Chapter 6
SIX
As seen on Punk-Tune TV
“The cat is out of the bag! Rival punk groups, Vicious Velvet and The Rogues, are now officially in cahoots and will be performing alongside each other in their upcoming co-headlining tour.
What was deemed the Whimsical Hearts Tour is now the All or Nothing Tour, hosted by our two favorite rock bands of the century.
The surprise came as a shock to fans late yesterday afternoon, as Cleo Del Rossi and Cyrus Darlington seem to still be on bad terms since their breakup last fall.
Some fans speculate that they had little say in the matter, falling prey to the teams and personnel working in tandem to create the most successful tour either label has seen to date.
Others see this as a sign that things might finally be mending between the two, or that this could be their way of soft launching their relationship once more… ”
Even though it’s probably the worst place for me to be, I decide to go clubbing with the girls that night.
I’ve never been much of a partier. Even back in high school, when parties seemed to ramp up and become something everyone else enjoyed, I still couldn’t grasp what made them so fun. I don’t drink very often, and the forced mingling always left me in hives.
But Nicola, Lark, and Cleo loved it, so I went with them every time they asked. I was usually the one driving us home so we wouldn’t get into trouble with our parents. It always made me feel different, and not in a good way like Cleo always claimed I was.
It’s ironic considering the scent that came in when I designated as an omega was champagne of all things. Like a cruel little joke from the universe.
Despite how much I hated those parties, I miss high school sometimes. I miss our group blossoming into something so solid and dependable that we knew we could take on the world with our music.
I miss those days… I miss those parties. I miss my friends.
Tonight, despite my reservations about going to a club, I needed their company.
The place is dark, neon lights flashing so fast that I’m concerned about the safety precautions and whether or not anyone in this club has epilepsy.
The music is loud, and although I should be used to it, I’m not.
I’m religious about using my in-ear monitor during our concerts, and am a lot less prone to taking it out like Cleo and Lark are so they can hear the audience.
I like my quiet bubble, and I’m not used to stepping out of it.
We sit in a VIP section, everyone sporting their drink of choice and listening to the music.
Lark is on her phone, while Nicola and Cleo are having a conversation with the party right beside ours.
I try to pay attention to the topic, something about fashion week and modeling wages, but I zone out.
I’m still reeling from the discovery that not only am I scent matched to the frontman of The Rogues, but apparently the guitar player and keyboardist, too.
Walking into that boardroom and being hit with their scents just as strongly as I had their prime’s, had me sitting at the edge of my seat the entire meeting. I couldn’t look them in the eyes, couldn’t look my bandmates in the eyes. I wanted nothing more than to disappear right then and there.
How is this possible? We’ve been in the same industry for years. Granted, I’ve never actually met them face-to-face. Most of the time, we were at the same award shows, but those places are always too crowded to detect any specific scent.
Did I ever smell Cyrus on Cleo’s clothes when they were forced to spend time together?
I can’t think of an example, not one where the scent clung to me desperately for hours afterwards.
Then again, they probably never got close enough to each other for that.
They hated each other from the very first fake date.
“What’s up!” I hear a few minutes later, and I look up to see Nicola’s boyfriend entering our section. She gets up to greet him, bouncing on her heels with excitement before jumping into his arms. She kisses him, and his smile is wide as ever when she pulls back.
I’ve never had a problem with Alek. He is in the industry too, and has his own music career.
I’m not sure what genre you would consider his music, but I’ve heard Cleo call it “sad boy rap” on more than one occasion.
He’s pretty successful, and I know it matters to Nicola that she is with someone who understands her lifestyle and schedule, so that makes me happy for her.
The only problem is, he’s not a serious person.
I mean, neither is Nicola, which should mean they are perfect for each other, but there’s something off about him.
Something dark that sits below the surface that I can’t see.
And just like clockwork, Alek grips Nicola’s hand in his, and they give each other a look.
My brows move inward as I try to figure out what they are communicating to each other, but then the moment is gone, and Nicola is beaming from ear to ear. “We’ll be right back!”
