Chapter 31
Lark
Silas walks me into the restaurant like I’m some celebrity with a stalker. Which is ridiculous. I’m meeting my best friend for tacos.
“Silas,” I say under my breath as we step inside, “you do realize this is a Mexican restaurant and not a mob meetup, right?”
His hand settles at the small of my back. “Humor me, little bird,” he says quietly. “Until your heat passes, you don’t go anywhere alone.”
I open my mouth to argue. Then I see Cammie’s blonde bob peeking out over the top of a booth.
She’s already sitting at a table with a sequined headband, a silk slip dress, and her neon sneakers.
She’s holding a margarita in front of her and there’s another one waiting across from it. She lifts the glass in greeting.
“Well, hello, beautiful people.”
Silas guides me to the table. Cammie looks him up and down with zero shame. I wait for my omega to roar to life, but she only purrs. She knows now that he’s all ours. Besides, it’s just Cammie.
“If I’d known you were coming, big guy, I would have ordered you a margarita too.”
Silas’s mouth twitches. Graham is still a little intimidated by Cammie. She’s a ball of energy and demands. But Silas thinks she’s funny. Which I love. She’s been the only steady person in my life for years. It’s important to me that my pack likes her.
“I won’t intrude,” he says. Then he bends slightly, pressing his neck briefly into my cheek. My stomach flutters. There’s nothing subtle about his scent mark and I love it. Cammie’s eyes go slightly wide. I ignore her.
When he straightens, his hand brushes my shoulder once before he gestures toward the bar. “I’ll be right over there.”
He walks off to a high-top a few yards away near the bar, close enough that he can see me clearly. Cammie watches him go. Then she slowly turns back to me.
“Please tell me that man has finally given in on his heroic refusal to fuck you.” I make a face. Cammie snorts. Then we both dissolve into laughter.
“Oh my god,” I groan, dropping onto the bench across from her.
“Seriously though,” she says once she recovers. “How are you standing it?”
I take a sip of my margarita. It’s strong. Bless this place.
“I think he has it worse than I do,” I admit.
Cammie raises an eyebrow. “Blue balls are the worst,” she says solemnly. “Or so I hear.”
We both start giggling again.
After a moment she wipes her eyes and lifts her glass. “To unresolved sexual tension.”
We clink glasses. "To unresolved sexual tension."
We drink.
I'm aware that Silas can probably see us toasting from his table. Then Cammie leans forward, eyes bright, and I stop thinking about it. “Okay,” she says. “Start talking.”
“About what?”
“Everything,” she says. “We haven’t had genuine girl time in a week! What have the hot alphas been doing?”
I sigh dramatically. “Well… we went to dinner last night. As a pack.”
Her eyes widen. “Where?”
“Chef Pascal’s.”
Cammie slaps the table. “I hate you.”
I blink.
“That was supposed to be our thing!” She points accusingly at me.
“I’m sorry!”
She grins suddenly. “Just kidding. Tell me all about it.”
I laugh and take another sip of my drink. “It was to celebrate,” I say. “Graham finished mapping the scent sequence for omegas.”
Cammie’s eyes light up. “That’s huge.”
“And Saint got cleared to return to regular duty.”
“So he’ll be working every third day?”
“Yeah.”
“So aside from great food with a beautiful view, what happened?”
I groan. “Oh god.”
“Do not make me wait! I'm living vicariously through you right now," she whisper-yells. "My dating life is currently a dry, knotless, dickless desert and you owe me every detail.”
“They decided it was the perfect time to discuss my heat boundaries. Right there in a fancy restaurant while we drank a two-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne.”
Cammie chokes on her margarita. “Two thousand! I thought these guys were attainable wealthy, not richy-rich.” She gasps as she blots up the spilled liquid with a paper napkin.
Once she has the spill cleaned, she continues. “Lark, you’re their scent-sensitive mate.”
“I know.”
“You literally belong to them biologically.”
“I know.”
“So why are you shy about talking about sex with them?”
“Um, because we were in a restaurant.”
She narrows her eyes. "We're in a restaurant."
My eyes travel around the room, and sigh. “Because Graham gets a little excited and talks too loud.” That part, at least, is true.
She narrows her eyes even more, though. She’s a human omission detector. Always has been.
