Chapter 5
James smirks teasingly at Sebastian, pride shining in his rich brown eyes.
"Seb, I have to hand it to you. Tonight has been outstanding.
" James leans back into the curved red sofa we're relaxing on.
His charcoal silk-blend blazer hugs his solid, strong body and makes him look like a well-dressed Norse god.
The color almost makes his fair, freckled skin glow.
He's calmer than I've seen him in months, too.
Seb reclines back on the sofa, grinning smugly as the Old Hollywood jazz washes over us, his teeth glinting white in the dim light.
His dark skinny jeans show off just how toned his thighs are when he crosses his legs, and his normally loose curls are swept up into a tidy man-bun, the gold streaks glinting in the dim light.
Clarke nods approvingly, and raises his glass to Seb.
Even though he's the best part of a foot shorter than the rest of us, he looks like the pinnacle of sleek, controlled power in his dark wool blazer and crisp black button-down; but even so, he still looks more relaxed tonight than he's been in weeks.
Zeke contentedly plays with a button on his charcoal button-down that looks like it was tailored to his lean, muscular form, bringing out the warm tones in his olive skin.
For once, he seems to be… just taking it all in as he sips his drink.
Not trying to analyze everything, assess every angle.
Just sitting in the moment with his pack, listening to the music.
Most importantly, they all look calm and content. We only have eyes for each other tonight. Even the background frisson I normally feel through my bond with Clarke seems more grounded than usual.
Fuck. I wish it could be like this all the time.
"How the hell did you not only get us reservations for dinner at Sillage, but also for Clear Note? On a Saturday? I thought it took months to get on the list here," I mutter, as I sip the G a precious secret only shared with those he trusts.
I feel a tug of arousal and desire in the bond that had been sitting back, oddly quiet in my chest until now.
This woman's fragrance has clearly ensnared our beta. Or maybe he's just feeling us through the bond. Or perhaps both.
Her smile warms as she nods mutely. She sits almost primly next to Sebastian. "Sorry," she blurts out, "I don't get to meet new people on my own very often, and I'm a bit crap at it."
Clarke grins. "Hey, don't stress, sweetheart. You don't have to be anyone other than you. Tell you what, why don't you share with us what brought you all the way from where that glorious accent of yours comes from, and what keeps you out of practice at chatting up alphas in speakeasy jazz bars?"
She bursts out in melodious laughter. "Oh!
Um, yeah. The accent. I grew up in Perth.
Um, that's in the part of Australia that nobody really goes to.
But moved over here to help out a mate. Sorry!
I mean a friend. Just a friend." She clears her throat.
"She needed a PA, and I needed a reason to get out of there.
Sorry. Rambled a bit there." She grins, a little sheepishly.
Clarke's face puckers. "Please don't apologise. You… you don't need perfect words to be worth hearing."
Pride in my beta swells in my chest. Something flashes across Dellie's face, but too quickly for me to tell exactly what. She looks away, pink flushing through her features.
Sebastian nods, his sun-streaked curls flopping over his forehead, and clears his throat. "And, uh, what does being a PA entail?"
She shrugs, looking down at her drink. "Uh, I guess just… helping her. Making sure her schedule is under control. Making sure she gets what she needs. Keeping away the stuff she doesn't. Whatever she needs."
"Hmm. So you spend your days looking after her, then?" asks Zeke.
She smiles. "Basically."
I raise an eyebrow. "And who's looking after you?" Her smile falters slightly. She shrugs, her lips pinching. James kicks me.
There's a rattling slurp as she sucks up the last of her soda. A bead of sweat is trickling down the front of her chest. It blooms gently on the seam of her white dress between those perfect breasts. I swallow, and cross my legs, feeling my erection tug at the front of my pants.
"Uh, so who is this very clearly just a friend that we have to thank for bringing you over to LA?" Seb asks.
The shyness drops from her face as a sardonic eyebrow raises. "Someone who values their privacy. And what do you all do when you aren't chatting up strange omegas in bars?"
I snort. "We're… well, we own our own specialist service provider business. I guess you would call us… um… support workers." I try to keep the fatigue out of my voice.
She's staring at me, her brow twisted by something that looks a lot like concern. I school my face into a relaxed half-smile.
She tilts her head. I try not to notice the loose wave brush against her cleavage. "Support workers? Tell me, who do you support?" Her gentle voice drags my attention back to her plush lips.
I shrug. "Whoever needs supporting. Mostly in New York, but sometimes wherever they need it." I gulp down the last of my G&T. "Seb used to be an ER nurse. James was a physical therapist. Zeke was—"
Zeke's snort cuts me off. "I just did the heavy lifting," he mumbles. I can barely hear James murmuring into his drink, but knowing him, it will be something along the lines of "not any more if I can help it."