Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
SKYLAR
Ritual is smack dab in the middle of downtown Boston, tucked between an old theater and a corporate building.
The exterior is plain and unassuming, just a brick wall with a small sign above the door, and it hardly conveys how stunning the place really is.
Modern furniture, contemporary chandeliers, marble floors, and the underlit bar make it look like some high-end eatery in California, not a hole-in-the-wall in Massachusetts.
It’s always been—and probably will always be—my favorite place to grab a steak and a glass of wine.
Lana beats me there and waves me over as soon as I step through the door.
A few curious glances slide my way as I cross the restaurant, but they look away right after.
Enough alphas frequent Ritual that my presence is hardly enough to bat an eye at, which I like.
I normally get a few strange looks for being a female alpha when I’m out, so it’s nice to blend in for a change.
“Show up when you can,” Lana jests as she stands to hug me, a wide grin plastered on her face. The top of her black messy bun almost reaches my chin. “It’s not like I have plans after this or anything.”
“There was traffic, my bad.” I take a seat across from her at the little table and reach for the menu out of habit, even though I always order the same thing. “Besides, you didn’t have to come.”
“You know I’m kidding,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We’re overdue for dinner anyway.”
I watch her adjust her hot pink glasses, which match her floral dress perfectly, as she looks over her menu. Her makeup is done, but I can still see the bags under her eyes. She looks exhausted, probably working herself to death since her business exploded online.
Maybe she needed a night out as much as I did.
A male waiter in all black glides over to take our drink order. He’s a tall, gangly beta with short hair and a polite smile. “May I take your drink order?”
“I’ll have a gin and coke,” Lana pipes, and I fight the urge to laugh. She’s not much of a drinker, but that’s been her go-to since the day she turned twenty-one.
“And for you, madam?” His tone shifts as he looks at me, sounding a little more professional. I don’t miss the way he straightens a little taller, and I fight the tinge of annoyance itching at me.
Sometimes, I envy the fact that Lana is a beta. She isn’t constantly reminded how unusual she is at every turn and doesn’t have to deal with the awkward special treatment I get when people realize I’m a female alpha.
I force a smile. “A glass of Harlan Estate Cabernet.”
With a nod, he turns and heads off to another table.
“You look good,” Lana says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “But that shirt’s getting a little tight, don’t you think?”
I follow her line of sight to my torso, where the fabric of my blue shirt is clinging to my frame, accentuating my muscles. I guess I have made some gains since she last saw me. Plus, I’d been in a sweater that time, not a tight ass button-up.
“Nah, I think it fits better now.”
“You’re such a brat.” She purses her lips.
I choke on a laugh. Being called a brat by anyone else wouldn’t fly. In fact, the words probably wouldn’t even make it out of their mouth before I inserted my fist. But I can’t expect much else from Lana; she’ll never see me as anything but her annoying little sister, which I’m kind of happy about.
At least she won’t be a fake, shady bitch like most people just because of my designation.
Our drinks arrive and we order our food, my stomach already rumbling. I listen to Lana go on about her difficult clients from the day. Her one hour appointment took three because they wouldn’t listen to instructions and kept bickering about positions.
“You need an assistant to keep people in line,” I suggest. “What about that guy you were dating? Leo? Theo?”
She groans and massages her temple. “We broke up a few weeks ago. I couldn’t deal with his whining anymore.”
“Damn.” I swirl my wine around the stemless glass before taking a sip. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I’m relieved, honestly,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “What about you? Are you talking to anyone?”
I shake my head a little too quickly. “No.”
One of Lana’s dark brows raises like she doesn’t believe me, and I take another sip of wine, my eyes trailing around the room to keep from looking at her.
“Sky…”
I ignore her.
“Skylar.”
“Yes?”
She waits a long, awkward moment until I meet her gaze again. Her lips are pursed, her eyes full of judgement. There’s no point in lying to someone who can read you like a book.
“I’m not talking to anyone,” I say flatly.
“Fucking?”
“No.” Though the thought has crossed my mind more than once since this morning. “I literally just met her.”
“Ohhh,” Lana says, understanding flashing over her features. “Planning to fuck then…”
I glare at her, and she giggles. “She’s a patient; I can’t. I could lose my job.”
“So wait until she’s not a patient.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s from Georgia,” I blurt out. “She’ll be gone the second she gets a diagnosis, and I’ll probably never see her again.”
“And you can’t fuck her because…”
Just then, our food arrives, and I’m distracted by the juicy steak that’s set in front of me. Lana drops the argument, assessing her burger, and we eat in silence for several minutes while the soft swing music playing overhead continues.
I’m the one who speaks first, even though I can tell Lana is teeming with more questions. “This omeg—woman is different, okay. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve never felt anything like it.”
I dare a glance up at her, and she’s watching me, her curiosity replaced by something else.
“Could she be… your scent match?” she asks, thankfully dropping her voice.
My insides squirm at the question, followed by a warmth that spills through me. I’m blaming it on the wine, which I sip again while the question hangs between us.
“No,” I say finally.
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure…”
“Isn’t that supposed to be easy to figure out?” She quirks a brow. “Like you either know or you don’t?”
“Yes,” I grit out, swallowing down an annoyed growl. “Remind me why I asked you to join me.”
“I’m just trying to help, Skylar. Okay, so she’s not your scent match, but love works in mysterious ways,” she argues, pointing a fork at me over the table.
My nose scrunches at the L word. “I’ve had like two conversations with her.”
“All I’m saying is don’t write her off and don’t miss your shot.” She stabs the fork into a mushroom and pops it into her mouth. “If you feel something, go for it.”
I mumble in agreement, eager to drop the conversation, even though I’m sure Lana’s right. She normally is.
If I get the opportunity, maybe I’ll tell Riann how I feel. Maybe I’ll offer to show her around Boston. Maybe I’ll ask her out to dinner.
And maybe she’ll think I’m a creep for coming on too strong.
I pay for the check and sign with the marshmallow-scented pen tucked into my breast pocket, breathing in the aroma as I consider Lana’s suggestion.
Sure, rejection would be embarrassing, but the regret of not saying anything would be even worse.