Chapter Text
I hear the first chords of my barre stretch music and turn down the lights in the studio.
Adjusting my headset, my voice drops to a soothing purr as I say, “place your right foot on the barre, standing foot under the hip, and grab onto your band.” I love it when they dutifully obey, lining up like happy little ducklings all in a row, waiting with wide eyes for the next direction. I’m in control here and never feel more powerful than when I’m teaching.
I raise my leg to the barre to demonstrate the pose and cue them to “inhale to lengthen your spine, exhale and draw your heart forward to reach your deepest neutral spine hamstring stretch.” It’s a perfect moment of peace, and I smile and savor it. Another class successfully delivered, my choreography and delivery seamless in perfect balance.
Until it all falls apart.
Suddenly, an earth-shaking bass beat blasts through the wall behind the mirror and the barre rattles. I frown. My little nirvana is shattered once again by the bastards next door.
With a huff, I walk back to the iPad in the corner to crank up my playlist. But it’s no use. I have to nearly yell out the cues to be heard over the incessant thrumming, and the vibe is lost. A few of my students whisper in the corner.
I’m going to kill those Alphas next door.
We thought another fitness choice nearby would be a good thing. My studio owners even said, “a high tide raises all boats,” and that maybe we’d get some new clients. But that was before we saw who moved in.
Supremacy Bootcamp is the worst. They’ve been nothing but trouble from the start.
First it was the incessant banging of construction, then the electricity went out for two days when they cut a line accidentally and we had to shut down. Now, it’s the music blaring through our shared wall, interrupting our classes.
Today is the final straw.
After my students leave, I wipe down the thick yoga mats and clean the mirrors, replacing the weights and exercise bands to leave my studio in perfect shape.
Toweling off my face, I take a swig of cold water from my S’well bottle and walk up to the mirror. I’m wearing my favorite “Rebel Belle Barre” white muscle tank, cropped with the sides cut out to show off my hot pink bralette. I fix a flyaway from my high bun and reset my headband, then pull up my black moto leggings to even out the mesh side slits that show off my calves. There, ready. I grab my bag from the back office and dab on some lip gloss before slipping off my sticky socks and stepping into my Birkenstock sandals.
Those bootcamp bastards have ruined the last of my classes. Time to show them who they’re dealing with.
+++++
I walk up confidently to the front door of Supremacy Boot Camp and stiffen my spine before reaching out to grab the door handle. As I pull the door open, a gust of cool air blows across my face and I shudder. A wave of Alpha male pheromones hits me head on, and I hold my breath and blink as my eyes begin to water.
Letting go of the handle abruptly, I take a few steps back and fumble in my bag. My essential oils are at the bottom and my hands shake as I find my blocker and rub it on both wrists, the pulse points on my neck, and under my nostrils for good measure.
With a deep inhale, the lightheaded, buzzing feeling stops. I lick my lips and reach in for a lozenge of lemongrass, turmeric and cinnamon, to ward off the pheromones trying to cling to the top of my mouth. When it comes to pheromone control, I hate western medicine and big pharma. They’re only in it for the money and pollute our bodies concoctions full of preservatives and fillers. I rely on teas, oils, acupuncture, meditation and whatever other organic and non-traditional methods I can find to keep my cycles in check. Omegas and Alphas have been living in civilizations for thousands of years and functioning just fine, thank you, we don’t need to take prescription drugs to manage ourselves. You’re never gonna pump me full of poison.
I take another sip of water then steel myself. Just breathe, Rey. I say my mantra for control.
Emotion, yet peace.
Passion, yet serenity.
Chaos, yet harmony.
Now I’m prepared, it’s time to go into the nest of my enemy.
My ears are immediately assaulted by a steady drumbeat of mindless techno music. It’s dark, and my eyes struggle to adjust from the bright sunlight to the red-amber lights inside. Everything is black and silver, with red-accents and lighting. How extremely macho.
I can make out huge guys and ripped women climbing up ropes in the center of the room, pushing tractor wheels across the floor, and doing burpees with appalling form. They’re going to throw out their backs at equal rate of building muscle looking like that. I shake my head in disgust. In barre, we often have to help students injured by places like this.
I turn and see a front desk to my left and a platinum blonde woman sitting with her back to the door staring at a computer screen.
“Excuse me,” I say clearly. She doesn’t move. The music nearly rattles my teeth.
Another step forward. “Excuse me!” Again no response. She can’t hear me over the din.
I finally walk around the edge of the desk and tap her on the shoulder. She turns and stands up . . . and up . . . and up. She’s well over six feet tall, the tallest woman I’ve ever seen. I gulp. She smirks down at me, her eyes cold. Her name tag reads, “Phasma.”
