Pack Deception: Part One, page 12
They each walk right up to the bar where I'm pouring a drink for an alpha at the end of the bar and take a seat side by side. The four of them take up half our bar seating, and Maverick pulls four menus from the holder to the right of him, passing them down the line. I catch his eye, and he winks at me. My mind immediately goes to the date we're having Saturday evening, and I flush at the possibilities. The smile I shoot back at him hopefully conveys at least a modicum of confidence, so I don't seem as shy and inexperienced as I suddenly feel. How I feel around all four of them, really.
I hand the alpha at the end of the bar his cosmo. "Thanks, beautiful," he says, leering at me in a way that I've mastered ignoring. As an omega bartender, it's an unavoidable byproduct of serving liquored up alphas. His stench isn't anything like the four people I'm trying hard not to be distracted by. Where theirs makes me want to curl up in a nest full of blankets that smell just like all four of them, buried under the delectable sandalwood and citrus combination Hudson and Maverick are giving off right now, this alpha's smell is putrid. The burnt cigarette smell makes me want to recoil, but I keep my customer service smile firmly in place. "Why don't you give me your number, sweetheart, and we can meet up when you get off," he slurs, leaning over the bar and reaching to touch me.
I take a step back at the same time four growls rumble from behind me. My head whips around to see Mason, Brooklyn, Hudson, and Maverick all glaring at the drunk idiot. The three alpha's growls make sense, they can be a very territorial lot and feel threatened easily. But the charming beta glowering at the aggressive alpha makes me pause. I've never seen Mason be anything but bubbly and sweet, so his reaction sends a ripple of surprise through me.
The aggressive alpha growls back at them, but it's broken up and slurred due to his drunken state. Maverick starts to stand from his chair, but I raise a hand at him. He stops midway through standing up and settles back in his chair without any further prompting. I'll marvel later over the fact that an alpha took a command from an omega without question or hesitation. For now, I bring my fingers to my mouth and whistle, the sound ringing through the bar sharp and loud.
Ava comes barreling out of her office not ten seconds later, bat in hand. She looks around, scanning the crowd—most of whom have stopped mid-bite or put down their drinks to watch the growing scene—until her eyes land on me. I nod to the idiot who can't even stand up straight and is leaning heavily on the bar. His eyes are fighting a battle between glaring at me and Pack Whitlock and trying to focus on staying open. The latter is winning.
Ava rolls her eyes and groans. She stomps over in her signature work combat boots, all five-foot-eight inches of lean muscle, and pokes the alpha in the back of his knee, causing him to buckle a little as it bends forward. The man lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a hiss and whips around to face her. She's a relatively tall omega with her thick boots on, and still he towers over her by several inches. Despite the size difference, Ava doesn't cower, nor have I ever seen her look the least bit ruffled in the face of aggressive patrons. She has a little bit of a reputation around here because of it. Not that she's unstable or overly hostile or anything, people just know not to mess with her.
This man doesn't seem to be much of an exception. When his eyes land on her mop of silvery blonde hair and startling blue eyes, he recognizes her immediately. He still puffs up his chest a little in an attempt to save face, but his eyes turn wary. Ava doesn't even say anything, she just points with her bat toward the door and glowers at him. They stare at each other for almost thirty seconds, the tension in the bar mounting, until he stalks off toward the door, shoving it open with one last show of strength. Ava follows him out, as she usually does, to make sure he gets in a cab and not behind the wheel of a car drunk.
As soon as she is out the door, the buzz of conversation fills the bar again, making me realize everyone has stopped talking. I try to breathe through my mouth for a few seconds because the smell of burnt cigarettes is still lingering and making me nauseous. My eyes snag on the man's spilled drink cup I didn't notice earlier, and I grab a wet rag to wipe up the mess before it gets sticky. The only four people at the bar waiting on their order to be taken after I'm done are my new...friends?
I think I can consider them friends at this point.
