Chapter Sixteen
When Connor drops me back off at my car in the school parking lot, I’m dragging.
I haven’t eaten since barfing up breakfast, and the impromptu hike drained me.
I want to just drive home and crawl into bed, but I need to shower first since I’m still doused in Connor’s scent.
I’m too close to my heat to risk transferring it to my sheets.
My phone rings from the depths of my purse, and I drop my head against the steering wheel. If it’s Martha at the grill asking me to fill, I’m going to scream.
I let it ring out, and it starts up again. I relent and dig the phone out of my bag, a sliver of relief sliding through me when I see Roy’s name. I answer before it goes to voicemail again.
“Hey.”
“So, how’s my magnificent scent holding up, Cucumber Melon?”
“Long story.”
“Well, you can tell me all about it at my birthday party tonight. Time to return the favor.”
“Your birthday—” Shit .
“Isn’t until next week. But we’re celebrating early.”
I wince and rub my forehead.
“I can feel you trying to come up with an excuse. Stop it. You’re coming.”
“Do I have to?”
“You shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to. Callahan’s at eight. See you there. No presents necessary, just bring the tea.”
I drive home for a power nap and oversleep my alarm, which leaves me scrambling to get made up and out the door on time, still smelling like I’ve been bathing in Connor Masters. The nap did little to help my fatigue.
Callahan’s is the dingy college bar in town, complete with bad music and cheap drinks. I have to park a few blocks away because the place is so crowded.
When I get inside, I weave my way through the crowd towards the group of familiar faces in the back. I get more than a few looks as I pass.
I hate the hot press of too many bodies in a small space. The way alphas stop and size me up before stepping aside every time I need to squeeze past them, as if deciding whether they’re going to actually let me through.
Roy starts cackling as soon as he sees me, then nudges our mutual friend and fellow former roommate, Tessa. “Holy shit. Pay up.”
“Damnit, Lana. I bet him twenty you’d show up still smelling like Eau de Roy,” Tessa says.
“You told her?”
“You didn’t exactly swear me to secrecy. And it was hilarious.”
Roy plucks a twenty from between Tessa's fingers, and I shake my head. “You’re buying me drinks with that.”
Roy sweeps my hair off my shoulder and makes a show of fussing with the neck of my cream bandage dress.
I swat away his hand. “What?”
“You know, this level of necking is usually reserved for teenagers in the backseat of mom's Prius. I'm impressed.”
I glance at Tessa questioningly, and she bites her lip. “He was very thorough,” she says.
“Just making sure he didn’t bite you. You smell like you bathed in the boy.”
“Nothing happened.”
“ Right . That’s why you’ve got giant hickeys all over your scent glands,” Roy says, beaming.
My hand goes to the sore spots on my neck, and I wince. I hadn’t even noticed.
I pass Roy my keys and phone to store in his pockets so I can go hands-free and won’t be tempted to drive. If I have to be here, I’m planning to do some drinking.
He orders us a flight of shots designed to look like slick that arrive on a long wooden serving plank. They’re syrupy and oversweet and perfect for hiding lots of alcohol.
I toss back two and grimace.
Roy and Tessa make their way to the dance floor, and I order a drink and linger on the edges of the room. I have to be way more inebriated before I start dancing in public.
Someone tall shoulders me, and I step aside, ready to apologize for being in their way when I recognize Lance.
He flashes his megawatt smile. “Fancy seeing you here. Out of the library to party for once.”
“Are you here for Roy’s birthday?”
“What?” Lance yells.
The music has shifted to a pounding dance number, and it’s impossible to be heard. I lean close to his ear and repeat myself.
Lance yanks back, a scowl on his face.
“You and Masters? Shit. You could have said something.”
It takes me a moment to realize he recognizes Connor’s scent. It’s become like second nature to me already.
“It's not?—”
“You know, it’s omegas like you that give alphas a bad name. You didn’t have to lead me on.”
“Lead you on? What are you talking about?”
Lance scoffs. “An alpha only brings an omega food for one reason, Lana. Don’t play dumb.”
My stomach sours.
“I thought we were friends.”
“Right. Like you and Masters are friends . ”
The spiking of Lance’s scent is making me nauseous. I take a long sip of my drink, letting the fruity mixer dull the smell.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m not looking for anything?—”
“Whatever. Everyone thinks you’re a frigid bitch, but I guess you’re just another gold-digging omega cocktease.”
Lance shoulders past me, knocking part of my drink onto my dress.
He disappears into the crowd, and I shake my head, feeling whiplashed.
I wade through the tangle of bodies on the dance floor to find Roy and Tessa.
