Chapter 9
LOGAN
I wouldn’t say I’m disappointed.
Disappointed would mean that I was expecting something that didn’t happen.
I don’t have any reason to have this stone weight in my gut.
Yet it’s been there since Ivan said he was asking Maeve out.
I shouldn’t have this feeling. There’s no rational reason for it.
But after my shift, I didn’t want to go home to that big, empty house.
Stella and Trooper will be fine without me for a few hours.
I want to get thoughts of her out of my mind.
Maeve, with her sweet demeanor, chamomile scent, and pretty purple hair.
I need sights and sounds to distract me from the awful, unwarranted envy I have toward Ivan.
I’m happy for him.
I’m happy for him.
I have no claim on Maeve, nor should I.
I barely know her. She’s not interested.
Even if she were interested…
What could I offer her?
The fries are tasteless as I dive into the articles, drowning out the buzzing background noise of the little gastropub as I read.
Once I get this…sensation out of my body, I’ll be fine.
Even her scent is my favorite kind of drink, and I’m worried I’m having olfactory hallucinations.
To my knowledge, the place doesn’t serve any type of tea, yet I’m convinced I catch a whiff of the earthy, sweet grounding scent every few minutes.
Maybe coming here was a mistake.
Maybe—
“Hey, Logan?”
Now I’m having auditory hallucinations.
That sweet voice is entirely too familiar.
But I look up from my papers and I blink, unsure of what I’m seeing.
Maeve stands in front of me, a playful look in her warm eyes, tilting her head slightly in confusion.
Beautiful, I think.
In the restaurant lighting, her skin glows, and my mouth falls open slightly.
Her mating gland peeks out of the collar of her black shirt, and I force myself not to stare at it.
But saliva pools in my mouth, and I can’t help the thought of sinking my teeth into her and claiming her right here.
Mine.
When I don’t reply in an acceptable amount of time, she just laughs. “Hey! What are you doing here? Are you by yourself?”
Her voice, light and sweet, is music to my ears.
“Yes,” I reply. “Just wanted to get something to eat before I went home.”
And feel sorry for myself, I think. My house is too big, I wish you were in it, and I’m insanely jealous that Ivan asked you out. I know it’s irrational. I’m sorry.
Maeve peers down at the papers in front of me. “Want some company? Ivan and I have space at our booth.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt anything,” I reply quickly.
What are the odds that I would pick the same restaurant that they were at?
How embarrassing. And what if she’s asking me to join them out of pity?
If that’s the case, I don’t know if I could ever step foot in the clinic again.
Maeve giggles, another lovely sound that I’ll never get over.
“No. We want you with us. I want you,” she amends. “And bring the fries.”
I’m incapable of saying no to her now.
Even if it still feels like I’m crashing their date and about to be a third wheel.
Grabbing my fries, papers, and water, I follow the Omega in a daze, still in shock that she’s asked me to join them.
When we reach their booth, Ivan looks at me with a knowing, shit-eating grin on his face, and I shoot him a look.
There’s no reason to believe that he knows about my internal struggle with Maeve, but still, he eyes me carefully.
“What the hell were you doing here by yourself?” he asks while I place the basket of fries on the table. Ivan makes room so I can sit next to him, and Maeve sits on the opposite side of the booth directly across from me.
“Having dinner.” I shrug, placing my water and papers down.
“With your medical journals?” Ivan deadpans, and Maeve gives me a half smile.
“What are they about?” she asks curiously.
“Uh…pigeons,” I murmur, rubbing the back of my neck.
I was sitting at a booth alone with a basket of uneaten fries reading about pigeons.
Ivan falls silent while Maeve blinks. “Pigeons,” she repeats slowly.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about your thing with them,” Ivan adds, and I’m ready for Maeve to laugh at me.
But there’s a fond, soft smile on her face. “What’s the deal with pigeons?” she asks, giving me that same curious look she gave me when she walked up to my table.
Ivan groans.
“This isn’t going to be interesting,” I warn her.
She takes one of the fries and pops it into her mouth. “Try me,” she says.
Being the subject of Maeve’s undivided attention is an addictive feeling. One I could get used to far too quickly and crave more of.
“Rock doves are misunderstood,” I say slowly. “They have a reputation of being dirty and pests—when we were the ones that domesticated them years ago. We used them as mail carriers and message senders, and once we decided that we had a better way of doing things, we abandoned them.”
Maeve’s face falls. “That’s awful,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know that. Have you ever treated one of them before?”
Ivan chuckles next to me. “My first day training under him we had someone bring in an injured pigeon—”
“Rock dove,” I correct him.
“Right. Rock dove. I learned a lot that day.”
“Rock dove,” Maeve repeats wistfully. “I like referring to them like that.”
“They’re beautiful birds,” I say. “And wholly misunderstood.”
Maeve continues to look at me, her eyes soft, and my chest tightens.
My dove.
The pet name comes unbidden, and I find that I don’t mind it.
“Wow, Logan,” she breathes. “I didn’t know you were such a bleeding heart.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I’m not. I just find it interesting.”
“You advocate for the misunderstood,” she argues. “That’s admirable. And super sweet. I am so glad my first impression of you was completely wrong.”
Ivan barks out a laugh while I grimace.
“You startled me,” I admit. “With your energy and your—” I motion to her face—“all of this.”
It’s hard to describe what I mean.
Maeve is a bright ball of energy, a hurricane of loveliness that demands my immediate attention.
I can barely breathe properly when she’s looking at me, let alone when I scent her.
Maeve copies my gesture. “All of this?”
“What he means to say,” Ivan says, elbowing me in the side, “is that you’re beautiful.”
Ivan’s not wrong, but I don’t want to make Maeve uncomfortable. We’ve only known each other for a few days, and I don’t want to assume that she would be okay with me agreeing with Ivan.
But her face flushes pink, and she raises a challenging eyebrow at me, waiting for my reply.
She’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. If she would let me, I could stare at her all day, taking in her button nose, full pink lips, and piercing amber eyes.
“That’s what I mean,” I say sincerely, and her face breaks out into a smile so stunning I forget how to breathe.
Lovely. She’s lovely.
With the compliment, her scent becomes more potent. There’s a sweeter note to it now, mixing with the chamomile.
“Well, then,” she says. “Now that that’s settled.”
She beams, and I’m enamored.
“Oh, also,” Ivan says to Maeve. “I forgot to ask you. How did guitar class go?”
“Guitar?” I ask.
Maeve nods. “I need to stop freaking out about the cats all the time,” she says. “Like you saw the other day. And my brother suggested that I get a hobby, basically, so I don’t get stuck in my own head. He enrolled me in guitar.”
“You were concerned about Alvin,” I say. “I was an asshole about it.”
Maeve nods. “You’re right, but I still need another outlet to help with this stuff. So now, Ivan and I have a book club, and I have guitar class,” she says.
“And you like the professor?” I ask.
At that, she chews her lip, and that sugary scent increases.
It’s only then that I put together that it’s the scent of her slick.
Her arousal is in the air, potent and delicious.
If I can scent it, that means Ivan can scent it, too.
Mine, my inner Alpha growls.
“He’s…interesting,” she murmurs, staring at her glass, and I realize I’m about to be jealous of someone else besides Ivan.
“Oh,” Ivan says. “Good to know, babe.”
There is a strange dynamic going on between the two of them, something I’m not privy to.
As far as I know, Ivan isn’t in a pack with anyone else.
Is he just…encouraging Maeve to find her packmates?
Is he helping her build a pack from scratch?
I’ve never considered that as an option before.
I’ve never been in pack. From my observation of relationships, most packs were formed before they found their Omega, which is why I always felt out of place.
Huh.
Maeve keeps blushing, but she smiles as she does it, unashamed.
I adore her.
Where she’s loud, I’m quiet. Where she’s sociable, I keep to myself.
She’s a bright beacon, blinding everyone around her, while I’m a subtle shadow.
My dove.
I drum my fingers on the table, twitching slightly.
I need to go soon. Stella and Trooper will be frustrated if dinner is late, but it’s hard to slide out of the booth when this is the most social activity I’ve had in as long as I can remember.
I want to drink in every second with Maeve and breathe in every whiff of chamomile scent she offers me.
“Anyway,” Maeve adds, her eyes fixed on me. “You want to order dessert? This place has the best chocolate cake.”
I can already hear Stella and Trooper’s frustrated meows at their dinner being approximately twenty minutes late.
“Absolutely,” I say.
Maeve’s excitement is worth the guilt trip I’ll experience later.
“And that’s how I ended up with the cats,” I say as we finish up the last of the cake.
Maeve places her hand to her mouth. “Logan,” she breathes. “That was so kind of you.”
I shrug. “They needed a place to go, and I had already performed the surgery on Trooper.”
“You saved their lives,” Maeve whispers. “You could have just left them at the shelter afterward, but you took them home?”
“Of course,” I say, surprised at her reaction. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re a bleeding heart,” Ivan adds.
“It was the right thing to do,” I say, confused.
What kind of person would I be if I left Stella and Trooper back at a shelter?