Thirty-Four – Joaquin
Thirty-Four
Joaquin
T he massive gray chaise in the upstairs living room was my favorite place to sketch, especially in the evening. Alijah was curled up beside me, utterly absorbed in the latest episode of Designation Dance-Off —where teams of alpha and omega celebrities tried to outshine each other on the dancefloor for a cash prize and tin-plated glory.
“Do you think Morgan ever gets offers for stuff like this?” he asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the large bowl in his lap.
“Maybe, a few years ago. Though I bet the infamous Jacobi still gets plenty of invitations.”
“He does sound fun. Think we’ll ever meet him?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Morgan?” I couldn’t resist needling him. Alijah stuffed more popcorn into his mouth rather than respond. “You can’t keep avoiding her.”
He nodded, hesitated, shook his head, hesitated again, and finally shrugged—all while staring at his knees instead of meeting my eyes.
“Wow,” I teased, “what a compelling argument.”
He scrunched his face into a sour pout and ate another handful of popcorn.
I chuckled and glanced at my sketchbook. What had started as a lighting design storyboard had evolved into something else entirely—a figure study of a woman with an athletic physique. Full breasts, generous thighs, wrapped in a slinky whisper of a Grecian-style gown. She stood in a column of light, chin lifted in defiance, confronting the darkness head-on. My pencil hovered over the sharp point of her sloped nose .
“If you’re not going to make a move on her,” I said, lead dancing across the paper as I framed the angular planes of her face with flowing tresses—incongruous with Morgan’s actual appearance but fitting for a goddess of victory. “Then I will.”
Alijah sat up and turned to face me. Uncertainty flickered across his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to…”
With a final flourish, I turned my sketchbook toward my mate.
“Oh,” he breathed softly.
His near-black eyes darkened further, desire glimmering in their depths as he stared at the suggestive form I’d committed to paper. Excitement thrummed across the bond, interwoven with a thread of arousal.
“We want her,” I said. “Or am I wrong?”
Alijah’s fingers ghosted over the outline of Morgan’s face.
“Of course not. That’s what I—what we both want.” His hand fell away from the sketch, shoulders curling inward. “And that scares me. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? Sometimes, I can’t read her expression at all. She’s always kind to me, but what if she’s just being polite?
“Does Morgan strike you as someone who willingly tolerates people?” I asked, even though we both already knew the answer.
“No, not really.” He indulged in a self-deprecating laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a lingering sigh, he leaned against the back of the chaise. “With you… You’re like a warm blanket. No, my favorite blanket. The one you want to cuddle up with after a long, grueling day.”
I couldn’t resist slipping my hand inside the collar of his shirt, brushing my fingers over his mating bite. “At least I’m not a wet blanket.”
He shoved my hand off and muttered, “Forget it.”
When he tried to shift away, I gently tugged him closer and delivered a series of apologetic kisses.
“You’re right. I’m a terrible menace. The absolute worst,” I said, smirking against his mouth. “What else?”
Alijah’s sulkiness melted away as he nuzzled into my neck. “I’m trying to say you make me feel safe. Like—like coming home after a long trip.”
Cradling the back of his head, I claimed his plush lips once more, savoring their softness and the fresh tang of his scent. “That’s love, babe.”
“Mm, lots of love,” he murmured between kisses. “You make everything easy for me, Joaquin. You’re solid. But Morgan…”
“A bridge to the unknown? Beautiful view, but maybe missing a few crucial planks?”
Alijah scoffed and narrowed his eyes, on the verge of scolding me—until something in the metaphor caught his interest. His head tilted to the side. “Throw in a nauseating amount of butterflies, and yeah… That’s exactly it.”
I gathered him into my lap, popcorn bowl and all, tucking his head under my chin. “I think you’re both standing on opposite sides of that bridge, too scared to take the first step. What if she slips? What if you stumble? Or a board’s rotten, or a rope snaps?” When his shoulders began to tremble, I tightened my arms around him. “But worrying isn’t enough.”
I caressed his bond mark, grounding us both.
“Alijah, if you have butterflies, follow them. Give them to her. Let her hear that telltale giggle of yours when a good photo turns out to be great . Share every single reason you hate goat cheese. Show her how you curse up a storm while you’re editing. And,” I said, dropping my voice to a sinuous whisper, “that you taste like an orange creamsicle when given the proper encouragement.”
Alijah squirmed in embarrassment, despite his mouth curling into a tiny smile. “Don’t say that.”
He tried his best to play along, but anxiety began to gnaw on our bond.
“I just don’t know how to tell her about my parents,” he muttered.
“Just be honest,” I said. “Those assholes don’t deserve the title of parent. They have nothing to do with your success—in life or love.”
Nipping at his earlobe, I earned a precious laugh and silently renewed my vow to protect that sound for the rest of my life. I kissed my way down his neck until my lips brushed against the first hint of his fern leaf tattoo—a symbol we’d chosen together to honor his resilience.
Rubbing his back, I continued. “Has she ever made you feel less for being a beta? Judged you, slighted you?”
“No, never,” he admitted softly. “She doesn’t talk about designations much in general. Actually… I’d almost think she was a beta if I didn’t know better.”
I asked something I’d wondered since that first glimpse of her shimmering plum-red hair. “What’s her scent, anyhow?”
“It’s—it’s…” Alijah blinked at me with an owlish expression. “I have no idea. None at all. Is that weird?”
“Might be a safety thing, given how much time she spends around the football team.”
I paused, tempted to holler at Wyatt down the hall. That sneaky fuck would know.
“Doesn’t matter. Just gives us something to look forward to. The real question is…” I cupped his chin, thumb stroking the fullness of his bottom lip, and unleashed my sneakiest, most sinful smile. “Do I have your permission to misbehave?”
“No, at least not for my sake.” He set the popcorn bowl aside and leaned against my chest, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Flirt with Morgan as you see fit, but I need to be the one to explain myself to her.”
He exhaled, on the verge of relaxing—then suddenly pulled back, moving so quickly his sparkling eyes left comet trails.
“But there is one little thing you could help me with.”