24. Kai
CHAPTER 24
Kai
Before I even raise a hand to wave, I can tell that I’m the absolute last bastard on earth Jesamine Jacobs wants to see right now. She stops dead where she is, as we both approach the studio at the same time. Her ride parked a few spaces over from mine.
She stays where she is, head slightly bent forward in an Are you absolutely kidding me right now ? way. I’m with Steve, who drove the bus, and she’s flanked by Caylee and Ferny, who drove hers. Apparently we weren’t expected to ride together.
“I gather you weren’t told we were doing this as a group project,” I say in a neutral tone. Then I raise my hand to wave. I think my lips are smiling but my heart feels like a dog’s shat in it.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman give me this exact look before.
She turns to Caylee and covers her face with a hand she uses to tuck hair behind her ears. They have a whispered and short-lived conversation, then she mutters, “Let’s get this over with,” and begins walking toward the door. I wait until her little party of three enters, and then Steve and I follow. Ferny’s just ahead of us. He turns and shrugs.
“You can only do so much. And please, don’t do any more,” he says.
After about ten minutes and handshakes and greetings with the program manager and the DJ, we’re ushered into the booth—me, Jez, and Stan the DJ. Outside the window, Caylee and our managers sit on stools, arms crossed, like a jury watching the two sides about to go head-to-head.
Jez hasn’t looked at me once since we sat down in the booth, but she has an open, pleasant smile for Stan, who’s wittering on about how much his daughter loves her and can’t wait for tonight, and how he’s been a big fan of Fable for years now. It feels more like he rigged this so he could get a meet and greet, but I don’t mind. I’m more of the all-press-is-good-press mindset.
Though that might be about to change.
“So is this tour the first time you two have met?” Stan asks, the second we’re introduced on the mic. I lean back in my seat and hold a hand up to Jez. She still hasn’t looked at me but leans into the mic. I wonder how many interviews she’s given. She seems like a pro.
“Actually, no. There’s a little-known story—well, it’s not little-known among our oldest fans, I suppose. Would you say that’s true, Kai?”
She looks at me pointedly at last, and I nod, then belatedly realize there’s no camera. I pull down the collar of my shirt and undo the first button, fumbling for a reply. “I’d say so. But I don’t think the average listener is aware. It’s not really relevant to this tour, but it was three years ago, which is less than half the time Jez has been on the scene.”
“Ah, well, I think fans that are just getting to know either one of you would love to hear about what connects you. It’s quite an interesting pairing, and I think one that’s garnered a great deal of discussion.” Stan is grinning and I know what he’s fucking thinking. And he’s thinking it because of what I said last night. But I won’t give in and let him get his fucking rocks off on that.
I nod at Jez again, and she leans forward, her lips nearly touching the mic. God. Dammit, her heat is lurking. But most powerful of all is the simple awareness of her scent. She is our match. She’s honeysuckle and jasmine in full bloom—like a garden coming to life after winter’s sleep. I want to dive into that scent, into a garden full of her.
Fuck, this is insane. My cock presses against my jeans as all the blood in my body seems to rush there.
Jez is answering Stan’s comment about what connects us . “It was a simple interaction, really. I was a contestant in a talent competition which featured ten musical acts. Fable on Fire were one of the ‘anonymous’ sets of judges, though behind-the-scenes, we all knew who they were. It was more for show than anything.” She shrugs, but those full lips still kiss the air around the mic like I wish they’d do to me.
I lean forward at the sudden pain. Not being on suppressants around my scent match is bringing my rut forward, and the pain is growing. I cross my legs at the ankles and know I look like a twat but I lean forward on the desk with the mic to appear more casual.
I can’t hold this back for the length of this entire tour.
Fuck me. I run a hand through my hair and am horrified at how fucking sweaty it comes back. I would give anything to be able to take suppressants. Not taking them was how I knew Nyah wasn’t ours. But she was such a heartbreaker, such a go-getter, and it felt like pain enough—surely I couldn’t withstand the pain of scenting our match and actually knotting her. It’s like my entire body is on fire and lightning is striking my dick over and over. That’s all I can think of when Jez turns to me.
“Wouldn’t you say that’s the gist?”
My eyes fly wide and I glance through the window at Ferny and Steve, the latter of whom is waving his hands in a get on with it manner. Caylee is smirking.
“I absolutely would say there’s more to it than just meeting there. Jez gave the most outstanding audition, and was an immediate yes. But there were some, ah, administrative issues that meant having to replace her. Which was sadly one of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do. But honestly, the way she’s forged and navigated her career since that unfortunate incident has proven what a force of nature she is. And I just really hope fans will come out to the tour and see what we’ve properly kissed and made up, and that harkening back to that event doesn’t even begin to touch on the collective excitement me and the guys have at her presence among us.”