My voice comes out loudly, but in a high pitch. “Excuse me, is there a manager or owner I could talk to?”
Phasma nods and bellows out, “Hux! Someone wants to talk to you.”
I turn to where she’s looking. A red-haired guy wearing a sleeveless tank and tight black leggings strides up to me, also well over six feet. I’m tall for a woman, but everyone here makes me feel tiny.
“Yeah, what is it?” He has a snide grin on his face, and I can almost feel his slimy eyes sliding down my body. He licks his lips, and I grimace. Thank God my blockers are working, because just looking at him makes me feel sick. I can’t imagine his revolting smell.
“I work next door, at Rebel Belle Barre? And your music is so loud it is disturbing my classes? Think you could turn it down?” Each sentence lilts up as I struggle to be heard. I hate how it makes me sound insecure instead of just polite.
“Yeah, well, we need the music to be loud. It pumps us up.” Hux hits one fist into his other palm and sets his chin as he stares down at me. His look tells me he isn’t going to budge.
Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be, buddy.
“We’re happy that you moved in, and we’d like to have a friendly relationship with . . .” I have to gulp so I don’t choke on the words, “Supremacy Boot Camp, but you’re making it terribly difficult if our students can’t hear us!”
Hux turns to look away dismissively, “Maybe you barre girls should just turn your own music up? Or maybe choose better music? Have you thought of that?”
Oh no, he didn’t. Do not insult my music. Not when his sounds like a cheesy Euro discotech from 1980.
I frown and take a step closer. “Listen, we’ve been here for three years and you just opened this week! You can choose to be assholes, or you can be neighborly, but either way– ”
Hux takes a big inhale like he’s going to raise his voice, but instead his eyes slide halfway closed and his mouth parts. Oh, shit. He smelled me. I should’ve showered after class, the sweat mixed with my pheromones make a potent cocktail.
“An Omega. Damn, I haven’t smelled a fresh Omega in months. You’re delicious, honey,” he takes a step closer as I almost jerk back, his sour acrid smell overpowering the blockers.
“Yeah, well you smell disgusting, so you can just–”
I pause as a tall shadow steps out of the darkness and materializes behind Hux. The guy’s not only taller than Hux, he’s thicker in every sense of the word, as if magnified by two.
I see wide shoulders first and his cut arms bulging out of a grey t-shirt stretched over a massive chest. The guy clearly works out, duh. His pectoral muscles press against the fabric as if they’re trying to rip free, like the Hulk mid-transformation. Most tall guys have skinny legs, but his thighs and calves are solid like the rest of him, as if they’ve doubled their efforts to support all that weight. He’s one huge, juicy package and all Alpha male.
His shaggy raven hair is pulled half-up and away from high cheekbones and a distinguished face. He has scruffy facial hair, just the way I like it, and the proportions seem slightly off on his features, which only makes him more striking and unusual. But it’s his sad, warm-brown eyes that hold me, intelligent but with something slightly dangerous lurking underneath.
“What seems to be the problem?” Mr. Dark Eyes asks me. I’m nearly panting in frustration from Hux, but when he tracks those dark pools over my face, I feel an instant heat react in another place entirely.
“Maybe if you turned your bloody music down I could tell you!” I bark out, irate at Hux and that this guy has me riled up just looking at me.
His dark eyes grow wide. He turns to Phasma, yelling, “Can you turn it down?”
The blonde grins over at us, obviously delighting in the drama, and walks over to lower the music.
Mr. Dark Eyes turns back to me, clearly the top Alpha, and extends a hand. “Ben Solo. I’m the owner.”
I exhale sharply. Of course he is. I eye his hand like it’s a trick. But ultimately, I decide to be the bigger person and reach out for him. “Rey Jakkobsen, I work at Rebel Belle next door.”
The moment our hands connect I feel a strange electric surge through my body. I flinch and see his eyes blink as he clutches my palm tighter. The shock courses through me and lands straight in my lap. I withdraw my hand quickly and wipe my palms together, as if I can remove whatever it was that happened.
Solo looks at me intently and sets his jaw. I don’t know what happened, but I know instantly it can’t be good. I take a step back, slightly fearful, eyeing the exits. But then I get a grip and remember why I’m here. I’m not going to leave empty-handed. I lift my chin to him.
“Your music is disturbing our classes. It leaks through the wall.” I point at our shared wall, where they’ve set up the speakers. “We need you to keep it a reasonable level.”
He’s staring at me like I’m an exotic zoo animal or something. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“We can do that. Hux, set up the speakers on the opposite wall, that should help.”
