18. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Ash
I don’t know exactly what I had been expecting from my introductions to my future potential packmates…but it certainly was nothing like this evening.
I’ve already made my way to two out of three of the pack lounges I’ve gained access to after the scent matches.
Suzi’s lot of professional sports players and so-called-‘entrepreneurs’ didn’t recognize me on sight. Though I know that one or two of them have likely had to run out onto a field backed by one of my top 40 singles—none of them had been well acquainted enough with gossip rags or music videos to identify me as me.
Not to mention—I nearly slammed headfirst into a dude who looked like he could have turned me inside out and used me as a throw rug on my way into my second pack lounge of the night. I was worried he might have kicked my ass for nearly stepping on his expensive looking shoes—but he only introduced himself as ‘Teddy’ with a funny little smile before he took off—presumably to check out another lounge.
Almost as soon as I got into Brit’s lounge, however—Kurt, the software bro, had recognized me. Apparently, he had been studying abroad during my residency in Ibiza. A few drinks in, he had screamed and slapped the bar excitedly as I had arrived in the pool area—already critically underwhelmed by my earlier lounge experience of the evening.
Once he’d put a name to my face, Hunter excitedly—and very drunkenly, told me about how the first NFL team he’d been with used to run out onto the field to Invincible Now, one of my first #1 singles.
The two of them had been so marinated they barely noticed when I slipped away from their drunken conversation about their other potential matches with relative ease.
Timmy had been waiting dutifully just outside the door to Brittney’s lounge, his clipboard and smart phone in hand.
“Ready to move on? Once I’ve shown you to your third and final accessible lounge, you’ll be allowed to move freely between your quarters and the common areas,” he explains pleasantly, guiding me through several sets of doors and down another incredibly long hallway until we reach another heavy composite door with a big brass ‘U’ on its face above a blocked out peep hole.
“Here we are, I think you know the drill by now.” Timmy gestures to the door, passing me a key card as he does so.
I give him a crisp nod and sweep into the room.
For a moment I’m worried it’s entirely empty—then I hear a distant splashing and the chatter of voices coming from the other side of the huge sliding glass doors to the patio.
I emerge into the pool area and am immediately struck with how different this scene is from the others.
Two men, both tall—one with a toss of thick flaming red hair and the other with a messy half-updo of dreads; stand behind the swim up bar assembling what appears to be a tray of snacks and drinks. Even from this distance I can make out bits of fruit, hunks of cheese, thin slices of bread brushed with oil and toasted; little tumblers of bright orange liquid and crags of ice being garnished with what appears to be edible flowers.
In the swimming pool, Teddy—the brick wall of a man I nearly crashed into during my entrance to Brit’s, along with a short, sleek man are laughing loudly and taking turns disappearing beneath the water’s surface to do handstands—quick to shout praise or criticism on the strength of one another’s pointed feet.
All four of them are so engrossed in what they were doing, they hardly seem to notice I’ve arrived at all.
Could it be…they’re actually having fun? Enjoying one another’s company?
I look around at the camera team carefully following both groups of men at a respectable distance. It seems that I’ve managed to escape their notice as well.
“Ahem!” I clear my throat meaningfully, ready to shake off the mantle of stealth I’ve somehow managed to slip in under the auspices of.
“Hey! You made it!” The red-headed man looks up from his delicate work of steadying a blossom atop a delicate configuration of ice and waves to me before wiping his hands on his jeans and lifting one of the beautiful drinks from the bar.
“Alright—there he is, Mister Number Five!” The second bartender laughs, tossing the long cables of his locks over one shoulder as he hefts the large tray of delicious looking goodies onto one shoulder. “C’mon Teddy, Lysander—get outta the pool! Now that we’re all here—it’s time to chow down!” he shouts to the other men in the pool.
“Yeah, get that sloppy pike outta here!” Teddy guffaws, dunking his shorter compatriot beneath the water before splashing his way toward the steps. He only makes it a little further before he disappears beneath the rippling surface of the pool—Lysander presumably pulling him under before exploding from the surface like a lithe merman—bounding for the steps in the shallow water.
“You little shit!” Teddy spits water from his mouth on a laugh as he emerges from the pool, bounding up the tiled steps, deftly catching the balled white towel Lysander throws at him before it hits him square in the face.
“You know what they say—bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Lysander taunts—his towel already wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
I am all at once reminded of summers at my aunt’s swimming pool; me and my cousins running wild under the summer sun as our mothers and fathers—aunts and uncles struggle to wrangle us for meals, baths and bedtime.
