Sunday
Adrian
The early morning sun comes through the blinds in thin gold stripes. It sprawls across Mack's shoulder and into his blond hair laying across his forehead. He's out cold, snoring soft and even against my collarbone, one leg hooked through mine, and his arm heavy across my ribs. Dead weight.
Every muscle in my body feels loose and warm, wrung out in the best way.
I close my eyes and breathe in Mack’s warm hazelnut scent, letting it fill every pore.
I love lazy Sunday mornings.
The floorboards in the hallway creak softly as Owen makes his way through the house. He has the lightest step out of all of us.
Moving slowly, I ease Mack’s arm off me and slide out from under the sheet. He grumbles something into the pillow, then goes still again. I pick my sweatpants off the floor, then slip out the door.
Soft morning light cuts across the gray couch and the dark wooden coffee table. The card table's open by the window with a few empty pizza boxes on top from dinner last night.
I need to clean it up.
Tea first.
Owen's at the stove when I walk into the kitchen. He's got the kettle going, one hip braced against the counter, scrolling through his phone.
The beta is wearing nothing but a loose pair of boxers and his glasses, his hair sticking up on one side, telling me he slept hard. His body is lean and lightly muscled, more runner than fighter, a soft trail of dark hair leading down from his navel into the waistband riding low on his hips.
He looks so damn good.
I cross the room and kiss him before he even looks up. My palm finds his jaw, a few days of stubble rough against my hand. He makes a small, pleased sound against my mouth and leans into it for a second before he pulls back.
"Morning," I say against his lips.
"Mm. Morning." He sets his phone face down on the counter. "You're up early for a man who spent last night wrecking Mack."
"I couldn’t resist. He asked nicely."
"He always does." Owen huffs a laugh, then reaches past for a second mug, setting it down beside his own.
I take the tea down from the cabinet, dropping a bag in each mug while the kettle ticks toward a boil. "I forgot to ask you how the fundraiser went the other night."
"It was fine." Owen scratches the scruff under his chin.
"About what you'd expect. Two hundred people in black tie, all congratulating each other for caring about literacy while they complain about the wine.
" He pulls his glasses off to rub at the bridge of his nose.
"I stood next to a marble bust of somebody's dead grandfather for the first hour, counting down the seconds until I could leave. "
"Sounds thrilling."
"Riveting." He slides his glasses back on and pours the water, steam curling up between us.
I keep my voice easy, watching the tea steep instead of watching him. "Was Lyra there?"
His hand stills on the kettle for a second, before it keeps moving. He doesn't look up right away, busy topping off my mug like it needs his full attention.
"Yeah." He finally lifts his eyes to mine. "She was there."
"How's she doing?"
"Fine, I guess," he says a little too fast, then softens it with a shrug. "Why do you ask?"
I shrug back, spooning sugar into my mug. "No reason. Know she's your friend. I was curious if she made it."
Owen holds my gaze a second longer than turns back to his tea.
I get why he’s caught a little off guard. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever asked about the omega before. But Renata’s words have been rattling in my head all night.
After Mack fell asleep, I kept thinking about why Owen would want to be friendly with someone whose father makes a career out of hating men like us.
"Sorry it was so boring." I wrap my arm around Owen's waist and pull him back against my chest, my chin hooking over his shoulder. "I am sad I missed you in that tux." I press my mouth to the side of his neck. "I bet you looked unbelievable."
"I looked like a penguin who lost a bet." He tips his head to give me better access, a smile creeping into his voice. "Bow tie included."
"Mm. My favorite kind of penguin." I nip his earlobe, and he huffs out a laugh, leaning back into me harder.
I move lower, my teeth catching on the raised scar below his ear. Nico's mark. It’s the one Owen doesn’t have to hide. It sits high enough that even his collar can't cover it, proof to anyone who looks close enough that our beta belongs to somebody.
Mine and Mack's marks sit lower, tucked along the curve of his throat where a shirt collar swallows them whole.
"You still have it?" I ask as I suck at his skin. "The tux?"
"I do," he says. "I was going to take it to the dry cleaners yesterday, but I got lazy."
"Good." I flatten my palm against his flat stomach, feeling him breathe. "I want a private show later. For my eyes only."
"I can do that." Owen turns in my arms, tipping his chin up, his hazel eyes looking slightly bigger behind his glasses. "But first I need to swing by the library for a few hours. I want to make sure the exhibit's still standing after Friday night’s fundraiser.”
