Pack Deception: Part Two, page 17
“It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted. All of them are. Thank you so much,” I tell her sincerely, hopping off the chair and pulling her into a hug. It must startle her because she’s stiff in my arms for a second before wrapping her arms around me, too. It almost makes me laugh at how awkward her pats are.
Almost.
But I still don’t feel like I’m in a laughing mood. I pull back, saving her from reciprocating any further. Some people just aren’t huggers. Strange to find an omega like that, though. We’re usually very affectionate.
“I’m glad you like them. Let’s head up front and get you checked out.” I nod, looking down at my bare foot. I don’t want to put the heel back on. She put a wrap on that one, so I suppose I could, but it’s a little tender, and I don’t want to make it worse. But I also don’t want to walk around barefoot.
B sees my hesitation, walks to her countertop, rifles around in one of her drawers, and pulls out a pair of black socks that she hands to me. With a grateful look and fervent thank you, I put them on.
We’re halfway down the hallway when I hear boisterous laughter coming from the waiting room. The men have pulled four chairs around into a circle in the front room. The two I don’t recognize must be Marcus and Jackson, then there is Jesse, and finally, Maverick, huddling around a makeshift pool table. The table itself looks like a traveling felt top from a real table, but it’s sitting on one of their gumball machines.
All four of them look up from their game when they scent us. “All done, baby?” One of the alphas asks B. But I don’t hear the rest of their exchange. I’m too busy staring at Maverick with an open mouth. His handsome face is lit up, laughing at something Jesse just said.
What has he done to my mate?
The one who is a prickly alpha at the best of times to everyone outside of his pack. Sure, I know he’s really a big softie. But that’s not how he presents to the rest of the world. Not like Hudson, who makes friends with everyone he sees, or even Mason, who is always there to counter Maverick’s off-putting comments with more polite ones.
Here he is, though, laughing and joking and playing cards with a pack he just met.
“Having a good time?” I manage a small grin when I walk up behind his seat at the table. I rest my hands on his shoulders, and he leans back into my touch, turning his face up toward me.
“Hey sweets, you like ‘em?” I lean down to give him a quick kiss and nod as I pull back, mustering up a smile. Or rather, I feel my lip tilt up. It could be construed as a grimace. That’s what it seems like Maverick interprets it as since the beaming smile he was sporting a minute ago falters some at my face.
One of B’s alphas stands up and comes over to shake my hand. He’s tall. At least as tall as Maverick’s six foot two, with dark shaggy hair and a long scruffy beard. “You must be Summer. I’m Marcus. Mav couldn’t go one whole hand without talkin’ ‘bout ya.” Marcus has a little country twang in his voice. Like maybe he was raised in the country but has lived in the city for long enough that it has tempered itself.
I blush at his words but note his use of Maverick’s nickname that everyone but me has adopted. I’m not sure why; Maverick just seems more personal somehow. I’ll probably never call him Mav. “Marcus,” I acknowledge, shaking his hand. “So that must make you Jackson. It’s good to meet you both,” I say, nodding at Jackson, who has walked over to where B is behind the reception desk. He’s shorter, probably closer in height to Hudson, hovering around six foot maybe, with a dark blond, brownish hair color identical to Jesse’s. The brother thing is making a lot more sense.
“So B couldn’t stop talking about us, either. I’m flattered, beautiful.” Jackson’s voice is so deep. One of the deeper voices I’ve ever heard, so low it sounds almost like a rumble coming out. I don’t correct him and say that’s literally all I know about them. Their names. So I just smile and nudge Maverick in a gentle request to butt in.
My very astute mate does so without further prompting. He goes to the counter, pays, and starts the goodbyes all within a few minutes.
My goodbyes with the men are quick. Either a handshake or a simple nod. Then B walks up to me. I don’t bother trying to give her a hug this time, and she doesn’t initiate one either. Instead, she hands me a piece of paper.
“If you need anything, you can call me. For a friend, another tattoo, to talk, whatever.” Scrawled in a messy jumble is a number. Barely legible in such an ironic way that it makes me laugh. A supremely talented artist who just finished giving me three gorgeous pieces and can’t write for crap.
“Thank you.” I give her a genuinely grateful smile, tuck the piece of paper in my pocket, and then Maverick ushers me out the door.
A two-toned beep comes when Maverick unlocks the Jeep while we’re walking to it. The headlights fire up and illuminate the Chinese restaurant and, just like that, my stomach is growling again. I try to pull Maverick to it, but he pulls even harder when he sees where my eyes are locked on.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs at my scowl. “Besides, they’re closed.”
Ugh.
I pout at my mate, who winks at me and opens my door. The most delicious smell wafts out immediately, making my eyes search the cab. Right there on the floorboards is a metric ton of Chinese take-out.
I whip around to face Maverick so fast that I get a little dizzy. He’s smirking at me, leaning against the passenger door. “Have I told you how much I love you today?” The smirk he’s sporting softens into a dopey smile.
He pulls me in for a kiss, then holds me against his chest. It is such a sweet, tender moment until he opens his mouth. “I can think of a few ways you can show me just how much.”
