Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
WINNIPEG, MANITOBA, CANADA
“Where the fuck—” I pull everything out of my suitcase again, my omega whining in my chest.
I’m not sure how I misplaced my favorite shirt.
It’s not something special or expensive either; it’s just a black shirt with a skull that I’ve had since high school, but it’s the perfect cotton and sits on my arms the perfect way, and the fact that I can’t find it makes me grit my teeth with frustration.
Not to mention, I was wearing it when Cyrus and I were together for the first time, and I’m desperate to inhale any remnants of his delicious scent off it. My omega needs it like catnip, and I can’t focus on my writing if I don’t get my daily dose of leftover chocolate.
I push my suitcase to the side with a frustrated hmph.
How could this happen? We are allowed very limited personal clothes on tour because the weight of the bus has to stay in a specific range.
Anything new that we wear is provided to us by our stylists and the wardrobe department, so we don’t have to worry about our personal styles or brands, but anything sentimental or valuable to us is our own responsibility to take care of.
I made sure my suitcases were full of all the cozy essentials.
My favorite shirts, my trusty black jeans, and my normal rotation of my three comfiest shoes: my combat boots, my high-top vans, and my chucks.
Nothing should be missing, and the fact that it is makes my omega feral in my chest. Did I not zip my suitcase all the way closed before one of the roadies carried it upstairs?
Is it lying on the seafoam green carpet in the lobby?
I’m going to freak out.
This wouldn’t be an issue if I didn’t know Cyrus’s scent was embedded in the material of the shirt.
Now my mind is conjuring up images of someone finding said shirt and inhaling all the leftover pieces of my scent match from it.
It makes me clench my teeth so hard, I’m at risk of breaking one.
My chest flashes hot, and my fists scrunch into little balls of fury.
That hypothetical person better hope I never fucking find them.
There’s a knock at the door just a second before Lark strolls in, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy, thick bun. She looks at the bed first, her brows furrowed, before her eyes find me curled up on the floor.
“Is everything okay?” she asks tentatively.
I sigh. “I lost my favorite shirt.”
Her eyes soften with sympathy. “Your skull one?”
“Yeah.”
She sits down beside me, her long legs spreading out in front of her. Her eyes trail over the ground where more of my clothes are sprawled out and snags on the notebook I left open in the fray.
“Are you writing new songs?”
I pick it up and give it to her despite the fear curdling in my stomach. She would never read my stuff without my permission, and my instincts are telling me it’s fine even though it makes me want to run into the closet and hide.
I keep my gaze off her while she’s reading, afraid of what I might see.
I’m not usually the one for love songs, considering I’ve never been in a relationship or infatuated for long enough to dabble in it, but this new material is riddled with lustful omega undertones.
I know she’s going to pinpoint it the second she reads the second verse.
Scents so sweet, an omega’s dream // with a bond I can’t complete
Life so simple, stereotypical // it forces me offbeat
She mouths the words as she reads, a habit she’s gotten used to that helps her better form a melody to Cleo’s and my lyrics.
She looks over them intently, her soft honeysuckle scent staying in a baseline as she absorbs the material.
When she’s done, she closes the notebook and looks over at me, a knowing look in her eye that makes me wince a little.
She doesn’t say anything about the topic of the song, and she definitely doesn’t ask me to confirm the suspicion that’s staring back at me in her gaze. She just smiles gently, ever the uplifting party.
“It’s beautiful,” she says.
I still shrink in on myself. I’m ashamed that I have to hide this part of my life from my best friends.
I know Lark would be nothing if not supportive, but a part of me isn’t ready for this secret to be out in the open yet.
Our tiny bubble of courtship has been a retreat (reprieve?) from the stress of our day-to-day lives.
It’s been a godsend being able to get to know these men without external expectation or our relationships being watched through a magnifying glass.
Once we take that step, it’ll just be another thing our labels can tear apart and use at their own expense, and I don’t want that. Not to mention how badly Cleo is going to react to the news.
“Thanks,” I say curtly.
“Your songs are always beautiful.” She sets the notebook aside and turns to me. “Just let me know when you want me to add some music to it. I think this one could be a fan favorite.”
I’d like to think that my omega instincts are normal and completely void of melodrama, but I don’t think I can say that anymore.