Hux sneers. “Yeah, sure, since they’re such delicate little flowers over there. I’m always happy to help an Omega in need.” He laughs as if he’s funny. Solo’s look darkens.
I seethe. Ever since I presented, I hate anyone defining me by designation. I’ve spent my entire life fighting against the Omega stereotypes and proving fuckers like Hux wrong.
“Delicate? Have you taken a barre class? Guys like you are shaking five minutes in.” I set my jaw and narrow my eyes, pulling all of my five foot seven inches up tall to meet their towering frames. Why is everyone who works here a walking tree?!
Solo chuckles and shakes his head slightly, as if he thinks I’m being cute.
“You too, big guy, I could make you beg for mercy in under ten minutes.” I say. That shuts him up as he stares at me again, evidently surprised that I dare talk back to him.
Emboldened, I have the deep desire to show these fucking guys who’s the real boss. Let them get owned by an Omega for once in their Alpha lives.
“You guys think you’re so strong? Why don’t we make a bet. Whoever can plank the longest wins. If I go longest, you come take one of my barre classes. If you win, I’ll come to a boot camp session.”
Hux laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“What, are you scared? Of an Omega?” I grin at Hux and he scowls.
But Solo looks me straight in the eye and says, “You’re on.”
My nerves tingle as we walk over to the mirrored wall and face each other. I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing, but I know I want to win. “What kind of plank?” Solo asks. “Lady’s choice.”
“Low forearm,” I answer. It’s harder. I want to see him sweat.
Phasma gets her stopwatch out and counts us down. Three, two, one . . .
I push my forearms into the floor, suck up my abdominal wall, and hit my plank. My abs are my secret weapon. Solo has shoulder and arm strength, but his hip flexors are tight like all beefy guys, so I bet he’s not using his hamstrings and glutes to help hold him up. His low back will be singing soon enough if he doesn’t use his abdominals correctly.
I turn my head to see my form in the mirror. One long line from head to toe. I see his ass start to bow up, trying to make it easier, and I call out, “If you cheat, I win. Hips in line with shoulders.” He lowers back down with a grunt.
He pushes his fists into the floor, but I press my palms down to get extra support from my forearms. I slightly tip my hips to my ribs to use my obliques and squeeze my seat. Proper form distributes the work between muscle groups. Piece of cake.
Two minutes go by and neither of us falter, but it’s heating up.
I’m looking down at the floor when I hear his low, husky voice and peek up at him, a couple of feet away. “We can call a draw whenever you want, Sweetheart.” He gives me a cocky grin.
“No way. I’m not letting you off the hook.” I grin back at him. I don’t break eye contact, knowing that’s a sign of weakness to an Alpha. I’m anything but weak.
He keeps right on staring. “You really think you’re going to win?”
I smile. “I don’t think, I know.” Then I get a wicked thought.
I start to move, twisting at the waist. Alternating dipping down one hip point at a time and then resetting. It’s a typical barre move and helps distract the brain from the static hold. But it also means my ass is moving rhythmically side to side as I twist, so it’s also distracting the brain of Alpha Ben Solo.
“What’re you doing?” he gazes over my shoulder, mesmerized. A drop of sweat rolls down his forehead.
“We never said we had to stay still,” I say innocently, and keep up the movement.
I’m playing a little dirty, but can’t help smile at the way he’s staring. His arms start to shake and he exhales, blowing some of his pheromones my way. The heat in my abdominals is nothing compared to the heat that goes straight to my core. His dark eyes melt into me and I start to move faster trying to ward off the clench between my thighs. I add in an extra wiggle to my hip twists and see the muscle under his left eye twitch.
At four minutes flat, Solo collapses onto the mat and rols onto his back as the group of Alphas around us howl in laughter. Instead of lowering down, I show off by raising my hips high to the sky, stretching into dolphin pose before planting my palms to stretch into a downdog. I shake my ass a little to gloat and take small steps forward to finish by rolling up one vertebra at a time to standing as the rowdy bootcamp guys hoot and clap.
I bow my head to acknowledge the applause. Solo smiles and pants while shaking his head on the mat. His eyes haven’t left me.
Scooping up my bag, I turn to leave while ignoring the ribbing they’re giving him on the floor. As I grab the door handle, I turn back to meet his dark eyes one last time. “Thanks for fixing your music, neighbor. See you in barre class Thursday at 9:30 am, Solo.” I walk away before he has time to respond.
It’s not until I get into the safety of my own car that I pull out my right hand and inspect it. Looks normal, nothing to explain the shock. I wait for my breath to slow down and my hand to stop shaking before pulling out of the lot and driving home.