“Ugh.” I pull back, smacking him in the chest in faux indignation while he roars out another laugh. “Just get in the car, Casanova. I’m hungry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, lifting me up into my seat, closing the door, then jogging around the front of the car to his side. I watch him the whole way, admiring how the headlights shine on him, giving me an unhindered view of the way his shirt molds to every inch of him.
Hopping into the cab, he must remember he didn’t get to watch me get tattooed because he turns to me and asks, “So do I get to see them now? Or are you going to make me wait a little longer?”
I’m half tempted to tease him, make him stew a little longer. But I relent. With a turn of my body, I show him my right ear where a string of black sparrows are, starting at the bottom of the lobe where the puncture wound from Blaire’s bite is and stopping halfway up.
“Sparrows signify loss.” I don’t explain that further to him. Let him think it’s only for the child I lost. If he knows it also symbolizes the life I lost–the future I envisioned–when I met Pack Monroe, when Jade swept me out from the gutter, it’ll only make him want to kill them more than he already does. Still, he nods in understanding. I’ll have to tell them about the phone call, but I’d rather tell it once. To all of them.
My work slacks are still unbuttoned, so I pull those down a little to show the only color tattoo of the three. It’s a bouquet of marigolds–brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows. “The marigold is the flower for October babies. When mine would have been born.” Thank the Goddess I already got all my crying out with B. Or the sympathetic frown Maverick gives me would send me over the edge. If anything, crying on the table and sitting in silence after spilling our secrets felt like washing off all the dirt and grime of a long day’s work.
“And the last one?” Maverick prompts, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together.
I grin at him, my first real and effortless one since Doctor Tanner’s phone call. This is the one I wanted to be a surprise. Still barefoot, but with the socks B gave me, I peel one off to show him the tattoo I got for my pack. It’s a heartbeat tattoo, with a filled-in black heart in one of the lines to cover one of the puncture wounds and Whitlock written in cursive next to it.
For my mates who helped me feel something again besides heartache and betrayal. When he gets a good eyeful of what it is and says, his eyes shoot up to mine. The look he gives me can’t be described as anything other than stunned. I meet his stare without blinking, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Oh my Goddess. He hates it. I should have asked first. I don’t even know if they want me to take their name.
He opens his mouth to speak but has to clear his throat first. “You know once Mason sees this, he’s going to be at those doors first thing in the morning when they open to get a matching one, right? And I’ll be right there with him.”
“Wait… You don’t hate it?” The nervousness shaking in my voice is hard to hide.
“Hate it? I’m only mad I didn’t think of a pack tattoo first.” The insecurities vanish as quick as they came. Maverick pulls our laced hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine, something he’s become very fond of doing. It never ceases to make butterflies erupt in my stomach, though.
“Alright. Let’s get home before Hudson has a coronary. He’s texted at least a dozen times in the past two hours telling me to stop hogging you.”
Hudson, my overprotective teddy bear. I smile and lean back to buckle up. As I do, my eyes catch on the side mirror where a black sedan is parked on the opposite end of the lot. Wells’ figure is barely visible, but I know it’s him. Following us as I knew he would like the big brother I never had.
Twenty
Summer
“After you,” Wells says, holding the door to the restaurant open for me. RJ’s Steakhouse is supposed to be one of the better steakhouses in the city. I’ve wanted to try it since I started really exploring after moving here, but up until recently, my budget didn’t allot for frivolous expenses. Which I put a fifty-dollar steak into the category of.
The ambiance is quiet and polished, in the sense that the people eating look the part of the higher middle to upper-class echelon. It’s the middle of the work day, so most of the patrons are dressed in their nine-to-five attire: dresses, pantsuits, and crisp khaki. Murmured voices are audible over the slightly muted music filtering through the place.
“Just two?” the hostess asks us.
“Yes. If we could have a corner table, that would be great. Thank you,” Wells says, putting on the charm and winking at the poor girl. She blushes, nods, and grabs us two menus with clumsy, flustered hands. I try not to laugh–that is just the power of Wells’ charm, I guess–as she leads us toward the back of the restaurant. Wells pulls my chair out for me and takes a seat with his back to the corner so he has a clear view of all the patrons, entrances, and exits.
“Your waitress will be right over,” the hostess murmurs and then hustles back to her stand like if she stays any longer, she’ll melt into a puddle before Wells. He watches her go just a little longer than is polite, staring hard at her ass.
“She’s pretty,” I grin at him, picking up my menu nonchalantly. Ever since he’s been assigned to my security detail, I’ve tried to get him to spill about his love life. To no avail. The man’s lips are sealed tighter than the pickle jar I tried to open the other day. Only about his love life, though. Anything else, and I can’t get him to shut up long enough to get a word in edgewise.
“Very.” His eyes trail back to me long enough to show me he’s rolling them, and then goes back to scanning the room.
“Maybe you should ask her out.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Maybe you should focus on your own love life.” He raises one right back, and I chuckle.
“My love life is great, thank you very much. That’s why I’m focusing on yours. I need a hobby.”
“Try knitting,” he deadpans.
