4. Rickon
Chapter four
Rickon
When I glance at my phone to check my messages, I note the time, wishing it would speed up.
“Get over here, Rick! Stop looking at your phone.” Lyra Gray snaps manicured fingers at me, and I stifle a groan. “And why’s this line so hard to say?” She thrusts the movie script at me.
“I don’t want your yacht. I just want your heart,” I read off the page.
“Yacht. Yacht .” She scrunches up her delicate nose as each attempt butchers the pronunciation. “What a hard word! Go get the screenwriter and tell him we’re changing it to boat.”
I run my tongue over my chapped lips and shuffle my aching feet. “Lyra, the yacht has been the central setting of the film. If she calls it a boat, she’s disregarding Taylor’s love for the sea.” Not to mention the entire nautical industry.
She glares at me. “Go tell him. Do I have to repeat myself twice for everything?” Lyra mutters something under her breath about firing me, and then adds, “This is what I get for hiring a man.”
I suck on the inside of my cheeks. Acting managers who think omegas are flighty should try working for a beta acting in an omega’s role. Director Yun prefers working with petite betas, because the cast doesn’t have to stop filming for heats, but at least the omega actresses have a softer side to them.
Lyra’s all broken glass edges.
At this stage, it might be a relief if Lyra fires me. I’d probably cry about it, but I’m known well enough in the industry to get another client. Truth is, she won’t fire me, because she’s notoriously difficult to work for and most other acting managers won’t take her on. The fact I’ve lasted twelve months has most of them in awe.
I keep hoping I’ll find something honest and raw buried deep inside the difficult woman’s personality, but it just never surfaces. All she has is a pretty face and the ability to copy a wide range of facial expressions.
But if I don’t believe in her, who will?
I take the manuscript with me as I leave the shade tent and cross the boardwalk to where the screenwriter sits at a table. “Hey, Abram. Lyra’s having trouble with the next scene. Do you think she could use the yacht’s name, instead of yacht ?”
His brow furrows as he runs his finger down the page. “I don’t want the WaveQueen. I just want your heart.” Abram nods. “It works fine.” He rolls his eyes and pens in the change. “Lucky she didn’t ask for ‘boat’ or something just as bad.”
He brightens and flicks his pen out toward the short pier. “If we move them down the jetty a bit, we can put the name in the frame.” He leans back in his chair and cranes to one side. “That okay with you, Yun?”
The director rests his hip on the table beside me and cups a hand over his ear. Abram repeats his request, and they figure out the slight shot change. “Sure, let’s line it up. Sun’s getting ready to set.” Valencio Yun rests a hand on my shoulder and winks at me.
I balance the script on my tablet case and carefully write the change in as I walk back to the actors’ tent, dodging grips and dollies.
“Lyra, they’ve said you can use WaveQueen instead of yacht.”
She shrugs one slender shoulder. “Good. Help me do these lines.”
I quote the lead male’s lines for the scene by memory as she rehearses her new piece. She gets it right and I nod. “They’re ready to shoot. Let’s go.” I pass over the hat she was wearing in the last scene and check her makeup, touching up her lipstick before we head over to the pier with lines of yachts bobbing gently on their ropes. Probably all belonging to the producers.
The private little dock bustles with activity as the huge film team runs through lighting and wind checks. This is the part I enjoy the most, watching the action. Lyra flirts with the male lead—who wouldn’t when he’s drop dead gorgeous? With his glossy black hair catching tints of red in the slanted light, he reminds me of Callisto.
Lyra catches me watching and frowns. “Rick, go get me stir fry from that nut-free place. I’m starving, and I want to eat right after we finish shooting.”
“It’s Rickon—” I swallow a groan and flash her a thumbs up. Why bother when she never uses my full name?
I can’t tell if she’s thoughtless or downright mean, denying me the fly-on-the-wall view of the filming. Guess I’ll have to see this scene in the final cut. I sigh and grab my backpack, checking my phone once more as I head through the dock’s car park. My heart leaps as I catch sight of Callisto’s name on my lock screen. My steps slow.
You free for a drink tonight? I’ll get out around midnight.
I shake my head. No idea how he can survive on five or six hours of sleep and still go to work fresh, but Callisto’s been a go-getter as long as I can remember. A smile tugs at my lips as I text him back, saying I’ll meet him at his favorite place and adding a meme from a movie with the famous line I’ll be there .
Maybe I’ll pick up an extra serving of Lyra’s fake-satay stir fry, just to make sure Callisto’s eating something nourishing. I walk faster, stealing glances at the street signs to make sure I’m heading in the right direction. After I knock off, I’ll take a nap so I can function for our late-night meetup.
Someone wolf whistles and I tense, silently begging for them not to be calling at me. “Hey, pretty boy! You need some company?”
Bugger me! So much for that. “No thanks.”