I walk over to them, stopping in the middle of the four of them and leaning my hands against the bar. With a smile, I look at them one by one. My heart picks up under the intense stares I'm getting. They're filled with a heat that sets my blood on fire. A little bit of my perfume permeates the space, and there's absolutely no way I can even try to reign it in this close to my heat. I clear my throat as heat fills my cheeks and stare at Mason, who feels the safest to look at right now. "What can I get you?"
"Gingerbread cookies sound great," he says, voice sounding deep and husky, and sending shivers across my skin.
My mouth feels so dry I can't talk all of a sudden. But I don't really need to talk to lay myself out on the bar for him. I'll be his own personal gingerbread platter...
Goddess.
I clear my throat. "Maybe something on the menu?" my voice sounds a little more than a croak.
His answering grin is wicked. "Oh. Just the Hog sandwich and an iced tea, please." I nod, scribbling down his order and moving to Brooklyn next without making eye contact with Mason again.
"For you?"
"Your hot honey chicken, extra side of honey, and a hot tea with honey." Her eyes sparkle with amused delight as my cheeks pink even further. They're really playing with fire. They may not know my heat is a week away—give or take a few days—but they can smell my perfume that says I'm getting more turned on by the second. I can't smell my own scent, but I've been told by Pack Monroe—because I refuse to call them my pack anymore—that I smell like honey and nutmeg. Ava said the combination reminds her of her grandma's gingerbread cookies.
Ignoring Brooklyn's teasing and heated grin, I move on the Hudson.
He's smiling like he's trying to hold in his laugh at my expense. Instead of continuing with Brooklyn and Mason's game, he takes a different approach. "Two of your deluxe bacon burgers, a side of fries, and water," he says, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Then he continues, "and your number, please." The grin he gives me can only be described as shit-eating.
I can't even respond before Brooklyn and Mason make outraged noises. "If that's an option, then I want that one. I don't need the cookies," Mason says, frowning, and then he rethinks his answer. "Actually, I want both, please."
"I'll take your number, too. You can keep the tea, I didn't really want it anyway," Brooklyn agrees, nodding at Mason.
I stand there gaping with my mouth open at them. I don't even get a word in before Mav interjects with his two cents. "If anyone needs her number, I think it's the person taking her on a date Saturday," he grins at them with an air of smug satisfaction. I don't understand it until I look at Mason, Brooklyn, and Hudson to see them staring at Maverick with stunned looks on their faces.
"When did you ask her out?" Brooklyn demands.
"Yesterday," he says proudly, and I can't help but smile at it. He's not at all ashamed of going out with me. Two years with Pack Monroe, and the three of them still chose staying in with me over going out to public places. At first it seemed like they just wanted me to themselves, and I thought it was sweet. Then they seemed hesitant to introduce me when we were out, and it seemed like something else entirely. Embarrassment.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Hudson asks Maverick, frowning at him. Maverick just shrugs at him. Mason doesn't let it go though. Instead, he rolls his eyes and answers Hudson.
"He didn't want us swooping in to take her out before he could." My brows raise at that, sure he's got it wrong. I look at Maverick and wait for him to contradict Mason, but he's just glaring at him, and I realize Mason was right.
Huh. Well that is...flattering, I think. I can't tell if I'm upset or not that he was, in a way, controlling my choices, so I decide to shove away the thought and enjoy the compliment it is.
"Well, then I want the next date," Hudson declares.
"Maybe ask her if she even wants a date with you, doofus," Brooklyn scoffs at him. "You know, woo her." The way she says 'woo' sounds like she's talking about something else, but I don't have time to pick her wording to death because suddenly Hudson is throwing some very impressive puppy dog eyes my way.
I know I've been giving myself pep talks about moving on, and I really do mean them in the moment, but now that I'm faced with an established pack's flirtation, I pause. Am I really ready for dating four people? Assuming they're being serious and not teasing me, that is. Great. Now I've got two insecurities rolling around in my head. Do they really want to date me or is this a competition thing? If they are, can I handle that? That would be four people—four strangers—I have to explain my story to when they see my claiming marks. Besides Doctor Tanner who told me I was drugged to begin with, nobody knows my history, and I definitely haven't thought about airing it out yet. Nobody except Ava, that is. But even she doesn’t know the full story. All she knows is I have three claiming marks, which she saw as I was undressing and trying on clothes in front of her. But, being the astute woman she is, she cataloged them and then pretended she never saw them in the first place.