I huff. “Fine! Because Saint was sitting right there looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. We’re not there yet.”
Cammie waves a hand dismissively. “You need to omega-up and tell that man to step in line.”
I choke on my drink.
“Bark at him if you have to.”
“Cammie.”
“What?” she says. “A well-timed omega bark can fix a lot of problems.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I don’t want it to be like that.”
Her expression softens slightly.
“I’m all in,” I say quietly. Cammie opens her mouth. “Even when he’s being an alpha-hole, he’s still my alpha-hole.”
“How can you possibly know that? He’s been nothing but a turd to you.”
This is the thing I love best about Cammie. She’s always on my side
“He was sweet when we were texting,” I remind her. “And there are moments when he lets down his guard. He tries to pretend that he’s not interested, but I see how he looks at me. I notice how he leans in when I talk or tries not to smile when I say something clever.”
She looks skeptical.
“He’s mine just like Silas and Graham.” I say it quietly but I mean it completely. My omega has never once been confused about this.
My gaze drifts across the restaurant. Silas is still sitting at his table, broad shoulders moderately more relaxed as he talks with the bartender. As though he can feel my eyes on him, he glances over. Our gazes meet. His expression softens instantly. My chest goes warm and gooey.
Cammie follows my gaze. She's quiet for a second. "Oh wow," she murmurs.
"What?"
"He looks at you like you're the only thing in the room."
"He's a pack alpha. He's being protective."
She gives me a look. "Lark."
"I know," I say, giving her a look that say drop it.
“Whatever,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender.
She sits back into the pleather cushion. “If you want Saint to stop acting like a tortured romance novel hero and start giving you his own heart eyes, you’re going to have to do something.”
“Like what?”
She shrugs. “Convince him you’re worth it.”
I stare at her. “That’s the problem,” I say. “How?”
She tilts her head, thinking.
“I’m trying to be patient,” I continue. “Things haven’t exactly been easy for him.”
“Meaning?”
“Graham told me a little about what Saint’s been dealing with,” I say quietly. His injury. His mom. The timing of it all."
Cammie winces. “That sucks.” Then she takes another sip of her margarita.
“But right now I’m not in the mood to empathize. I’d rather figure out a way to make him bend to his knees and worship at his omega’s feet.”
“What can I possibly do,” I mutter, “to force that man to understand we’re meant to be together?”
Cammie grins slowly. “Oh,” she says. “I have thoughts.” And suddenly I’m very nervous.
“Normally I’d say to make him jealous. Flirt with another alpha, et cetera, et cetera.”
I curl my nose. I don’t like that idea and neither does my omega.
“But,” she continues, “that wouldn’t be fair to your giant or the big guy.” She waves her margarita in Silas’ direction.
“Yeah, that won’t work.”
Cammie straightens her shoulders. “But what if you used Graham and Silas to make him jealous. Maybe Graham could fuck you in the kitchen just as Saint is walking in from the garage.”
I’m beginning to think Cammie’s margarita is stronger than mine.
“Cammie.”
“What? It’s tactical.”
“It’s manipulative.”
She chomps a salsa covered chip. “Hell yes. This is war.”
I sigh. “What else do you have?”
“Ask him to fix something for you.”
No.
“Wear his favorite shirt, and nothing else, when you come down for morning coffee.”
Maybe, my omega says.
No.
“I know! Force him to teach you about coffee. He’s supposed to spend time with you, anyway per the big guy’s courting dictate, right?”
That’s… not a terrible idea. Maybe the margarita is starting to lubricate her brain in the right way.
I think about Saint in that coffee booth at the street fair. His whole body changing when he smelled the beans. The way he forgot, for a moment, that he was supposed to be miserable.
“He can’t resist you, Lark, not if it’s just the two of you.”
I’m not so sure about that. He’s done a helluva good job resisting me thus far. And both my omega and I are sick of it.
“So spend time together? That’s your plan?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re super lovable. And you’re hot—alphas have been losing their mind over you for years. Hell, your booty alone—”
I roll my eyes. “They like your booty, too.”
Now it’s her turn to eyeroll.
“Plus,” she continues, “you two are, you know, matchy-matchy. It’s got to work.”
I pray she’s right. Something needs to happen soon. My heart can’t take much more of this. And neither, I suspect, can Saint's.