by Aiden Bates
I glanced at the miniscule towel around Anders’ waist—didn’t he know we had full-sized ones in the closet?—and grimaced. “Yeah—show me. But if this is some kind of fucked-up prank where you flash me your balls, I’m going to go get the baseball bat.”
He chuckled at the threat and tossed his phone at me. It was warm in my hands, dotted with steam from Anders’ shower.
On the screen, there was a sunset—all pink and orange like cat puke, the shadows of palm trees swaying on the horizon.
“Pretty,” I said grimly. “But I don’t think a sunset’s going to cheer me up right now, man.”
“It’s Instagram, Damon. