Chapter 24 #3
“Told you I’d bring good luck. Do I get to play DJ?
” She vibrates with delight, and they fall into the seats immediately in front of where we’ve sat down.
The two of them are instantly scrolling playlists and leaning over the headrest, planning the entertainment for the rest of the trip back to Willow Falls.
I’m so consumed by the commotion and mass of thick-set bodies all filing onto the bus that I get caught off guard.
On my other side, an enormous frame plonks down. Broad shoulders and muscled thighs press against me, followed quickly by another body. Atlas is squashed against me in the back seat, and the familiar scent of heather and spring rain washes over me as Connor crushes in on the other side of him.
Oh my god. I have no idea how to play cool right now. This is a moment I’d been anticipating but am apparently completely unprepared for. Because I go blank. I forget all words. I simply stare at the two of them like they’re aliens beamed down to join me at the back of this bus.
“Ahh, look. It’s your partner in crime who swindled me out of money the other night.” Connor’s wicked eyes are filled with a shameless sparkle. Leaning across Atlas’s lap, he sticks out a giant hand to shake mine. “Connor Renfro. And you’re Murphy’s sister, correct?”
The rogue smirk playing on the corner of his lips leaves me dumbfounded. Cool as you like, he pretends not to know me. Scooping my hand up inside his warm, rough touch, as if we’ve never properly met before.
If I was flushed before, I’m officially a lobster now.
“Wren,” I squeak. His gaze is triumphant, knowing all the ways I managed to avoid telling him my name in the past, when I had control of the situation. And yet here in this moment, he’s worn me down and managed to get an introduction without so much as saying half a dozen words.
“You must surely know Atlas, then?” He lets my hand go with a last squeeze. One that I nearly claw back and cling onto, because his touch is magical. Sparks crackle through my veins from that point of contact, and the middle of my palm feels all glowy and heated.
Is that the first time we’ve properly touched before? I feel like I’m about to climb the walls of this bus with the agony of willing my body not to simply flood the space with my perfume.
“Yeah. We ahh—we know each other,” I stammer. Of course, the man occupying the spot next to me and currently sandwiched against my entire side, doesn’t say a word.
He feels roasting hot, impossibly solid. A strong, silent wall filling the seat separating Connor and me. Which is probably a good thing. Yep. Definitely a good thing. After how electric that handshake felt, my inner Omega definitely wants to crawl into his lap and find ways to make his Alpha purr.
Damn him.
He turns his attention to where Gus and Nikita are jamming out, singing a duet at the top of their lungs with water bottles as microphones.
My friend must be more drunk than either of us realized, because she doesn’t seem to notice Connor’s arrival, which is something of a blessing.
I’m certain she wouldn’t rat me out in front of everyone, but you never know what might spill out in her current state.
From sneaking a look at his side profile, I see how he runs a hand through those almost chestnut brown auburn locks.
His gold chain in place, looking sinful as ever in the open collar of his dress shirt rolled at the sleeves.
Seriously, I don’t know how the hell he’s able to play it so suave and unaffected, but I have to admire him for it.
If there’s one thing about this man, he’s clearly determined to avoid catching my brother’s attention.
Should I be a little less wildly thrilled that Connor chose to come and sit near me? Quite possibly. But then again, there’s every possibility it’s only because of Atlas. Yep, he’s here because the two of them are joined at the hip, as my brother pointed out. Not because of me.
Meanwhile, the guys start chatting about the game, and the silent monolith at my side continues to ignore my presence entirely. He shifts his weight, as if my proximity is physically unbearable to be forced into being around, and I swear he makes a growling sort of noise in frustration.
And the longer I sit here, the longer we keep driving, I hate admitting to myself that he’s handsome. I hate the way he’s an absolute glacier toward me, and yet, I can’t help but notice just how attractive the guy is.
I especially hate to admit how I can’t stop thinking about seeing him without a shirt on, either.
As I wrestle with that inner battle and added confusion about any and all things of the Alpha designation of late, that’s when it hits me.
It’s barely a flicker, but it’s there. The faintest hint of his scent catches my awareness, and I realize in that second that I’ve never really been conscious of the way he smells before.
Atlas has always smelled nice, but this is… potent doesn’t even come close.
He’s oak, a campfire on a winter’s night, wild oranges squeezed over a glass of fine bourbon. His scent is a barely there thing, a mere glimpse, before it vanishes again. I have to bite down on my lip to suppress a needy Omega whimper.
I want more of that scent immediately. I want to bottle it up and tuck it away against my skin and never let anyone else know this man smells so divine.
Thank god for scent suppressants and panties to absorb the slick forming between my thighs.
Thank fuck for not having my first heat yet.
Because I’m struggling with everything I’ve got to not start perfuming everywhere, all because of my brother’s best friend, who I’m pretty sure hates me.