Chapter 26
Bayleigh
A disaster area. That’s what my bedroom is. My closet, once full of clothing, now stands basically bare.
Jeans, sweaters, and dresses are strewn across my bed in what can only be described as a silent meltdown. I’ve had each item on my body at least twice in some type of combination. None of them looked the way I wanted them to.
Why does this date have me so worked up? Even when I had my first date with Joseph, my scent match, I didn’t put this much effort into what I was going to wear.
But here I am, standing in the middle of the chaos, my hair curled, wearing nothing but my underwear. Why? Because I have no clue what to wear. It’s not just a date. It’s the date. The first one I’ve agreed to since Joseph—the one that feels like it might actually matter.
I take a deep breath, needing to calm myself so I can actually think. Time is running out, and I need to make a decision.
I pull on a pair of fitted dark jeans and a green sweater. Moving over to the full-length mirror, I take a good look at myself, tilting my head to the left, then right, as I turn to get a view from all angles.
Nope. Absolutely not. This isn’t the one.
I quickly remove the clothing, swapping it for a black dress and a pair of heels.
But this isn’t right either. Ughh. I let out a muted scream as I stomp my foot, like a child.
Why is this so hard? This is ridiculous. He’s not expecting some prima donna. He saw me dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a jersey and liked me then. I need to stop thinking so hard.
I go back to the jeans, but choose a form-fitting blouse, completing the look with a pair of cute booties. Mind made up, and happy with my attire, I head downstairs to the living room. The lights flash in the house, telling me someone’s ringing the doorbell.
Raising up on my toes, I look through the peephole and see James, holding a to-go coffee and smirking like he already knows I’m spiraling. Of course he knows. He’s my best friend and knows all about my anxiety. I open the door, and he steps in, hands me my coffee and starts signing.
You’re stressing. Aren’t you?
I let out a laugh.
You think? If you saw my room right now, you wouldn’t be asking.
That bad?
You have no idea. And since when do you ring the doorbell? You have a key. Do you just pick and choose when you want to come in?
I did have my hands full.
He smirks as he heads to the living room and drops down on the couch. I’m glad Mom’s not here or she would’ve had a heart attack, anxious that the lid on his cup would pop off and her beautiful white couch would be forever stained.
Crossing the room, I sit down beside him, my knee nervously bouncing as I take a sip of the coffee. Maybe the caffeine will calm me. Soothe my anxiousness. It doesn’t, so I set my cup beside his on the coffee table.
It’s cute. I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before. Not even Joseph.
I roll my eyes. Even his name makes me want to hurl. I’m over him, and glad that I found out what a dick he was in the beginning. But that doesn’t take away the pain of being rejected by the one person who should want you more than anyone.
It’s not nerves. It’s indecision about what I should wear. If he’s going to like it. Like me.
He grins, signing, Uh-huh. Nerves. What’s the big deal? It’s just a date.
I lift my hands ready to respond, but I hesitate. Biting my lower lip, I think about what I want to say. My fingers begin to move slowly as I formulate my words.
It’s not just a date. It’s Lincoln. I actually… like him. And I’m afraid of doing or saying something that’s going to fuck it all up.
He reaches out, taking my hand in his, squeezing gently, reassuring me I’m going to be okay.
So what are you wearing? Something that says “I’m confident” or “Please don’t tell my brother”?
I laugh, then suddenly rethink my choice of clothing.
Both. I was actually going to wear this.
I move my hands, gesturing toward my clothes.
James sighs, then taps his finger on his chin as he eyes me up and down.
The jeans and boots I like. The shirt feels too stiff. Like you’re about to go into a boardroom.
Okay. So, no to the shirt. I can do that.
Come on, let’s go to your room.
James stands up, takes my hand in his, and leads me to my bedroom. He is the only man, other than my dad or Benton, that is allowed in my room. When I open the door, his eyes go wide, and immediately his fingers go crazy, slicing through the air, signing.
