Chapter 5 #2
"What about you, Ralph?" She turns and stares at our beta, her pupils blown wide, her pink tongue darting over her lips. Clarke's fresh mint mingles with the scent of freesias. The fragrance grabs me by the spinal cord. I can't remember ever smelling anything this good before.
"I, uh, did a lot of business support. Help people manage red tape, find clients, and help service providers meet the needs of clients. Stuff like that. Still do a lot of that stuff."
She nods, a finger trailing unconsciously down her neck, her eyes locked on Clarke's. I can feel him practically vibrating through the bond.
Dellie stares at me, her face flushing again. Freesias dance through the air around me, and I can feel the fresh, bright notes of my lemon verbena fragrance mingling with it. It's taking all the restraint I have not to bite my knuckles and groan. I squeeze my toes into the soles of my loafers.
Hang on. I used my nasal spray this morning. Phero-block is supposed to dampen non-bonded pheromones for at least three weeks. It's stopped us scenting the pheromones of every omega we've encountered. I shouldn't be able to scent her anywhere near this strongly.
"And you," she asks breathlessly, "Allen, what did you do?"
I smile my gentlest smile, trying not to let my mental whiplash show. "I was a psychologist." Whenever I tell people this, their reaction is usually to either clam up like I'm about to pull out their darkest secrets—or they just go ahead and dump all of them on me.
Instead, she smiles at me. "That's cool. So—support workers. That keeps you busy?" Her eyes flick over me. They're large and grey-blue. Like a misty morning.
Clarke nods. "Yeah. Pretty busy."
"People need a lot of support these days," Zeke mutters.
She snorts. "I guess that's true. Some people anyway. I guess it's a good thing you're there to help them."
A scoff slips out. "Very true. No shortage of demand any time soon."
Her fingers dance along the pale skin of her neck. She glows in the dim light. Her scent is palpable on my tongue when I lick my lips.
"And you've been doing this for a while? The job treats you well?" She leans forward.
"We started the business… God, what was it?
It has to be twenty years ago now. And yeah, I'd say it does.
We've been around long enough with a good enough rep that we can charge what we want and pick our clients.
Support work itself… well. It's really satisfying, knowing that you've helped someone when they were vulnerable, but it does take it out of you.
" I try to keep my face soft and relaxed.
Her forehead puckers slightly. "I mean, support work sounds great and important. But… who supports you?" Her eyes look… hungry, but worried. She fiddles with the straw of her empty drink as words evaporate from my tongue.
I don't like being asked questions I can't answer.
My mouth opens and closes. She tilts her head, her brow furrowing slightly. My lips pinch between my teeth. I don't know what to say to that.
She smiles, maybe a little uncomfortably, and winks at me. "Turnabout is fair play."
I chuckle awkwardly, feeling something tighten uncomfortably inside me.
"Touché." Seb smiles at her and raises his almost empty glass in salute. Her face lights up, a light blush dusting her cheeks.
I breathe deeply. Her scent flows through the room. My better angels are lecturing me. This… this is a fine ethical line we'll need to walk. And this close to a booking? We can't show up to an omega's heat smelling like another omega. Especially not one who smells as good as she does.
I open my mouth to ask for her number and say goodnight, to warn the pack that we have to go—but as I breathe in again to speak, her eyes catch mine, and she smiles. Her scent curls, settling in my chest.
We've got that ultra-strong topical descenter, and some scent-cancelling shower gel if it comes to that. I'll set an alarm for Monday to remind me. I can figure it out.
"Uh, excuse me." My attention snaps towards the clearly uncomfortable beta bartender, who looks incredibly embarrassed and like he wishes he were somewhere else.
His hands are shoved in the pockets of his dark jeans, and his neck and face are flushing redder the more he talks.
"I'm so sorry I have to say this, but your, uh, scents are getting a bit, um, forthright, and, uh, it's putting some of the other patrons off their drinks… "
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Dellie interjects in a rush of mortification. She pulls a fifty from her purse and shoves it at the man. He holds his hands up to refuse.
"Oh, no. Please. Don't worry about that. Did any of you need me to call you a car?"
I shake my head silently, waving the man away.
Dellie's teeth graze her bottom lip. Her eyes flick between Clarke and Sebastian, then James and Zeke, finally landing on me.
Her eyebrows twitch in a tiny, silent question.
I keep my smile relaxed as I cock my head slightly, leaving the answer up to her.
She smiles shyly back at me, takes a nervous breath, looks at the bartender, and slowly shakes her head. "I… I'm all good. Thanks."
Something brightens and warms inside me.
Dellie's face has flushed the most delectable shade of pink as we watch the bartender scurry away. Her blue eyes are stormy with worry. There's a familiar undertone of need in her scent that calls to me on a level I don't want to acknowledge.
"Look, I'm sorry if this is, uh, rushed—but did you want to, I don't know, find somewhere we can, um, keep…
talking?" The rosy blush spreads further across her chest. A series of conflicted expressions flit across her face, like she can't believe that just came out of her mouth, but is also a little glad that it did.
Her eyes flick around the room anxiously, but settle when they meet mine. I take a step closer to her, and brush a couple of stray waves of dark honey colored hair behind her ear, my eyes never leaving hers.
"I… Yes. I think all of us would like that very much." My voice is husky. I clear my throat.
Clarke takes a half step closer to both of us. He brushes her elbow and smiles gently at her. I see Zeke grabbing the remainder of our scattered belongings, as the others quickly down the last of their drinks. We drift towards the dimly lit red staircase that will spew us back out into the evening.
"It's pretty late," I muse as I climb the stairs behind her, "and most places are either too noisy for a decent conversation or closing."
"Or full of people who've had a bit too much liquid courage and are starting to get a bit too handsy," Seb mutters from behind me. She lets out a chuckle.
We spill out onto the pavement. Cool evening air wafts across my face.
She looks around nervously, as though she's expecting trouble.
I frown for a moment, but she seems to relax once it's clear there's nobody else on the pavement other than some tourists and a handful of drunks.
I clear my throat. "If you wanted to, you could come back to ours for a chat and another drink—but only if you're comfortable with that. "