Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
RHETT
The next week passes with little change.
All in all, everything is awkward, and I fucking hate it.
My phone vibrates with a message just as I’m getting out of the Supra and handing its keys to the club’s valet.
I roll my eyes at Jackson’s name on the screen, ignoring the text in favor of helping Carys out of the passenger seat.
She takes a minute to adjust her black and pink sequined dress, pulling the hem down just a bit, and then puts on the overly large masquerade-style mask she’d spent the morning making.
You still coming? Only an hour to go.
Just pulled in through the valet.
I put on the small domino mask and then wrap my arm around Carys’s waist.
The club is loud, the bass thumping, the entire first floor crowded with bodies, just like when we were here on Halloween.
Fuck, have things changed since then.
I lace my fingers with Carys’s as I cross the large room, not bothering with the bar or dance floor down here, knowing she’ll need time to acclimate to something this loud.
When we get to the bouncer manning the stairs, I pull out my phone and open the digital tickets.
He nods, pulls out two bright blue plastic wristbands, closes them around our wrists, and then gestures up to the private section of the club.
Jackson’s entire social life is already here, spread around the booths and cocktail tables, several women dancing on the smaller dance floor that’s centered up here.
Jackson notices me after a minute or two, lifting his chin in greeting before carefully extracting himself from a young redhead that’s plastered against him, her eyes already glassy with a buzz.
Carys tightens her hold on me as he approaches, and I kiss the crown of her head.
“Finally made it, man!” Jackson says, a beer in his right hand. “Thought maybe you’d decided to be a recluse for this New Years.”
I roll my eyes and wave away his false concern. “You know I’ll always make an appearance when it’s you putting the party together. Can’t promise we’ll stay the whole night though.”
Carys flushes, the pink nearly the same dark shade as her mask. She leans toward me, her tall heels bringing her to my chin. I bend down so she doesn’t have to be quite so loud to get over the music.
“I’m grabbing a drink. Do you want me to get you something?”
I tighten my hold on her and smile at Jackson. “We’re grabbing drinks real quick.”
Once we’ve gotten drinks and picked a cocktail table, it takes about fifteen minutes for Carys to relax, her body loosening and slowly melding to mine. One of Jackson’s friends waves at me. I kiss her temple.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods, her smile not as forced as most I’ve seen recently.
I run my thumb down her jaw, and she shivers, her pupils blowing out.
Then she flinches, and I have to hold back a growl that will help no one at all, least of all her.
She’s been responding less dramatically to her connection with Paxton.
It’s only significant if he’s feeling something especially sad.
I’d hoped he’d fallen asleep by now, but clearly not.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’m good, promise. I’m going to go dance.”
She kisses my thumb, letting her tongue out for a heartbeat, and I scent all over her, the lemongrass explosive given she’s just gone through a heat. She laughs, takes a sip of her drink, and then walks to the half-full dance floor up here.
I grab my own drink and set it on the table along with Jackson and a couple of his friends.
I only halfway pay attention to their conversation over the next half hour, my eyes drifting back to Carys every few minutes, my hands itching to touch her, to sneak her away and do what I wanted on Halloween night when she was dressed as a damn crayon.
Tonight, the lights of the club sparkle off Carys’s mask, the pink feathers brushing her temple making her honey blonde hair even more golden.
One of the local singers smiles and says something to her.
Despite only being ten feet or so away, I can’t make out the words.
With a jolt, I realize she was one of the profiles Marilyn had pulled for me, a singer that’s gaining prominence recently due to a surge in popularity with teens.
Fuck, that feels like an entire lifetime ago at this point.
Carys’s answering smile is so bright, a swell of happiness surges under my sternum.
A moment later, Carys has both hands above her head, her half-drunk cocktail held carefully so that none of the liquid spills on her.
The other woman dances with her, her own smile wide, her body not as tense as just a minute before.
Carys is good at putting others at ease like that.
Jackson leans close enough he doesn’t have to yell over the music thumping through the space. It’s only then I realize the other guys at the table have moved on, chatting up some women along the railing overlooking the main dance floor.
“She’s the one from Halloween, right?” he asks. “I recognize her hair.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“She’s gorgeous.” There’s a thread of jealousy in his voice, but I ignore it. Jackson’s harmless enough. He’d never try to overstep and steal away someone’s Omega.
I grab my mostly abandoned rum and coke, wiping away the bit of condensation that’s gathered on the sides of the glass.
“She is,” I agree.
He raises an eyebrow, and I roll my eyes, taking a long drink of the alcohol.
“Come on, man,” I say, keeping my voice light, “you have how many models and actresses on your speed dial? You’re not hurting for partners.”
He shrugs. “None of them have ever looked at me the way she looks at you, though.”
He gestures toward her with the beer he’s barely sipped. Others might think he’s going light, but they’ve just not noticed how quickly he puts them away. This is his fourth or fifth easily. Hell, it’s the second since we got here.
“Fair enough.” I concede his point. I’ve never had a woman look at me the way Carys does, equal parts fuck-me-now and you’re-my-favorite-person. It’s addictive.
“And I’ve never seen you look like this, either,” Jackson continues, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed it, man. Fucking besotted.”
I won’t argue with that. I am besotted. Completely, entirely infatuated. Even with the entire mess hanging over us with Paxton and Billie and even the team’s shitty performance since before Christmas.
I’m… Fuck, I’m so in love with her.
My scent match.
My baby girl.
My Omega.
“You think she—”
I push off the table before he can finish the question, needing Carys in my arms right now as the weight of my revelation settles on my shoulders.
I love her. No matter what happens with Billie, no matter if she decides she doesn’t ever want to bond with me when I finally get the balls to bring it up, no matter the very real, problematic bonding bites that she and Paxton share. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything, including hockey.
She smiles as I palm her waist, and I just about forget how to breathe.
“Happy new year!” the singer says.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet—and especially not with someone I don’t know. Her smile falters a bit, but I can tells it’s out of intimidation and not me actually freaking her out.
“Call me next week when you’re back from your pop-up, and we’ll figure out the specifics for your photoshoot in March!” Carys says after an awkward lull, smiling brightly. “Peonies should be pretty easy to find by then.”
The singer nods then offers me a shy smile before disappearing back into the milling crowd of other VIPs. Just as Carys starts to say something, the DJ cuts across the speakers, the music fading a bit.
“Let’s count it down, Nashville! 30…”
As everyone in the club shouts the numbers, I pull Carys closer to me, palming her cheek before trailing my thumb along her jaw and throat. A thread of her orchid scent weaves around us, and I groan.
“So you’re my new year’s kiss?” she asks, a slight smirk tilting her lips.
And, fuck, the fact she’s even back to joking with me, being playful, is a miracle.
I give a mock growl and grind my hips into her belly, making sure she feels my erection. Her eyes flash with interest even as her cheeks darken to nearly the same shade as the feathers adorning her mask again.
“I damn well better be,” I whisper in her ear, loving the fuck out of the goosebumps that race down her throat.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
I lean over her, running my lips over the shell of her ear, feeling the words on my tongue. More of her orchid scent surrounds us, breaking through her lotion completely. She palms my neck, her nails biting into my skin, as I skim my lips over her jaw.
“Four! Three!”
“I love you.” My gaze is locked on hers, my hands steady where they hold her still.
She gasps, her eyes so damn wide.
“One! Happy new year, Nashville!”
I kiss her, soft and gentle at first before forcing it deeper, rougher, faster. She melts against me, her other hand circling my neck, too, the cool glass of her drink pressing into my skin.
When she pulls away, her chest heaving, I whisper, “Happy new year, baby girl.”