Chapter 14 Willa
FOURTEEN
willa
Baby: You better be wearing something that shows some leg.
Josie: BABY! Be nice!
Baby: I AM being nice. I’m helping. Willa, honey, RELAX. It’s just a date.
Josie: Have fun tonight! You deserve this
Baby: And for the love of God, if the opportunity presents itself, GET LAID.
Willa: It’s a FAKE date. We have RULES.
Baby: Rules are meant to be broken, especially the stupid ones.
Josie: What Baby means is… just let yourself enjoy it. Don’t overthink.
Baby: No, what I mean is that man is hot as hell and clearly into you. Stop being so stubborn and FUCK. HIM.
Willa: You two are impossible.
Josie: We love you! Text us when you get home!
Baby: Or don’t text if you’re too busy being thoroughly satisfied
For the fiftieth time since he picked me up, I’ve had to mentally pinch myself. I’m really on a date with Beau McCrea. And exactly fifty times, I get a full rush of sensation at how it feels to be near him. To have the intensity of those eyes looking at me and only me.
Because fuck me, the man is a magnet for attention—man, woman, it literally doesn’t matter. Since we walked into Baby’s place, every eye has been on him.
His hand is rough and warm, and the jolts of electricity that his touch sends shooting straight to my core are heady. Does he feel it, too? I glance at him and find there’s a hungry look in his eyes that I think I put there. How is this real?
The dance floor is packed, bodies pressed close in the dim light.
“Come here, beautiful.” The deep, husky sound of his voice sends another wave of desire through me.
“Yes, but I have to warn you—dancing is not my strong suit.”
“No worries. I’ve got this for both of us.” Beau pulls me against him, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine.
I’m stiff at first, hyperaware of every point of contact, every breath, every beat of my racing heart. His hand at the small of my back has found its way partially under my sweater, and I can feel at least two fingers pressing against the exposed skin there.
Baby’s text flashes through my mind again. Fuck him.
Now that it’s there, I can’t make it not there. As he moves me through the steps, all I can imagine is what he’d look like with no shirt on. How he’d feel. Fuck, my Omega is a horny bitch.
This is supposed to be fake. This is business. This is—
Then the music shifts to something slower, something with a deep bass that pulses through the floor and into my bones, and my body relaxes into his before my brain can object. I feel him pull me a little bit closer and lean down to whisper in my ear.
“Your body knows how to move… and you smell sweet as fuck.” The last said almost to himself, and I definitely don’t miss the sneaky inhale as he pulls back a little.
His compliment slips through my defenses and unlocks a part of me. I can’t stop the perfume that pours from me—part arousal, part pure, simple pleasure.
I know the moment he scents it because his hands squeeze me a little bit closer, and I can feel the shiver on his frame. My breath hitches as he leans in impossibly close and lets his lips brush my ear. “My little Omega likes getting praise.”
And he’s met with a thick, hot wave of arousal I’m sure half the Alphas here can scent. A whine threatens to climb its way out of my body, because I really fucking do.
He pulls away with a chuckle as he leads me around another turn, like he’s the wind and I’m a leaf caught in his pull.
“You’re a good dancer,” I say, surprised at how naturally we move together.
“My mama made sure all her boys knew how to lead,” he tells me, spinning me out and then back in. “Can’t be a cowboy without knowing how to two-step.”
I laugh—really laugh—and it feels like something breaking open in my chest. Something I’ve kept locked away for too long. This is the Willa I used to be, before my father, and Felton, and all the other reasons that made me keep my walls up.
Beau spins me again, and this time, when he pulls me back, my body fits against his perfectly. Like we were designed for this. For each other.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it just makes me smile.
I tilt my head back to look at him, and the expression on his face steals my breath.
It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
I catch movement in my peripheral vision—an Alpha across the bar watching us.
Watching me. But before I can even process it, Beau’s hand tightens on my waist, shifting me more fully into his space.
His scent wraps around me, salty leather with bergamot mixing with my vanilla and buttercups until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Another Alpha starts to approach, and Beau levels him with a look that makes the man stop mid-step and turn away.
“You’re glaring at people,” I observe, looking up at him.
“Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken,” he says, and there’s something possessive in his voice that makes my Omega preen.