"Excuse me?" Someone down at the other end of the bar waves her hand, trying to flag me down. I nod to her.
"Saved by the bell," I mutter and walk to take her order. I hear a thwack behind me that sounds suspiciously like a slap, followed by annoyed muttering. I smile to myself.
Maybe I'll just take it one day—one date—at a time.
Seventeen
Summer
The rest of my shift last night went by as fast as a shift can when you close a bar down after working all day. Brooklyn, Mason, Maverick, and Hudson all stayed for a couple hours, eating their food and then talking to me when I got a free minute. They dropped the date conversation but still took every opportunity to make me blush with all the flirtation and compliments they gave, or laugh at the jokes they made—often at the expense of one of their packmates. Hudson had the most stories about everyone, and it became clear he is the outgoing, class-clown type. Brooklyn was content to sit back and watch her packmates rib on each other, but certainly didn't take it lying down when the tables were turned on her.
One thing I found odd was Mason and Maverick; they didn't interact a lot with each other. I'm not sure if it is because they were sitting on opposite ends of each other or not, but they seemed to be avoiding eye contact as much as possible, too. Which really confused me because when I first saw them on St. Patty's Day, they seemed like a couple. But it's none of my business, so I stayed out of it.
They left The Hog's Head around eight or nine, and the shift seemed slower after that. My mood was directly related to their presence, so as soon as they left, my smile seemed to drop a little, and I was finally able to feel that my cheeks felt stiff and achy from overuse. Oddly enough, my tips were also directly related to the amount I'd smiled, because as soon as Pack Whitlock left, my tips got smaller. My mood picked back up as I was leaving though, because Ava stopped me on my way out and handed me a large gift bag with decorative gift paper sticking out the top. I’d raised my eyes at it when she told me to open it and then felt immediately teary eyed as I did. She’d gotten me the matching pillows from the store where I got my blanket.
“I get it,” she had said on a shrug, when I asked why after thanking her profusely. Being an omega, I’m sure she does. She saw the claiming marks I have, knew I’m about to go through a heat without a pack, and did what she could to make that a little easier. We also made plans to drink wine and watch a horror movie marathon the next night, since she gave herself Friday off.
All that being said, it was a good night.
Which is why I'm trying not to be grumpy this morning, sipping my black coffee, bags under my eyes, as I'm trying to function on four hours of sleep. The copious amounts of concealer under my eyes do little to hide the swelling, but at least I don't look like I have bruises under my eyes that allude to me being punched in the face. I log on to my computer as a yawn big enough to let a bird fly into my mouth breaks free.
"None of that, Summer. We've got a big day ahead of us! Mainline that coffee and let's get started," Jerrick shouts from across the room, heading my way with a skip in his step and a big, happy smile on his face. It makes me want to scowl at him and flip him a different kind of bird. "Come on, chop chop!" he says, clapping his hands and breezing past me into his office.
This is going to be a long day.
Boy, when I'm right, I'm right. For a Friday, this day could not have been more busy. Usually, Jerrick prefers to not have a ton of meetings on Friday's and instead prefers to allow enough free time that we may be able to go home a little early on occasion. Not this week though. He'd heard word that Dillan Doherty was going to accept Pen2Paper Press' offer, so the whole day has been meeting with department heads to go over any last minute details to make sure everyone is on top of their duties. He didn't even break for lunch, so, I had to run out to grab it for him, he was so busy. Which meant that I was busy, too. Now it's the end of the day, and I'm ready to go home, crawl in bed with a pint of ice cream while I watch a movie, and fall asleep early.