Instead of taking the hint, the voice rings out again. “Sweet little thing like you shouldn’t be alone.”
I growl under my breath and swing around, looking for the louts who’ve nothing better to do than harass people minding their own business. Two brawny alphas lean against a boat shed, leering at me.
Bloody oath, I hate it. “I’m not an omega!” I yell. “And even if I was, why should I give you the time of day? Go get a life and stop bothering people.” I don’t bother growling, ’cause it’ll come out more like a kitten mewl, but I do posture up.
The one who called out eyes me over again. “Fuck me, is there an alpha hidden in that tiny body?” He snorts and elbows his companion. “Check it!”
I spin on my heel and stride away, taking a different route. New day, same stupid problem. A bunch of muscles and a hefty whiff of dominant musk wouldn’t go astray right now, but despite presenting as a biological alpha, puberty left me high and dry.
My reflection keeps pace beside me in the shopfront windows as I scurry up the street. Big lips, platinum bleached hair, blue eyes, and a soft jaw. And missing about two feet of height for alpha size. One of my friends likes to say I didn’t eat enough bread crusts in childhood to put hair on my chest. I scoff under my breath, still brimming with irritation. Crusts are a waste of jaw power and carbs, anyway. Not to mention gluten content.
Yeah, can’t blame anyone for mistaking me for an omega, really.
These days I bring it upon myself by leaning into my makeup fascination. Today I chose a beautiful magenta shade softening to rose past my lid folds. Back in school I used to hide what people considered my non-alpha interests, but when I realized my body would never catch up to the ideal, I decided to embrace what I love. Life’s too short and the world has too many color palettes to try out, and it helped that Callisto started telling people where they could shove their words if he heard them making fun of me. People listen to him.
I’ve made peace with how I look, but I do mourn not having the natural presence true alphas like Callisto achieve without even trying. Gives out a fuck off warning before people get close enough to open their grotty mouths.
Makes me wild to think omegas cop this shit all the time. I duck my head into the twilight breeze and jog the half mile to the specialty restaurant.
Electropop music plays in the background as I push through the heavy wooden door of The Stacks. The cold winter wind cuts off as the door slams shut behind me, locking me in the bar with the smog of alcohol fumes and body odor. A few patrons stare at the foam remnants in the bottom of big glasses as the waitstaff mop the far end of the room.
No amount of chill on my skin can stop the flush of warmth I get as I catch sight of Callisto’s broad shoulders fitting snugly into his designer suit. He sits at the bar, rocking his three-quarters-full beer glass from side to side on the base, one hand supporting his jaw. He’s so handsome and polished, it hurts my heart.
Some patrons watch me, their sluggish eyes brightening as they skim me up and down, so I hurry over to the bar, shaking off their appraising looks and clutching at my paper bag.
Not. An. Omega.
I scuff my feet so he knows I’m behind him, and then drop my hand on his shoulder. Taut, firm, not so big as to be bulky. Everything about Callisto Wren is smooth. “Waiting for someone?”
He turns and beams, his smile melting my heart into a pool of mush. “Hey, buddy!” That high-voltage grin is rare on a man who’s trained himself to be reserved in his expressions.
He glides out of his seat and hugs me, smelling of cherry wood. Even his alpha musk is smooth and expensive. Callisto trims his image like he does his beard to exude the air of a professional in his field, so I’m the only one who gets to see the raw version hidden under the layers. Like the tattoo on his shoulder he always keeps covered up so his work colleagues don’t catch sight of it. It was a trashy teenage angst mistake he got turned into a beautiful clock after his dad passed away. Funny how the concept of time was important enough to mark on his body permanently, and yet Callisto never seems to have any available.
The bartender pops a foamy glass of beer on the countertop without asking, meaning Cal’s already paid for it. Looks like he forgot about my gluten avoidance.
“Are we celebrating something?” I ask as Callisto collects both glasses and leads me to a booth.
He smirks. “Yeah, almost had a case thrown out today, but I recalled the witness and he damned himself. Gave my client a fantastic payout.”
I whistle softly. “Close call with your win streak, though.”
He scrubs a hand over his face roughly before saying, “I was ready to shit myself, Ricky.”
I hide my pleasure from the old pet name by taking a sip. The cold beer flushes out the last of the lingering sleepiness from taking an evening nap. “I doubt that, Callisto Wren, lawyer extraordinaire.”
He chuckles. “We pulled through. What’s going on with you? Still slaving to that drama queen?”
“Yeah. Oh, that reminds me.” I dig into my bag and pull out the extra meal I ordered for him. “Have you eaten? It’s pseudo-satay but tastes pretty good.”
Callisto’s dark eyes brighten. “You’re a champion! Didn’t even realize I was hungry.” He shakes his head as he digs the plastic fork into the foil tray. “How is it you know me better than myself?”
