Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
DENVER, COLORADO
“Is this too much for dinner?” Nicola asks as she enters the room.
Lark and I both turn to look at her outfit, which is an aesthetic nod to both her grunge and fairy side.
Ripped white fishnets, pink flannel, and an oversized chunky heart choker.
Her short green, pink, and blonde hair is pulled back into a little spikey bun, which really shouldn’t be physically possible but somehow she managed it.
I smile wide at all the choices that are so very her. “I think you look great.”
“Same,” Lark agrees. “I like your flannel.”
I look down at my own outfit, wondering if I did too much. It’s not unusual for me to wear a dress, but it may look a little bit suspicious to Cleo, who knows I’d much rather lounge in sweatpants and leggings if I had the choice. But tonight, I felt like getting pretty.
Correction: I felt like getting pretty for them.
Tonight’s dinner is a mandatory forced outing planned by both of our teams. Ever since that article was posted, things have gotten intense between our two fan bases.
Apparently, they thought forcing us onto a tour together would garner more authentic interactions that could be used for drama and publicity, but we’ve all been blatantly ignoring each other instead.
To put it plainly, this dinner is a farce to make it seem like we’re on good terms and no longer giving each other the cold shoulder.
They want us to be ourselves, but pretend to get along and show the audiences that we’re being cordial.
Apparently it looks bad on our teams if they actually sent us on tour with people we hate. Go figure.
Not that I hate them, but no one else seems to be privy to that. To our fans, I’m just as PO’d about this situation as the rest of the girls are, and I won’t do anything to correct them. In fact, I may need to go out of my way to make sure no one expects my true feelings on the matter.
That I don’t hate them, not at all. There isn’t even one little speck of annoyance left in my body for these wonderful men, and that’s a problem all on its own.
If I’m not careful, the way I feel for them will be very obvious very fast, and I can’t have that, even if it would solve a lot of our problems if people knew.
Because the one person that can’t know would be at the center of it.
Nicola beams at our compliments. “Thanks! But is it too much?”
“No, never,” I respond, my brow arched. “You never care about your outfits being too much. Why do you think this one is?”
Our blonde bassist shrugs, but it looks anything but casual. Along with that and her kiwi scent burning in the air, it’s obvious that she isn’t telling us the truth.
“Spill it, Nic,” Lark says.
She huffs out an agitated groan. “It’s nothing. I just think Alek is a little bit insecure about me being on tour with… them.”
“Has he said anything to you about it?” Lark’s voice darkens as she sits up. “I swear to god, Nic, if he’s been making you feel bad about the way you dress, I will kill him—”
“No,” she says quickly, shaking her hands.
“He hasn’t said anything, but things are always tense when we’re away from each other this long.
I just don’t want to give him any more reason to pull away from me.
And considering they’re going to be taking pictures of us tonight and we have to pretend to get along, I just… I don’t want it to look wrong.”
“Just sit beside Cyrus and you won’t have to worry about that. The press is already dead set on linking him to me; it won’t matter,” Cleo says as she walks in. Her own outfit is her brand to a T: combat boots, an oversized band T-shirt masquerading as a dress, and a long-sleeved fishnet undershirt.
I squint at her wrist. Is that one of my bracelets?
“Good thinking!” Nicola exclaims, pointing at her. “I think he’d be least likely to look flirty, too.”
Spit gets caught in my throat and I sputter up a cough. The girls all look at me.
“You okay?” Lark asks.
I wave them off. “Swallowed wrong,” I say, my voice rough from choking, but really it was my body reacting to the absurdity that Nicola just said.
Cyrus is very flirty, probably the flirtiest one besides Lennon or Malaki. Images from that night in Tucson flash through my mind. His dark hair, his almost pastel blue eyes, the way he pulled my stool closer to his.
And not to mention his words. How he voiced the dark desire he felt upon meeting me for the first time, how he wanted to possess me and take me from the very first moment.
I gulp.
I’m grateful that the blush that takes over probably looks natural from my little choking incident. It would look suspicious otherwise.
I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through tonight without someone noticing my distress, or my desire. All I know is that I have to, or things could get out of hand really quickly.
“Ready to go?” Lark asks us.
Cleo sighs. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”
Yeah, I think with sweat clinging to my brow. Let’s.