Between trying to tuck my cock between my legs and hide the sweat breaking out on my face and neck—and palms, fuck—and steering my mind away from any thoughts about Jez’s body, I don’t remember what else is said. But before I know it, we’re saying goodbye to Stan and thanking him and his team for the opportunity to plug tonight’s show.
As the studio’s back door closes behind us, I turn around to say Glad that’s over to Steve as someone yanks my arm.
Jez physically pulls me down the side of the building into an alley between the studio and a curry house. And even with all that competition, all I can smell is the slick and heat and glorious sweet floral scent wafting from Jez’s pores.
She looks over her shoulder, face a storm cloud, and marches me a few feet further along. Her fingers curled around even my sleeve-covered arm is enough to have my cock ready for action.
Gently but firmly, I pull my arm away, and her eyes harden, her jaw tightening. I know she takes this as me not wanting her to touch me. I want the exact opposite, even though she pisses me off as much as I probably do her. Okay, maybe not as much.
But I want her touch. God, I want that tiny hand, those sexy black-tipped fingernails, wrapped around me, sliding up and down, ramming into my knot?—
“What in the exact hell do you think you’re doing?” Jez hisses, throwing both fists back and stepping one foot toward me. “When precisely did we ‘kiss and make up,’ because I must’ve been asleep through it. I would sooner shove this—” she raises one of her fists “—down your fucking throat, Hartley!”
My tongue feels like cotton in my mouth. My own fist feels ready to smash backwards into the brick wall behind me, pull her body to me, and taste her sweet lips. I am not that man. I will never do something unwanted or uninvited with any woman, Omega or otherwise. But fuck if it’s not a hard battle to stop myself asking if she can feel it, how badly I want her body right now, to have her beg for my knot and my seed inside her.
Sometimes being an Alpha is the absolute worst.
“I wanted to show a united front. These press fuckers just want to dig out dirt that gets listeners calling in, hitting that social media button, all that shit. They don’t care what’s real. They don’t want what’s real. They care what gets attention, and listeners, and mouths yapping about their wanky radio show.”
She stops and pulls back slightly, blinking. “Wait. So, instead of giving them more drama, you tried to just put the brakes on so they had nothing to dig into?”
I shrug and nod. “More or less. I have to admit I, ah, am not fully myself right now. Maybe the phrase ‘kissed and made up’ wasn’t quite right. I didn’t have the best rest on the bus. Though I know you got a nap, didn’t you?”
She narrows her eyes at me and has every right to wonder how I know that. But even with a door closed between us I can tell when she’s awake and when she’s asleep in the way her scent pulses like a need while awake, and sort of parks in neutral with the indicators still flashing while asleep—still there, but not revving like a supercar ready to take off.
“I did. It was—nice.” She pauses. “It’s a pain in the arse we have to share a tour bus. But I’m grateful you guys are okay with me taking the back bed.”
This switch in demeanor has thrown me, and for an off-balanced second I’m not thinking about my cock, or how she tastes.
How do I tell this Omega, this beautiful, strong-willed, independent, success-story-about-to-explode that I need her as much as I fear her? How do I explain Nyah, and what happened after? How do I make her believe the reason I couldn’t have her on that godawful talent show is that to be near her a second longer was going to tear my heart in two, and yet I ended up here anyhow?
How do I tell my best friends, my brothers, my pack that? That I’ve hidden it all this time?
Caylee comes around the corner of the studio with her arms folded and a questioning look. “All okay over here?”
Jez nods but doesn’t turn around, her eyes glued to mine.
“You’re welcome,” I say at last. “It’s the least we can do.”
But there’s a lot—a whole lot—I could do. If we didn’t have this history. If we didn’t share this connection.
If I stopped carrying this lie.
“Jez, I’m sorry for what I said last night. I had a crazy notion it would help get the fans more invested. In the moment I didn’t consider how it would really turn out. And I should fucking know better by now.”
I swallow a lump down. It’s hard to admit you’re wrong, especially when you’re the one who’s always been looked up to, the one expected to be right when it comes to on-stage antics. Somehow, where Jesamine Jacobs is concerned, I seem only able to self-sabotage.
“I’m not saying anything about kiss , but can we at least agree to not hate each other?” I ask.
Not a muscle in Jez’s face twitches for what feels like five minutes, but just when I give up on the notion that I spoke so breezily about in the interview, she holds out her small, perfectly manicured hands and the smallest smile on her heart-shaped lips quirks up at one corner.
“Let’s try, Hartley.”