Holy hell! You weren’t lying.
Told you. Please help me.
James makes his way over to my bed, his eyes surveying the pile of clothing scattered across it. I sit down on the edge, taking one of my throw pillows and squeezing it tightly against my chest.
As he goes through the clothing, he places them back on the hangers, returning them to the closet.
When everything is back in order, he hands me a cream sweater.
This. It looks great on you, and it dips just low enough to look feminine without showing too much or appearing like you’re trying too hard.
Thank you, James.
I stand up, turning the front of my body away from him, and quickly change. Once I have it on, I step over to the mirror and take a real look at myself. James is right. It looks perfect.
Now, finish your makeup and hair so I can see the finished product before I leave.
Lifting my hand to my forehead, I give him a salute, then skip off to the bathroom, a little more excited as a warming sense of calm washes over me. James to the rescue.
Standing in front of my mirror, I decide to keep my makeup light today. More of a hint of having it on than anything. A neutral eyeshadow, a little blush and mascara, topped off with a faint shimmer of gloss.
I glance over at my perfume and decide to just spritz a little of it—my natural scent of mint and green tea.
When I’m done, I step back into the bedroom, and James holds his finger up, spinning it, telling me to turn around. He just stares at me, his arms folded across his chest before finally nodding in approval.
He steps up to me, placing his hands on my shoulders, kissing me softly on my forehead before stepping back and signing.
You look great. Just calm down. You’ve got this.
You think so? I ask.
Definitely. Just be yourself. It’s already evident he likes you.
I can’t help but smile, feeling the first flicker of hope that this is going to be great. That nothing is going to ruin tonight.
No crying. Don’t want to mess up that beautiful face. Text me when you get there. If he turns out to be a serial killer, I want credit for being right.
The snort comes out before I can stop it.
He’s not a serial killer.
Every omega says that right before getting murdered.
My hands fly out, smacking his arm playfully, as we both laugh. When the humor settles, the nerves kick in a bit.
Have a great time. Text me when you get there though and when you get home.
I promise.
Okay, well I’m going to get out of here. I’ll see myself out.
James gives me a wink, and leaves. Once again I’m all alone, vulnerable to let my imagination run wild.
I turn back around, taking another look at myself in the mirror now that I’m completely ready. My hair falls soft around my face, my eyes bright despite the fear hiding behind them. I get my phone and purse from the nightstand and head downstairs. James brought me coffee, and I plan to drink it.
Sitting down on the couch, I open my phone and decide to roll some dice in Monopoly Go. I’m one gold sticker away from completing the whole sticker board, and I need some shovels to dig to get the wild card.
Of course, the sticker is a dud. A duplicate of what I already have.
I’m about to toss the phone across the room when it vibrates in my hand with an incoming message.
Lincoln: I’m outside. I want to come to your door and get you, but will it cause drama with Benton?
Me: You’re going to come to my door?
Lincoln: Duh. Isn’t that what an alpha’s supposed to do when courting an omega?
Me: It’s just unexpected. Benton’s not here.
Lincoln: I’ll be there in a second. No opening the door until I ring the bell.
Lincoln: Fuck. Wait. Will you know if I ring the doorbell?
Me: Yes. It’s set to a light notification that alerts me.
Lincoln: That’s fucking cool. See you in less than a second.
I go ahead and get my jacket, putting it on, before sending a quick message to James.
Me: He just picked me up.
The lights flash, telling me he’s here. Slipping the phone into my purse, I slip the strap over my shoulder and open the door.
Lincoln is standing there looking like a full main-course dish, all broad shoulders and quiet confidence. Then he signs, You look beautiful. And God, he smells good too—warm sandalwood and amber wrapping around me, and if it weren’t for my special panties, he’d smell my slick.
Thank you.
James is right. I can do this. Lincoln takes my hand, and I step onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind me. My heart is pounding, ready to see what different really feels like.