They bounce off, holding each other tight, and Lark mutters, “For fuck’s sake,’” under her breath.
“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“I thought the bender was over,” she responds, and that makes a lightbulb go off. Today must have really thrown me off-balance if I forgot all about the activities Nicola and her boyfriend liked to partake in.
“Oh.” I turn to look at them, watching their speed walk to the bathrooms in a whole new light. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. It’s probably because we’re leaving soon,” she adds, her gaze still locked on her phone. “Hopefully, she doesn’t bring anything with her.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe we should talk to her—”
“No fucking way,” Cleo’s voice interjects into our conversation, sending alarm bells through my body. I turn to her, seeing her gaze trail across the room to the open space near the bar. “I can’t believe they came here tonight. Of all fucking nights.”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about, but then I see them. Like a beacon meant just for me, the group trails through the space with an aura of light.
The Rogues.
One must be missing, because only four bodies are traveling through the crowd. A girl screams from the corner of the dance floor, her face morphed with shock at the sight of them.
They move like a unit toward the other side of the VIP section. I lose sight of them as they sit, the booth towering over them for privacy. Even as the last of them sits down, I find myself staring in their direction, my omega wanting even the tiniest glimpse.
Long after they have disappeared from sight, my breaths are still hollow, working overtime to get my lungs back to their normal baseline.
“I need another drink,” I say to no one in particular as I stand and walk away.
It’s a cowardly move, one I make so they can’t see the mix of emotions on my face at seeing The Rogues in our proximity.
I should be furious, angry that they are taking up space in our little corner of the world, but I’m not.
If anything, seeing them brings up much lighter feelings that I don’t want to acknowledge in the slightest. Fluttery feelings, and then even more robust ones down below.
As I make my way across the crowded area, I try my best to keep my head down.
It’s rocky, because it causes me to run into people more than normal.
I mutter apologies as I go so I can keep moving; then I come upon an unmoving force.
Their body blocks my path to the bar, so I glide my gaze upward, hoping I can get them to move, when my eyes collide with deep brown ones from earlier today.
Malaki Blakely.
We stare at each other, and his eyes trail over me with such blatant attraction that my cheeks flush.
I didn’t let myself look too close today, but now every detail is on display for me.
From his messy blue mullet to his white graphic crop top, to his dark jeans that sit on his hips in a way that makes a ragged breath escape my mouth.
My eyes dart to the dark ink flower tattoo on his bicep as his scent from earlier unfurls around me, the delicious pull of sizzling campfire creeping in a tiny bit at a time through the array of scents around us.
The wood-burning sensation is intoxicating, and it only grows the longer we look into each other’s eyes.
I squint. Is that a bridge piercing?
“Hi,” he says. Or I think he does, because his mouth moves wide in the familiar way that’s associated with the word, but the music is too loud for me to tell.
I squeak and run the other way, desperate to escape this weird, heat-fueling staring contest between us.
I finally get to the bar, and the bartender immediately notices my urgency. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod, acting as nonchalant as I can despite the fact that I’m an omega actively avoiding her scent matches in a crowded club. “Can I get a water, please?”
“Coming right up.”
I stand there awkwardly, fidgeting as I look over my shoulder when a new smell enters my space. Or maybe it was already there before, but now it’s more prominent, soaking the air around me in abundance.
Fuck… I know that smell. It was laced between all the others today at the board meeting. A bitter floral that feels like a soft blanket is being wrapped around my soul. I fall into it, letting it lull me just like it did then. I’ve never scented something so tranquilizing, so soothing.
If I had any reservations around being somehow connected to this group, they were extinguished the second I realized I could scent Jamie Morrison, a beta.
There was no more denial after that. No more gaslighting myself into thinking that I just liked Cyrus’s smell in the hallway a little bit more than an omega should.
I turn to the source of it, pulling it into my lungs like I can’t fathom doing anything else. When I open my eyes, Jamie is there, his eyes soft and kind.
“I guess that answers my question,” he says, watching my face. “I thought I might be mistaken, but… you can smell me too, can’t you?”