Chapter 15 #2
“I have sensory issues,” I tell him. “It’s not always consistent.”
“Okay.” He nods. “So, loud music. Anything else?”
“Stressful situations,” I tell him, hoping he understands the real reason why I was awkward a second ago.
The gleam that enters his eye tells me that he already knew.
“Scratchy fabrics. Sometimes, I’ll have a hoodie that I’ve loved forever and one day it’ll just feel wrong all of a sudden. Certain textures with food.”
“That sounds like a lot to handle.”
I shake my head. “It’s my version of normal. I don’t know anything else, and I try not to compare it to how others live.”
He nods, accepting. “So, if you were to have a nest, for example—” I gulp, my eyes looking into his cautiously. “You’d probably want a lot of different options, to switch in and out depending on how you’re feeling. Is that a correct assumption?”
Butterflies soar in my stomach as I nod.
The truth is, I don’t know how my omega would react while in heat.
Omegas don’t have their first heat until they bond with their packs, but I guarantee mine would be just as picky as me.
I’ve always wondered if that makes me too high-maintenance of an omega, and if my future pack would accept this about me.
“Does that seem…” I swallow roughly. “Complicated?”
He shakes his head and whispers, “Nothing is too complicated if it’s for my omega.”
Our eyes stay connected for a moment, but I break it so I can take a sip of my water. The liquid goes down smooth, but it does nothing for my thirst.
To stomp out any suspicion, the conversation is dropped, and I go back to listening to the group.
Cleo stays on her phone the whole time, not having any patience for this charade, but Nicola and Lark embrace the time given to us to get to know the guys.
Lennon is apparently hilarious, and has a knack for telling funny stories.
He tells us all about the early days in the band, how the people in Bristol reacted when they started playing at local pubs, and how, still to this day, they treat them like rambunctious kids they once were rather than the accomplished musicians they are.
Lark and Lennon discuss something about the drum kits they brought for the tour, and Remi and Nicola bond over the fact that they often get called guitarists in the media instead of bassists.
Cyrus and Jamie casually talk about which places we’re visiting that they’re most excited about, which both happen to be on other continents and way later in the tour dates.
I find myself listening to everything and anything, loving any tidbit I can get of the guys and their life.
During the main course, Malaki’s hand finds its way to my leg, casual and inconspicuous as he trails circles over my bare skin. It’s calloused like my own, our skills marked on our fingertips, and the way his hard skin feathers over mine leaves me in absolute shambles.
I’m paranoid of the effect it’s having on my body, of the outpouring of champagne that the simple touch seems to help eject.
Whenever I brace myself enough to look at him, he’s paying attention to his meal, eating with his left hand even though I know he’s right-handed.
A small quirk of his lips is the only indication that he knows what his touch is doing to me.
“Japan is going to be a cool show,” Jamie says.
“Yeah,” Cyrus turns to me. “We’ve never been before, but Jamie’s always wanted to go. And Lennon, because of his anime addiction.”
“I don’t have an anime addiction.”
“Ooo! What’s your favorite anime?” Nicola asks, her eyes sparkling. “I’m rewatching Fate/Stay Night right now.”
“Which one?” Lennon asks, fully interested.
“‘Unlimited Blade Works,’ it’s my favorite.”
“That one made me cry,” the drummer confesses unabashedly.
Another hand falls on my opposite leg, and I flinch slightly, my fork pausing near my plate.
Cyrus is paying attention to Lennon and Nicola’s conversation, but his hand is firm and steady on my thigh, gripping with just the right amount of pressure.
I grit my teeth, searching for every bit of strength in my body so I can stay in control.
Along with Malaki’s slow brushings, it’s almost too much. I find myself melting into both of their touches, my omega falling languid in my chest. She wants to purr, but also begs them to move further up, to touch us in the place we need most…
Both of their hands brush inward, almost harmonizing against my skin, moving in unison. My body tenses, not sure how far I want this to go. I want them to touch me more than anything, but I know I won’t be able to hold it together if they do.
Then a foot touches mine, and my gaze snaps up to Jamie. His hazel eyes pour into mine, a sparkle of mischief shining through as he continues to eat his food like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
That’s when I realize: Malaki and Cyrus are bonded through Jamie. They can feel each other’s emotions just as easily as they can Jamie’s, and they knew all along what the other one was up to.