As if sucked in by some gravitational pull, I shuffle toward them—the four of them dragging pool loungers and chairs into a crude circle around one of the larger tables.
The redhead leans across the table and places a drink in the open space before me—his river stone eyes fixed on me.
“Hi, I’m Ronan—and this is a ginger-mango spritzer made with a delicious sparkling white burgundy and a bit of elderflower liqueur.”
“Does the mysterious Mr. Number Five have a name?” he ventures, raising his rusty orange eyebrows at me for effect.
“I do, as a matter of fact—Mr. Number Two,” I play along, lifting the glass from the table and giving its contents a gentle swirl before taking a sip. “I’m Ash Dressaliers—and you are?” I raise my glass to him.
“Mr. Number Two!?” The redhead gasps, playing at an affront to his dignity. “Who’s Mr. Number One then?” he pouts, pretending to be hurt and dismayed.
“Obviously the guy who is responsible for the giant tray of awesome looking food is Mr. Number One!” I explain—nodding toward the tray replete with delicious looking nibbles and noshes now occupying the center of the table as Lysander and Teddy take their seats around the impromptu feast.
This draws a laugh from everyone, but the so-called ‘Mr. Number One’ leans across the table—taking a small empty plate from a neat stack beside the tray of treats and passing it to me in lieu of a handshake.
“Hey Ash, I’m Mavren—nice to meet you.” He releases the small round of china into my hand and gestures to the good looking spread laid out before us. “Please, help yourselves.”
“We already met in passing earlier.” Teddy juts his well-chiseled jaw in my direction. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows who I am, but bless him—he hasn’t said anything to make it awkward yet.
I turn my eyes to Lysander, expecting him to make his introduction—since technically I’ve only heard him called by Mavren so far. I’m more than a little unnerved when we lock eyes—the power of his gaze shockingly intense. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Ronan hands him a gently clinking glass of ginger-mango spritzer—his brown eyes fixed intently on me.
“I know you from somewhere,” he says, almost dreamily—and suddenly his scent hits me; chamomile, lavender, and spearmint. Like a blanket, it settles over me, threatening to make my eyelids droop.
A theta!? Well shit, this ‘experiment’ just got a whole lot more interesting.
We’re outside, and the others are sitting further away, so I haven’t caught a whiff of them yet. Suddenly self-conscious, I wonder if any of them have caught my scent on the night breeze.
I’m trying to think of something clever to say—my tongue suddenly tied with the heaviness of sleep, when I realize that both Teddy and Mavren are also somehow familiar to me.
Before I can say anything about it though, Teddy jumps in—a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“You ever take a break from Bach and shit to listen to club bangers?” he teases, mussing Lysander’s thick chocolate brown otter pelt with one big, golden hand—sending water spraying.
Lysander plays at ducking away, but he’s laughing.
“I listen to all kinds of stuff, unhand me you peasant—you meathead.” He playfully slaps Teddy’s hand away, and I find myself laughing along easily with them.
“That’s KR30SOTE, you pleb—put some respect on his name.” Teddy grabs a green grape off of the nearby tray and flicks it at Lysander as soon as he has an opening. Lysander succeeds in batting it away—but Teddy sends the grape shooting back at him with a blindingly fast backhand strike; the tiny sphere of green splattering against the side of Lysander’s head as the pair laugh uncontrollably.
It’s in the instant of fluid movement that I realize exactly where I recognize Teddy from.
Undeterred by Lysander and Teddy’s antics, Ronan and Mavren’s heads snap around—their eyes fixed on me with a newfound curiosity.
“Way to blow up my spot, Teddy! Not all of us get to hide behind three feet of lace front wig and a sick samurai costume when we appear on television,” I laugh before imperiously taking a sip of my drink.
“Holy shit!” Lysander squeals, eyes suddenly wide as saucers—turning dumbly to face Teddy with new perspective.
“How did I not see it right away!? You were Jin on ‘Out of Time’!? Weren’t you?”
Teddy seems to demure slightly, though he keeps his megawatt smile up on high.
“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.” Teddy shrugs. “I’m a wannabe C-lister, guilty as charged.”
“Well, well, well!” Ronan beams, scrubbing a hand through his wild red hair. “All of these celebrities,” he sweeps a hand toward Teddy and I— ending his arc on Mavren, before adding, “And blue blood princes—our miss Ursula must really be something to draw a crew like this together.”