The restaurant is dark, the only light illuminating the place coming from the candles on the tables and through the kitchen door at the back of the room.
A part of me is happy about this, because then maybe I can get through tonight without my cover being blown, but another part of me is nervous.
Being in a dark, romantic setting with my scent matches sounds like a recipe for disaster.
My omega is already giving me ideas that should probably stay in the deep recesses of my mind.
The guys are seated at the table when we step forward; various chairs open between them so it looks like we’re intermingled, probably table-seated exactly the way our teams want. I look at all the options, curious as to which seat my team chose for me.
There’s a bit of standstill as we all get closer. The guys don’t look as irritated by this arrangement as we do. They greet us, give us lovely hellos, but only Nicola and I respond. Cleo is tight-lipped and Lark is her usual grumpy self.
I don’t think Lark has a problem with The Rogues the same way Cleo does; I just think she has a wall up for anyone that isn’t us.
I try to ignore the fact that every guy’s attention is on me. They try to make it less obvious, but it’s clear to me that they are more caught up in seeing how I am rather than placating our team’s wishes.
I watch as Cyrus gives both Jamie and Remi reassuring arm squeezes, and I sigh.
The silent support he offers them is so attractive to me.
I’ve seen it a couple times over the past month, little moments where Cyrus’s leadership ability has accidentally shown itself.
How he makes sure they all have the right drinks before a show, or how he always coordinates with their tour manager when it comes to accommodations at the next stop, or how he posts videos and tweets daily so the other guys don’t have to.
He is always checking up on his pack and doing things to make them comfortable. It is such a beautiful thing to witness, even from afar.
Lennon—whose shirt billows so freely that his chest shows—cuts the tension by pulling out a chair for Nicola between him and Cyrus, which is where her nameplate is showing on the table.
I look for mine and lock eyes with Malaki.
He pulls the chair out beside him and gestures to it.
When I sit down and he helps me adjust my chair, I realize that it doesn’t matter how far spread everyone is, because I can feel them from every angle.
Cyrus takes the other empty seat beside me, and Jamie smiles at me from across the table.
Remi hands Cleo a drink menu after she asks for it, his eyes catching mine for a moment, and Lennon’s presence is large on the other side.
He just asked Nicola where she got her flannel and is trying to listen intently, but I can feel his eyes on me every couple of seconds.
I try my best to take a deep breath, paranoia overtaking me.
Is Cleo looking at me? Can she smell the anxiety in my scent from the other side of the table?
Then the amazing scents of dark chocolate and roaring midnight campfire flood my space and take up every available thought in my head. I can’t focus on anything but the enthralling smells covering me from both sides, their pheromones doing their job and calming me into a pile of melted butter.
I pick up my menu and try to focus on figuring out what I want, although honestly all I want is to go camping apparently.
Eat s’mores near a campfire with wild black orchids growing nearby, with a hearty ginger beer to wash it all down.
Then we can all cuddle up in a too-small tent that’s probably way better than our tour buses and bask in each other’s warmth.
“And for you, miss?”
I startle, looking up at the waiter. I blink at him, wondering when the hell he showed up. I look around to see everyone else has already forfeited their menus and is waiting on me. How long was I in my daydream?
Well, this is a great start. I’m really selling this.
“Can I have an order of calamari?”
“We already got one for the table, I—” Malaki starts, then closes his mouth sharply, apparently about to ruin our cover.
My cheeks flush. “Sorry. Can I have the pesto chicken, please?”
The waiter jots it down and then accepts my menu before scurrying away. My face is still red as I look around the table.
“Sorry. I’m a little overstimulated,” I say.
“Is the music too loud?” Cleo gives me a concerned look, halting another waiter as they pass by. “Can you turn the music down a little?”
They nod, and Cleo turns back to me, giving me a small knowing smile before looking down at her phone. Cyrus, who is the furthest away from Cleo that he can be, leans down to whisper, “Is loud music usually an issue for you?”
I bite my lip, not knowing how to disclose my issues without it sounding contradictory. During our shows, we have filtered earplugs to help us hear ourselves better, so the noise from the crowd normally doesn’t bother me. Still, it’s kind of insane for me to be this way and do the job we do.