Something about that causes fireworks to simmer in my body.
These two alphas, working in tandem and adding onto each other’s pleasure, attempting to make me feel the most blissful type of overwhelmed that I’ve ever been.
It’s just a tiny taste, but it’s enough.
It shows me what things could be like if I open up my heart to them, how they would use each other’s strengths and weaknesses to make everything better for me.
How we would be a pack, not just pawns for our labels to use or rock stars for the public to dog on. We would have something better, something sustainable. We would have each other, in a world where people normally walked alone. We would have something special.
A chair abruptly scoots back as Cleo stands, still looking at her phone as she turns and walks to the bathrooms. My brow arches, wondering if the war inside me was showing on my face.
Did she see them? Does she know what was happening underneath the table?
She didn’t look at me, but maybe she’s so pissed off that she couldn’t.
“I need to—” I point off in the direction Cleo went. “I need to use the restroom.”
Their hands retreat, and my omega nearly cusses me out in my chest as I stand to follow my friend. I don’t look back as I set off, determined to find out whether or not Cleo was paying attention or if it’s just another paranoid thought in my head.
But then I get to the bathroom and hear Cleo talking loudly on her phone, her tone almost as ferocious as an angry alpha.
“Well, I don’t know why you’re freaking out. It’s not like Cyrus and I are doing anything. We’re not even sitting beside each other,” she hisses.
Raven’s voice bellows out of the speakerphone, her deep voice laced with irritation. “He’s still your ex, and you’re hanging out with him like it’s no big deal. You’re on tour with him, and you expect me to not have a fucking issue with it?!”
I halt, my hand hovering over the door as I shamefully listen to their conversation. I always assumed Cleo told Raven the truth about the arrangement. Maybe she doesn’t trust her as much as I thought.
“Raven… I promise you that nothing is going on. I can’t say more than that, but you have to trust me.”
“Trust you? You haven’t done anything to deserve any fucking trust. In fact, most of the time it doesn’t even feel like you care. Every boundary I set out, you find some way to walk all over it.”
“Your boundaries aren’t boundaries, they’re just rules you set to keep me in a fucking cage!
” Cleo roars. “I mean, seriously? No going out at all? No hanging out with my friends, my bandmates, one on one? Keep a fucking time stamp every time I do leave so you can keep track of exactly where I am at all hours of the fucking day? I mean, seriously? You don’t even want to be my girlfriend, and you’re acting like I’m something you can piss on and claim. ”
My stalled hands turn to fists, and if this conversation weren’t happening over the phone, I’d be barging in immediately to put an end to this nonsense.
Raven laughs darkly. “Because that’s all you’re good for, aren’t you?
Poor little Cleo, what a miserable existence it is to be a star.
You only know how to complain about things and not how to appreciate what life has gifted to you.
It’s a fucking waste, honestly. I’m a much better singer than you and you don’t see me complaining about being second place. ”
Isn’t that what she is doing, though? I think.
“Fuck you, Raven,” Cleo says softly, her voice devoid of any previous anger or fight.
When I open the door to finally put an end to this, there’s a click, and she is standing there, her finger over her phone from where she hung up.
She’s frozen in place for a moment before looking at me, her eyes blank.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She smiles weakly. “Yeah, I just had to pee.”
My brow raises. “I heard Raven on the phone, saying—”
“No, you didn’t,” she says, avoiding eye contact and washing her hands.
“Yes, I did. She just said some nasty things to you, Clee. And I wish I could say I’m surprised, but she’s always been cruel and sadistic, so I’m not. But I’m surprised that someone as confident as you would—”
“Josie.” She snaps her head back at me, the word dripping with indignation. When she sees me flinch, she stops, her face softening. “I’m sorry, but everything is fine. Raven is just… moody sometimes.”
Moody isn’t how I would describe her. A heinous she-demon is more accurate.
“Okay.” I go to step closer to her, but it feels like I’m cornering a wounded animal, so I stop. “But… moody or not, you didn’t deserve that.”
“You don’t have to worry about it. She won’t say those things again,” she says, turning back to the mirror.
Like a switch of indifference, she starts fluffing her hair like it’s the only thing that matters, and I just stand there, dumbfounded by it.
When she turns around and starts for the door, she tilts her head. “Wanna head back?”