I can’t help but raise a brow at that. I haven’t been able to place Mavren’s face, and I haven’t caught Lysander’s family name—but now I’m even more intrigued.
“The only thing out of place is the rando stoner florist,” Ronan laughs and lays a hand dramatically over his chest, taking a long swig of his drink.
I know he’s aiming for self-deprecation, but already, there’s a grin on my face.
“Well, you’re certainly not the only stoner in this group,” I laugh, my eyes wandering to Mavren—smearing globs of blue cheese onto the rounds of grilled bread, drizzling golden honey in thin ribbons across their surface. “And when you say florist—are you being cheeky?” I pump my snowy white brows at Ronan.
He throws back his head and laughs.
“I don’t grow cannabis, no.” He leans in before adding in a stage whisper, “Not professionally, at least.”
Ronan’s close enough now that I catch his scent—that fresh, after rain smell, peaty oakmoss that reminds you of expensive scotch, and the sweet, herbal funk of geranium; a floral scent that has always seemed to me as if roses and weed had some kind of beautiful hippie lovechild.
For a moment, the bouquet is so complex that I don’t realize the underlying base note of alpha is missing. I’ve scented so few gammas in my life, I very nearly didn’t parse his designation at all.
Ronan’s quartz eyes catch mine and I wonder if he’s realized I’m a delta. He must have scented the others by now—everyone still seems to be playing nicely.
“Florist doesn’t really completely describe what Ronan does,” Mavren cuts in slyly, leaning out onto the table on his elbows. “He’s a full on landscape architect in addition to putting together really stunning arrangements and bouquets.”
Ronan practically purrs his delight at Mavren’s praise, a coy smile creeping its way across his face.
“It’s true,” he admits, batting his fiery lashes dramatically. “Of course Monsieur Renard is leaving out critical details, like how my biggest project to date is the greenery for his Michelin Star restaurant,” Ronan teases, his lashes flitting like copper feathers, fanning up and down all the while.
Aha. Now the line about celebrities makes sense.
Lysander’s brown eyes widen, his head nodding softly as his gaze lights up with recognition.
“Pomme Vert, it’s near Korea town, right? There was a profile on you and the menu for your place in Food and Wine a month or so ago.” He pinches his chin between his thumb and crooked forefinger in contemplation, as if seeing Mavren again for the first time.
“Woah, I’ve walked past that place on the weekends man, it’s always packed,” Teddy marvels. “Way too fancy for a dude like me, but it looks like a magic greenhouse.”
“Yeah, I’m looking to open another place this year—my accountant keeps telling me now is the time; I gotta do it.” Mavren stacks some slices of cheese on seeded crackers and passes them out to us, I take my next morsel gladly.
“Aren’t we the motley crew?” Ronan laughs, kicking back in his chair and eying all of us. “We’ve got an actor, an executive chef, a world class DJ, a lowly florist, and the heir to the Ewing empire slash burgeoning art dealer,” he teases.
Aha! That’s what Ronan meant earlier by ‘blue blood prince.’ Old money, deep pockets—the kind of wealth that makes a nouveau-riche sucker like myself or Mavren look like a peasant by comparison.
Despite the fact that we are an incredibly odd mix, it appears that everyone is getting along almost a little too well—as if we’re already a pack.
My eyes catch Lysander’s, and he squirms—almost as if he can read my mind.
Like an invisible bolt of electricity traveling down a wire—it’s as if the others suddenly awake from the spell of idyllic compatibility and remember themselves—the absurdity of this situation, the idea that we might all be getting a lot closer than we may have bargained for very soon.
“So,” Ronan shakes off the awkward silence with relative ease—leaning back in his seat lazily, and balancing his drink on the metal arm of his lounge chair. “Since we’re all here now—why not talk a little shop?”
He smirks, one of his bright red brows arching mischievously.
“Talk shop?” Lysander parrots, a little lost. “But…none of us do the same thing?”
“Well, if it all goes off without a hitch—technically, we’d all be doing Ursula.” Teddy offers—a bit of that fuckboy glint shining through.
“What do y’all like about her the most?” Ronan redirects us.
“She’s kind, but not a pushover. Interesting, but not self-involved…and she’s very patient with some of my…quirks.” Lysander answers first, hesitating only with the finer details of his praise.