I lean my chin on my hand, smiling. Because I’m watching like a hawk, oblivious fool. Every shift of bone and muscle in his wrist, the cherry wood scent hidden under the alcohol atmosphere, the shiver of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Everything.
So, why haven’t I manned up and told him, in the twenty years we’ve been friends? Because Callisto isn’t into men. He’s never once taken a second look at a being in possession of a dick. Not even Laversham’s famous male omega, Leighton Kilroy, whom we crossed paths with last year.
I suck in my cheeks. No use crying over spilled milk. The best I can hope for is that one of us finds an omega, creating an excuse to invite the other into a pack. Then at least I could enjoy him from a distance, or within the same bed during heats. I silence the jitters I get inside wondering what happens if he forms a pack and doesn’t invite me to join.
Callisto hums under his breath while he finishes chewing. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Mom called today, and she said to say hello.”
I relax and lean forward to hear over the conversation of the bar staff as they move closer, cleaning. At least we have one safe topic. “How is she?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. Seems her anxiety is playing up again.” Callisto puffs out his lips with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t fathom how she spends that much money on therapy but still isn’t functioning.”
I take another sip, thinking through my words while savoring the craft beer on my tongue. Nice in the mouth, but agony on the belly. “She’s doing better than she was a few years ago, after your dad passed.” I don’t want to point out Callisto’s flaws, but he’s not very understanding of mental health issues. “She had a lot of panic attacks back then. Now she’s having them on her terms.”
He tilts his head, considering. “I suppose you’re right. I’d forgotten about that.” He leans forward and ruffles my hair, spoiling my careful side sweep. “This is why she likes you better than me.”
My chuckle echoes in the small booth. “And because I send her flowers on her birthday. Hint, hint.”
“Oh, darn.” His eyes dart as he tracks a mental calendar. “Next week?”
“Mm-hmm. Weekend.” I hold his gaze. “Try going home for once. Working sixteen hours a day will give you wrinkles.”
He can’t answer me with his mouth full of fake satay and rice, so he settles for pointing the fork at me, a silent warning not to nag.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m allowed one dig at your lifestyle per meetup.”
He laughs around his mouthful, accidentally losing some rice down his shirt. I live for that laugh. Pathetic, but I’m in no hurry to let go of my first and only crush. It’s secret and treasured, and one of the few things in my life that’s all mine.
Callisto fishes out the rice and grunts. “Only one. Mom fills the rest of the quota. She’s begging me to register my scent with the Omega Center.”
I shrug one shoulder. “That’s pretty standard for an alpha, Calli, and every mother wants their child to find love. More so in her case.” Callisto’s father dedicated himself to work but died just before he was due to retire.
Callisto scoffs. “An omega would turn my life upside down. When would I have time to take one shopping or on dinner dates? At midnight?” He shakes his head and washes rice down with more beer. “You’re the only person who’ll meet me this time of night.”
I share Mrs Wren’s concerns her son’s headed down the same path as her workaholic husband. But no one can budge his one-directional focus, not even me.
I trace the rim of my glass with one finger. “An omega’s guaranteed to turn your life upside-down. I think that’s the point.”
His brows jump. “Then I definitely don’t have time for one. Judges forbid she comes with a pack of morons.”
I hum in agreement, humoring him. But what if an omega is waiting for his scent to come in? What if she needs help, or worse, settles for another pack? I can’t bring myself to ask out loud. Because if and when he gets an omega, I might lose my best friend.
“Stop worrying. You’re the one who’ll get wrinkles.” He knocks one knuckle on the table, breaking my train of thought. “So, what’s new in the film world?”
I lace my fingers together and spill all the interesting things I can think of about the actors I work around, the fun sets, and the designer gear I get to handle. No need to mention hours and hours of boring retakes, grueling shifts making sure Lyra’s where she needs to be on time and hefting heavy bags with pounds of makeup and spare shoes while dodging wandering hands.
No one needs to know about those things. My rare hour with Callisto should be spent talking about fun things.
“I’m so glad you were still up this late,” Callisto says as the closing staff kick us out and we shrug into our jackets street-side.
“Sure,” I murmur, signaling a waiting cab. “Good luck with your case.”
“See you next time, Ricky.” Callisto opens the car door for me, brushing my arm with a casual touch.
He means nothing by it, but it still gives me a hard-on. I want Callisto Wren, my best friend, so badly it hurts every time I’m around him. He has no idea, yet I’ll come running any time he calls to savor his laugh, the casual touches, and the occasional hug.
I slide into the cab to conceal my springing shaft, and he shuts the door. He leans down so our eyes meet through the glass, and smiles. Oblivious. The driver asks for my address, breaking my focus, and the man I love steps back from the curb.
The cab pulls away into the night-wreathed streets, tearing Callisto from view.