My skin sweats profusely inside all the material covering my body.
I find myself huffing as I come up to the guys’ door, my body completely swamped in layer after layer of clothing.
I put on four T-shirts, two long sleeves, three pairs of leggings under my jeans, and everything is being smothered in a comedically large winter jacket that I know I’ll be needing the further we go into Canada.
I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.
I told myself it was to move incognito. No one would suspect the Josie Rosewood to be covered in ten layers of clothing just to go down the hall of a hotel.
If one of the girls were in the suite, I would have been screwed.
Luckily, they’re all getting some much-needed rest after our concert tonight, so there wasn’t a peep.
The real reason is that I need to drop everything off with the guys. I thought maybe I’d put on an extra shirt and leave it on accident, hoping one of the guys would scoop it up and keep it safe in their suitcase.
Their suitcase… full of all the clothes that contain their delicious scent.
I needed it bad, and before I knew it, I was swimming in clothes, every article more desperate than the last to be covered in their scent.
I tried to rationalize. Maybe I don’t need three pairs of leggings to have all of their scents, but then my omega rumbled an angry protest, and I realized it’s not up to me.
I am in the passenger seat right now, fully letting my unhinged omega take the wheel.
I knock as best I can, my arm only moving up a few inches before the bundle of sleeves keeps it from moving any further. If I wasn’t being driven by my instincts, I’d probably cry. This is so fucking embarrassing.
Why didn’t I just pack a bag? Why am I wearing them?
Their hotel door swings open, and their scents hit me in my fur cocoon, knocking me off my feet.
Ginger goodness on my tongue.
“Uh, hello?” Lennon says.
I peek from underneath the hood that’s covering my eyes. “Hi.”
He peers into the hood, his brows scrunching as amusement blooms over his face. “Josie?”
“Are you going to let me inside or not?”
His hand goes over his mouth to stop his laugh, his eyes sparkling with so much joy that I can’t find it in myself to be as embarrassed as I want to be.
I walk into the suite—well, waddle would be a better term for how I’m moving—and stop as all heads turn to look at me.
“Josie’s here,” Lennon announces, still snickering behind me.
“Is that Josie in there?” Remi asks, trying to look into the hood.
Malaki moves to me, his lip moving weirdly as he fights a smile. He pulls my hood off, exposing me to the overhead light they have on.
“Yep, that’s our Bubbles.” He laughs, and then kisses my cheek. “This is fucking hysterical.”
I pretend to pout. “Don’t make fun of me, my omega is a monster.”
“Don’t talk about our omega like that,” Cyrus says playfully. He stands to the side, his arms crossed as he looks over me with a tickled smile on his face. “So, are you going to tell us what’s going on?”
“Help me take all of this off first and then I’ll explain.”
Everyone loses it as more and more items come off. At some point, Jamie and Malaki start helping me when the snug material gets stuck in some spots. The room is full of joyous laughter, and I can’t find myself to be irritated with it.
It’s music to my ears.
When everything comes off except my initial outfit, which is all wrinkled and probably soaked with a little bit of sweat, I sigh in relief.
“Fuck.” I sit down on their couch, a pile of my clothes now sitting in the center of the hotel room.
The guys all take seats around me, patient and content.
Lennon pulls something out of his pocket, a holder of some sort.
He takes out a little pill and takes it, the action so normal and casual that I blink a few times in surprise.
The action is small, but somehow I feel blessed to have seen it, to be trusted enough to be privy to it.
Cyrus’s hand laces with mine. “So, what do we owe this pleasure?” he asks as he points at the mountain of clothing items.
“Okay, so, it was a camouflage defense, but also my omega was being weird, and was making me put everything on, and refused to let me take it off, and…” I stop and swallow.
“This might be a weird thing to ask, so please understand you can say no, but can you guys… sleep with my clothes? Or scent mark them? I need… Gosh, it’s so embarrassing. ” I hide my head in my hands.
Jamie cuts in. “No, it’s not. That’s completely normal for you to want our scents on your stuff.”
All the alphas nod. The more I look at all of them, the more I can see that the request might actually excite them a little bit. Malaki is practically bouncing his knees, his hands rubbing over his jeans like he might try to grab an item right now and hold onto it the rest of the night.