I'm typing up Jerrick's end of the week recap email to send out to the office when the sound of tapping heels draws nearer to me and stops in front of my desk. Before looking up, I know who it is. My pulse picks up and that tell-tale smile starts pulling at my cheeks again as Brooklyn's lavender and mint scent hits me.
"Hey, cherub," she says in a quiet, sweet voice. The husky tone of it doing nothing to calm my rapidly increasing heart rate.
"Hey, Brooklyn," I whisper back, smile still firmly on my face.
"You know, you can call me Brooke, sweets. All my friends do," Brooklyn–Brooke–chuckles.
"Miss Whitlock?" Jerrick calls from inside his office. She winks at me and walks in, closing the door behind her but not before Jerrick shouts out to me next. "That's all for today, Summer. Have a great weekend." Part of me wants to stick around to walk out with Brooke, but I don't know if there are any fraternization rules in the office, so I decide against it. That doesn't mean that I don't pack my things at a snail's pace, though.
When I’ve packed all my things as slow as I can, I decide I can’t delay leaving any more. I shut my computer down for the weekend, grab my purse, and head to the elevators. It’s late enough in the day that most everyone has left already so I ride down to the main floor by myself. On the way down, I lean heavily against the elevator walls and shut my eyes, exhaustion hitting me hard.
The ping signaling the arrival of my floor has me groaning and exiting at a sluggish pace. “Summer, over here,” a slightly husky voice calls from the front desk security station. Confused, I glance over and raise my brows at Ava standing there and talking to Carl, the night security. His shift must have just started.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask Ava, walking over to where she’s leaning against the raised desk.
“I figured we could stop and grab some food before our movie night. I’m thinking Mexican,” she says with an inflection that makes it sound like a statement and a question to see if I’m okay with it, too. I completely forgot that we had plans tonight though. As much as I want to blow her off and go straight to sleep, I don’t want to disappoint her. Even though I know she wouldn’t be upset with me. Besides, I could use some girl time, and I am really hungry. It’s not like we’re going clubbing; we’re just watching movies.
“As long as you won’t be mad if I fall asleep in the middle of the movie,” I grin at her.
“Deal,” she laughs back at me. “Let’s go get some chips and salsa then.”
We’re about to head out, when she speaks again, just not to me. “Hey, Brooke. What are you doing here?”
My head shoots over to the elevators to see Brooke walking out with Jerrick beside her. She says a quick goodbye to him and walks over to us while Jerrick heads out the revolving doors. “I’m working with Pen2Paper Press now,” Brooklyn answers Ava but looks at me as she does.
“He accepted the offer?” I ask giddily.
“Yeah, cherub. He did. Looks like we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future.” The look in her eyes makes my cheeks warm. I try to turn my head a little so Ava can’t see what a blushing virgin I must look like while I try to will away the heat in my face.
I’m not sure it works because she’s looking between me and Brooklyn with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.
“What are you ladies up to tonight?” Brooklyn asks.
“We’re just doing a movie night. Want to join?” Ava asks Brooke in a goading way that suggests she knows exactly what Brooke’s answer is going to be.
Sure enough, Brooke beams at the invitation. “If that’s okay with you?” She looks at me, and I nod.
But then worry filters through because we had planned on doing it in my apartment. But I don’t want Brooklyn to see the squabble I live in. Plus, there isn’t really room for three people. There was barely going to be room for me and Ava to sit comfortably.
“Erm… I’m not sure my place will fit us all,” I mumble, a little embarrassed saying it out loud.
Brooklyn doesn’t look at me with an ounce of disgust or pity though. Instead, she offers a solution. “Why don’t we do it at my pack house then? I know the guys will love to see you,” she tells me. Oh, Goddess. Just what I need. To be in a house with all four of them with my heat so close. What could possibly go wrong?
“That sounds perfect!” Ava agrees enthusiastically. “We can grab dinner on the way,” she says as she hooks her arm through mine and drags me out of the building.
That’s how I find myself in Pack Whitlock’s beautiful house, surrounded by the five most important people in my life since coming to Chicago and eating Mexican food while Hudson flips through the horror movie selection on TV.