“She’s no bullshit. From the moment we introduced each other—she’s been nothing but genuine, and I happen to like everything I’ve seen,” Mavren adds thoughtfully, laughing once he’s realized the irony of his statement. “I mean—not literally seen, but you know what I mean,” he clarifies, the rest of us gently chuckling as we get the joke.
“I agree, of the women I talked to in this experience—she seems the most ‘real,’” Ronan piggy-backs off Mavren’s response. “I honestly kind of dumped a bunch of trauma on her right out the gate, and she took everything in stride—gracefully, too.” He beams, finishing on a dreamy sigh.
“I can’t lie,” I laugh a little nervously, preparing to throw my hat into the proverbial ring. “She got me before we even started talking—I had been zoned out in the bubble and she came in, singing to herself because she thought no one was there,” I explain—everyone’s eyes suddenly fixed on me with great interest. “Like a sailor catching an earful of a Siren’s song—I was fully prepared to dash myself upon the craggy rock face of an unknown shore after a mere handful of notes,” I admit, a little embarrassed, a little exhilarated.
“Jesus, watch out—we’ve got a poet in the group.” Ronan’s red brows shoot up and he elbows me hard in the ribs.
I can feel the blush heating my cheeks, so I continue on, “Once I actually got to talking to her, I was even more surprised by…” I trail off, unsure of just how much Ursula’s said about her heat experience to the others. “Everything about her.” I decide to end my sentiments vaguely.
There’s a chorus of approving hums and a chain of differently timed nods that travel around our small circle before a poignant silence falls—all of us turning our gazes to Teddy, who does not immediately volunteer his feelings; his throat working—Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as we watch him in eerie quiet.
He seems to realize with a start just how long he hasn’t offered his own contribution and begins with a halting, stammered, “Well, I —uh.”
Lysander seems to regard Teddy with a new, chillier air—the two had been roughhousing like old friends or even brother’s moments ago, but Teddy’s apparent trepidation regarding Ursula has cast him in a new light; not just for Lysander—but all of us.
“I know some of you guys are only matched with one omega right now, which is totally legit—but for me…I mean, it’s still pretty early—y’know?” He squirms, running a hand back through his short black hair—shaking some pool water from the strands—making it stand in dark, messy spikes straight up in the air.
I also have several matches, so I kind of get what Teddy’s trying to say, but at the same time…no one has asked him why he’s choosing Ursula, or to commit to her right now…so I’m immediately suspicious.
Again, Lysander, as if he’s read my mind—or he’s simply unable to apply a ‘filter’ to his own thoughts—speaks, irritation clear in his voice, “No one was asking you to pick a partner or anything—we were just asking what you like about her,” he says flatly, his chocolate brown eyes fixed severely on Teddy with a decidedly chilly air.
“Yeah—no I got you.” Teddy shifts uncomfortably, his laugh thin and uneasy before he adds, “I mean, I don’t have any great fancy way to say it like some of you guys, but yeah—I guess I’ve never ever had to try to impress a girl before, y’know?” Teddy smiles, and I can tell that he’s embarrassed to continue his admission, but he does so anyway—leaving his pride at the door. “It might make me sound like an asshole, but usually I have like—less than zero problems getting women interested because…well.” He flashes his towel open—revealing his rippling muscles and smooth tanned skin; all the while showcasing his grin of snowy white teeth, his dark almond-shaped eyes, warm and wet above his high, sculpted cheekbones.
“Yeah, you’re a babe—we get it,” Ronan laughs knocking back a swig of his drink.
Teddy has the grace to blush slightly, pulling his towel tightly around himself before he begins again.
“But Ursula can’t see me—and she’s definitely high quality, so…” He shrugs, turning away from all of us to gaze out over the city skyline. “She kind of blew me off, and I guess at first I was just trying to prove that I’ve got other stuff going on.” Teddy turns back to face us all once more. “I guess, in the process of trying to prove to her that I was worthy of her time, she made me second guess whether or not I am worth her time—but like, in a good way?” His dark brows knit together and I can tell he’s trying so hard that I jump in to throw him a lifeline.
“I get it dude, and for what it’s worth? I think you could be worth her time, especially if you’re thinking about her, about your pack—not just yourself.”
The rest of the guys offer silent nods of ascent.
Perhaps Teddy is the one in the hot seat right now, but I’m sure that I’ll find myself in his shoes before this evening is over —let alone before the reveal. I can only hope that when my time comes—my fellow potential packmates are just as generous.