“For two months,” I remind him, even though the words feel hollow. “Fake taken.”
“Right. Fake.” But the way he says it, like he doesn’t believe it any more than I do, makes my heart skip.
We dance through three more songs, and I can feel the moment reality starts to creep back in. The awareness that this is temporary. That I’m not supposed to be enjoying this as much as I am. That letting myself fall into this fantasy is only going to hurt more when it ends.
I start to pull back, just slightly, but Beau doesn’t let me retreat. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear.
“Having fun?”
I shiver at the contact, at the warmth of his breath against my skin. “Maybe.”
“Just maybe?”
“Okay, definitely.” I pull back enough to look at him, and something vulnerable slips past my defenses. “This is… nice. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. The night’s not over.”
He keeps me close as we move back to the booth, his hand on my lower back. When I sink into the booth and reach for my drink, Beau slides in next to me instead of across from me.
With a shrug, he pulls his beer over and slides his free hand to rest on my thigh, exactly where the edge of my skirt sits. He starts this barely-there swipe of his thumb that I don’t even think he’s aware of, but it has every hair on my body standing on end.
“You could sit over there, you know. A seat made for a man of your… size?”
“Not happening, beautiful,” he says while squeezing my thigh. “Remember, fake dating requires some very public displays of affection.”
And if his hand wasn’t bad enough, he bends down and runs his nose from the base of my neck all the way up to the sensitive spot just below my ear and presses a kiss right there.
“That’s not fair,” I breathe.
“What’s not?” he asks with mock innocence.
So, because sometimes I’m a total child, and because I really fucking want to know what his skin tastes like, I say, “This,” just before I mirror the gesture on him.
Only instead of just scenting him, I run my tongue up to the bottom of his ear and gently nip at the little spot where he pressed a kiss on me.
The answering rumble-growl sound that comes out of him makes me gasp and has a whine of need threatening to escape for the second time tonight.
I figured my plan would backfire, but I’m not at all ready for what the look in his eyes promises when he leans down and says, with enough heat to start a forest fire, “My little Omega likes praise and to play games, too? Makes me wonder about all the other ways we could play.”
But I’m saved from the avalanche of need when Baby serves our burgers with a look so self-satisfied I know I’ll never hear the end of it.
Clearing my throat—saving myself from having to decide whether to wade way, way out into the deep end with this man—I shove a very big bite of burger into my mouth. Sexy? No. But better than climbing onto Beau McCrea’s lap in the middle of the bar.
What is it about him that makes me so willing to get naked in public?
By the time we leave, I feel the way I imagine a bonded Omega might feel—warm, secure, and loose in a way I haven’t been in years.
Maybe ever. I let Beau guide me to the truck, let him help me in, don’t protest when he reaches across to buckle my seatbelt, his face so close to mine I can count his eyelashes.
“Lightweight,” he teases.
“I’m not,” I mumble. Not from alcohol, at least, but I’d be lying if I didn’t feel intoxicated by him.
The drive to my place passes in a haze. The nervous energy from before starts to build all over again, but now it’s because I don’t want to say goodbye. I stay lost in my thoughts and only realize I’m home when the truck stops in my driveway.
“We’re here already?” I ask.
“Yeah.” His voice is soft, gentle—a pause, as if he’s also trying to prolong the moment. But eventually, he gets out and comes around to help me down.
He threads his fingers in mine and leads me to the porch, the electricity still passing from his fingers to mine.
“I had fun,” I tell him as we reach my porch. “Like, actual fun. I can’t remember the last time I just… let go like that.”
“Me either,” he admits, and there’s something raw in his voice.
I turn to face him, and we’re so close. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes, can smell his scent mixing with mine, can feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Beau,” I whisper, and before I can second-guess myself, I’m leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, slowly letting my cheek rub along his, inadvertently scent-marking him.
I’m going to blame that on the alcohol, but the feeling his stubble gives me as it rubs my cheek is fucking worth it.
It’s supposed to be chaste. A thank-you. A goodnight between people who are fake-dating.
But I don’t pull back. Not all the way. I hover there, my lips a breath from his skin, breathing in his scent, feeling the way his body has gone absolutely still.
When I turn my head slightly, we’re nose to nose, our breaths mingling in the icy air. The heat in his eyes could set the world on fire.