Greg's attention. I pushed my untouched beer at him.

"Here, kiddo. You look like you can use this more me. Sorry about that, whatever it was." I hoped that I was speaking clearly. I was getting more buzzed by the second, a fact not helped by my lack of sleep and an empty stomach.

Tom pushed the beer aside and shook his head. Holding out his hand, he demanded instead, "Give Tom the keys, and let's go. Tom will get the sweet daddy alpha home."

I blinked at him stupidly. "Why would I give my keys to Tom? Could you just take me?"

The ginger giggled wildly and stepped forward. He tugged on my hand to get me up, then dug my keys out of my pocket with nimble fingers. He turned to Greg.

"Did the sexy Daddy here run a tab or does the hot barkeep need Tom's card?"

Greg grinned. "Naw, man. It's cool. Colin gave me enough cash earlier, he's good." He looked over at me with a grin. "You want your change, big guy? This little scene here is all the tip I need."

I flipped him off with a teasing smirk and said, "Here's your tip, fucker. And yeah, keep the fucking change."

Tom pulled on my hand and led me out of the bar. He didn't bother asking which car belonged to me. Instead he clicked the button on my key fob and headed toward the car that reacted.

"Come on, Daddy. Let's roll that tight ass into the car. Is Daddy's GPS set for home, or does Tom need to rely on Daddy's iffy directions?"

I snorted. "I'm buzzed, not shit-faced. I'm pretty sure I can get you to my place. Now what I'm gonna do with you when we get there? Well, that's a whole other question, isn't it?"

Tom flashed me a flirtatious smile that still didn't quite reach his eyes. "If Daddy is awake and can make that alpha equipment work, then Tom will be happy to show Daddy exactly what can be done with Tom."

Stunned into silence, I turned on my GPS and hit home. Tom turned on my radio to some insipid holiday station while I leaned back against the headrest and wondered how the hell I'd managed to score with the hot ginger.