“Seriously?” I snort as I caress his warm back. “Are you scared it burned down?"
"With that crowd of self-obsessed, billionaire alphas? Wouldn't put it past them." He rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Half of them were three drinks in before they even crossed the threshold."
"Morning." Nico's rough voice cuts through the kitchen as he strolls in barefoot and shirtless, scratching the back of his neck. "Is there any coffee?"
"Didn't make any." Owen steps back to grab the pack alpha a mug, and I release him. "I was in the mood for tea this morning."
Nico frowns, cutting a glare at the kettle. "Tea, huh?" He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Guess I'm making my own coffee, then."
"You know where the pot is." Owen smiles as he sets a clean mug in front of Nico.
"Yeah, yeah." Nico reaches past the beta for the coffee tin on the top shelf, his bare chest brushing Owen's shoulder on the way.
"We need stuff from the supply store," he says as he measures out the grounds.
"Linny gave me a whole list. He said we need more caulk, a half a dozen new blades, shit like that. "
"I can pick them up." I take a sip of my tea. It’s warm and sweet enough to chase the last of the sleep out of my chest. "I've got nothing else going on today."
"You sure?" Nico glances at me as he turns the coffee pot on. "It's a whole list."
"I'm sure." I glance at Owen. "I can drop you at the library on the way, if you want. Save your car the trip."
Owen's face lights up, clearly down with the idea. "That'd be perfect, actually." He takes a sip of his tea. "It'll force me to actually leave at a decent hour."
"You spend too much time in that library already," Nico says.
"I do not spend too much time at work." Owen sets his mug down harder than he needs to. "I know there have been a few late evenings, but it’s not that bad."
Nico gives the beta a pointed look. "You’ve been working twenty-hour days for months. Every damn time you're in that place, we practically need to send in a search party to drag you out."
"That's an exaggeration, and you know it."
"Carino." Nico crosses his arms, his firm pecs pushing together, his biceps bulging from the movement. "You slept at that library all last weekend. Both nights, on that awful little couch in your office."
Owen pulls his mouth into a sheepish grin. "I was trying to get everything ready for the fundraiser." He wraps both hands around his mug. "But it's over now. Things'll be more normal for a while."
"Good." Nico presses a kiss to the top of Owen's head, lingering there a moment. "Because we've missed you around here."
He tips Owen's chin up and kisses him properly, slow and unhurried, and Owen melts into it the way he always does when Nico gets soft like this.
"Don’t get too caught up, you two. I want to hit the hardware store when it opens."
Nico mumbles something against Owen’s lips. I’m not confident they won’t end up fucking again before we hit the road.
I leave them to it, heading down the hall for a shower.
I pull into Owen's reserved spot around the back of the library. The truck rattles to a stop, then I cut the engine.
"See you in an hour," Owen says, one hand already on the door handle.
"Actually," I say, and he stops. "I kind of want to see this exhibit you've been killing yourself over for the last four months."
Owen's whole face opens up, a wide, unguarded smile breaking across it. "Yeah?" he says like he's not entirely sure he heard me right. "You want to actually see it?"
"Of course, I do."
"Okay." He's already reaching for his badge, energy shifting into something eager. "Okay, yeah. Come on."
The library's only been open for a few minutes. The main hall is quiet except for a handful of early risers making their way through the massive entryway.
Dark mahogany shelves stretch two stories up to a coffered ceiling, brass reading lamps lining every table, and a stained-glass window at the far end throwing colored light across the marble floor.
It smells like old paper and lemon polish.
Owen leads me toward the front desk, where a woman with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses pushed up into her curls looks up from her monitor.
"Morning, Owen." She smiles.
"Morning, Marguerite." He rests one arm on the counter.
"Everything still standing?" Her dark brows lift.
"That's what I'm here to find out."
"I heard the cleaning crew was here till four a.m." She shakes her head, typing something without looking down. "Someone spilled a six-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne on the couch outside special collections."
Owen winces, but his shoulders drop with relief. "As long as it's the couch and not the cases."
"Cases are fine. I already checked." Her eyes cut to me, quick and assessing, taking in my flannel shirt, the boots, and the sawdust caked around the laces.
I get it. I don't exactly scream library patron.
Owen catches her look before I can say anything. "This is my friend Adrian,” he says easily. "I'm taking him back to see the exhibit."
Friend.