I laugh, “Okay, fine. I’m done. Be lonely forever for all I care.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey there, my name is Crystal, and I’ll be your server today. Do y'all want to start off with some drinks?”
I order two waters and a steak with asparagus for myself. When the waitress looks at Wells, he sticks with water, no food. I ask if he’s sure, but he insists he already ate a packed lunch. So I shrug and hand our menus over to the waitress before she walks off.
“This is weird,” Wells mutters.
“What’s weird?” I frown and resist the urge to pull out my phone and send flirty texts to my pack. I’ve gone love-drunk.
“Being in this fancy fuckin’ place with you. We look like a couple. It’s gross,” he grouses, folding his arms across his chest and scrunching his nose like he smells something sour.
“What?” I laugh, shoulders shaking at his comment. “We’ve eaten together before.”
“Yeah, but at like… your office or grab-and-go spots. This is where I’d take a date or something.”
“Speaking of dates…” I start to say, latching onto the slip-up.
“You know what, forget I said anything,” he hastily tacks on. The teasing grin I’m giving him does not ease. I do throw him a bone, though.
“Or it could be a business lunch. Just pretend I’m your boss. Oh wait… I am.” My eyes pop open wide in a mocking sort of surprised way. Not that I think of him like an employee. A brother more like. Plus, it still feels weird to openly say the pack’s money is mine now, too. In my head, I’m still clinging to the notion that Brooklyn hired him with her money, not ours.
“You’re such a smartass, you know that?” I shrug. Truthfully, I never really have been. If anything, people have always told me I was too shy or reserved. Awkward. But it’s easy to tease Wells.
His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to look at who texted him. That gives my addicted self the justification I need to take mine out, too. When I see Brooklyn’s name on my notifications page, it makes a goofy smile spread across my face. It’s nothing salacious or really flirty. A simple ‘I miss you’ text, is all. But butterflies still dance in my stomach every time I see or think of them.
I send her a text back, telling her I miss her, too. Then I snap a quick selfie and send it in the pack group chat.
Me
*picture* At RJs for lunch. Wish you guys were here. <3
The texts come in back-to-back right away.
Hudson
Jealous! Bring me home a steak, pretty girl! Please, please, please.
Brooklyn
She told me she missed me first. Btw.
Mason
You look beautiful <3
Maverick
I hope Wells is there with you.
Mason
You’re quite the charmer, babe.
I grin at Mason’s response after rolling my eyes at Maverick’s. They’re all taking the threat Pack Monroe poses seriously, but Maverick and Brooklyn have been the most anal about my safety lately. Hudson’s constant texts to Wells notwithstanding; I’m pretty sure that’s just his way of trying to be friends with Wells, anyway.
And Mason is back to “babe-ing” Maverick. They’ve been back to being the perfect couple since Maverick apologized and we all spent the night together. Thinking about it has heat rising to my cheeks and my scent spikes as flashes of sweaty bodies and clenched teeth–.
“Whatever you’re thinking about, can you stop? It already feels weird being in here with you. I don’t need you perfuming all over me,” Wells hisses, leaning back in his seat and honest to the Goddess plugging his nose with his fingers.
Brat. I stick my tongue out at him and look back down at my screen as my phone buzzes again.
Maverick
Mason’s right. You look beautiful. But you always do.
Me
Thank you, handsome <3
Maverick
So is he?
I groan. Silly, overprotective alphas. This time, I snap a picture of Wells while he’s scanning the restaurant and send it to the group chat. Which I promptly close and put back in my purse, in case he asks more questions. Like why Wells’ phone is out and is he distracted.
He knows Wells takes my safety seriously. Especially after last night when Wells pulled into the garage right behind us after we got home from the tattoo parlor.
Maverick had grumbled something about how he thought he gave Wells the night off. To which Wells just shrugged and said he went on a night drive to clear his head. A truly awful lie, but Maverick hadn’t seemed to care as respect shone in his eyes.
My phone pings again, and I only last thirty seconds trying to ignore it before caving and pulling it out.
Mason
Called that tattoo parlor. They’re fitting me in tonight after work.
Hudson
Me too?
Mason
Hell no. You assholes can make your own appointments.
A bubble of laughter breaks free. Maverick was right. As soon as I got home and showed them all my new tattoos, Mason was on the phone trying to call the shop. But they were already closed; having only stayed open longer for me anyway.
Brooklyn got a little emotional seeing the tattoos. I swear I saw tears build when I explained what the bouquet of flowers was for. Part of me wanted to tell them right then about the call from Doctor Tanner. But I couldn’t. I kept imagining the way they’d start to see me differently. They’d say it was okay. That they didn’t need biological kids to be happy. Maybe even that I was enough for them. But then the resentments would creep in. The realization that I wasn’t, and could never, be enough.
So I haven’t told them.
Yet.
But I will.
The food comes, and somehow…some freaking how, Wells manages to let me eat in silence. Like he can tell I’m stewing in my thoughts, delving into self-deprecating ones, and it would be better to leave me be for now than have me snapping at him for no reason. I finish quickly since I have to be back to work soon.