Roy spots the wet spot on my dress and frowns. “Did someone spill their drink on you? Who was it? Point me at ‘em.”
I roll my eyes. “Lance is an asshole.”
“Lance Williams?” Roy asks.
“Coulda told you that,” Tessa says.
Roy writhes in time to the music, not missing a beat.
“He’s a little big for me to take, but I know just who to call. What is Meaty Masters up to tonight?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Is your passcode the same? I can sext him for you. He’ll show up real quick.”
“I had to change it when you kept switching my profile photos to handsome Squidward.”
“Oh yeah! That was a good bit.”
“You did it on LinkedIn!”
“ Someone’s gotta bring some levity to that place.”
Tessa twines her arms around my neck and forces me to sway with her. She and Roy must have been pregamed.
“I’m gonna start calling you Melon,” she slurs.
“Cucie!” Roy says.
“I’m going to get more drinks,” Tessa yells. She’s too loud in my ear. “What do you want?”
“Anything but more slick shots,” I say.
“Please. I’m a woman of taste.”
“I heard that!” Roy yells as she’s swallowed up by the crowd.
I sip on my drink, and Roy grips the bottom of my cup and tips more into my mouth.
“Come on, it’s my birthday!”
Two more ‘fruity deceptions,’ as Roy's dubbed them, and I’m starting to really feel the music.
I dance with the other faceless members of the swarm, losing myself to the beat and the buzz of alcohol.
The bar gets more crowded as the night wears on. Connor’s scent keeps most of the obnoxious alphas away, but one smeared in cologne and wearing a polo with a popped collar is becoming persistent.
"You smell ripe, baby," he says as he tries to grind against me.
I slide away from him. I’ve been an omega long enough to know when it’s time to leave.
I glance around for Roy or Tessa, but I’ve lost them in the growing crowd.
My head is pounding, my stomach swirling with alcohol, and I desperately need to get something on my stomach. The drinks are going straight to my head.
I pat myself down for my phone and curse when I remember I gave it to Roy.
I spend the next ten minutes searching the dance floor for Roy or Tessa to no avail. My head is starting to swim, and the onslaught of scents overwhelms my senses. Alphas, omegas, betas—all in one sweaty knot of pheromones, alcohol, and sweat.
I make my way to the bar through the crush of bodies and wave down the bartender. She’s got jet-black hair with red tips cut into a severe bob, and it’s a battle to get her attention.
People to my sides jostle me, and I brace myself by resting my arms on the sticky bartop. “Can I order some food?”
“Kitchen’s closed, honey.”
Fuck. No way am I eating the bar nuts. I’ve read those studies.
I scan the crowd for Roy again, but he's nowhere to be seen, and I just want to get out of here.
I spot Lance grinding up against another omega, shooting me a nasty glare.
“Do you have a phone I can use?” I’m in no condition to drive myself home.
The bartender hands me a sticky wireless brick of a phone with a rubber antenna and faded buttons. So much for Uber. Crestwood is too small for a taxi service or public transit, and Callahan’s is close enough to the university that most kids just walk back to their dorms from here.
I rack my brain for who to call, stilling when I realize the only useful number I have memorized is for Mac’s house, from calling Connor when we were children.
I lift my head to ask the bartender for her cell, but she’s already serving the next clutch of clamoring patrons.
So I dial and wait, half hoping he won’t pick up. I’ll have to explain to him why I’m covered in his son's scent. He’ll probably be fucking elated, and I don’t want to give him false hope.
Hell, maybe he finally got rid of his landline?—
The call clicks as it connects.
"Hello?" Says a man's deep voice.
"Hey, Mac. I need some help."
There's a long pause. Is he busy? His usual weeknights consist of jazz music, wine, and rewatching The Wire . But I’ve been encouraging him to get out more lately. His mate died over a decade ago, and he never moved on. It was depressing.
"This is Connor."
Fucking fuck. What was Connor doing at his dad's? Them spending time together was dangerous. I much preferred them estranged.
"Oh. Nevermind."
I pull the phone away and search for the end call button on this antique.
"Lana? Is that you?"
I close my eyes and sigh, then lift the receiver to my ear again.
"No."
He chuckles.
"What is it, Lana?"
I wince. "Is your dad there?"
There’s a soft sigh, and I can see the frustrated face he's making in my mind’s eye.
"He's out. I came by to pick up some things. What do you need?"
Words spill out of me. “I don’t have my phone and I’m tired and I have to pee and the line’s too long and the bathroom’s gross anyways and?—”
“ Where are you ?”
I don’t respond.
“It sounds busy. Are you at a bar?”
“Mhmm.”
“You went drinking after today? Did you eat anything?”
“Don’t be mad. It’s Roy’s birthday.”