Page 16 of Run Wild Omega

“Thank God. I can’t handle any more excitement.”

“I heard you had a run-in with the Denver tech crew,” Wes says, leaning his elbows on the bar. His eyes are warm, interested. “Rumor is you threatened to call Search and Rescue on them.”

“Rumor’s true.” I lean in, matching his posture. “They were going to walk right into a slide zone. I had to be the bad guy.”

“I love it when you’re a bad girl.” He winks.

I laugh, shaking my head. Wes is a flirt. He flirts with everyone—Omegas, Betas, the occasional Alpha who wanders in. It’s harmless, and it’s comfortable. He doesn’t want anything from me except a smile and a tip. It’s easy.

“You wish, Calder.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “A man can dream.”

I finish my beer and signal for another. “I need the bathroom. Keep my seat.”

“Wouldn’t dream of letting anyone take it.”

I slide off the stool and head toward the back hallway. The noise of the bar fades slightly as I turn the corner, the narrow corridor leading to the restrooms dimly lit. The floor is sticky.

I’m checking my phone, my head down, when I round the corner near the ladies’ room and collide with a wall of solid muscle.

I stumble back, a hand flying out to catch myself against the wall. “Shit, sorry⁠—”

“No harm done.”

The voice is deep, warm, and layered with an amusement that feels like sunshine breaking through clouds.

I look up.

Dylan Moore stands there, grinning down at me.

He’s wearing a dark blue FD T-shirt and cargo pants, his sandy blond hair damp from the snow, pushed back casually. He smells like woodsmoke and warm amber. He’s big—broad shoulders, thick arms—but where Wyatt feels like granite, Dylan feels like a warm hearth. He’s radiating heat.

“Dylan,” I breathe. “I didn’t see you.”

“I noticed.” He steps back, giving me space, but his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You moving at warp speed tonight?”

“Just escaping the masses.”

“The Bluejay is hardly an escape.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall opposite me. “Heard you had a fun group today. Wyatt radioed in that you were coming down with the tech bros. Said you looked like you wanted to murder one of them.”

I blink. “Wyatt radioed you?”

“Yeah. I was at the station when he called. He’s doing paperwork. I invited him for a drink, but he said no.” Dylan tilts his head. “You know how he is. I’m trying to get him to hang out more, but guy’s a hermit.”

The mention of Wyatt tightens my chest. “Right. Of course.”

His gaze drops to my hands, where I’m still clutching my phone. “You okay? You look a little… tense.”

“I’m fine.” I force a smile. “Just tired.”

He nods, accepting it without pushing. He’s not like Wyatt, who would stare until I cracked. Dylan is easier. Softer, in a way. He’s an Alpha—I can sense the hum of his dominance—but it’s not sharp. It doesn’t demand submission. It feels like an invitation.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” he says, his tone shifting, becoming a little more intentional.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” He rubs the back of his neck, a surprisingly shy gesture for a man his size. “We’re having a thing at the station next week. A fundraiser dinner. And, well… I was hoping you’d come.”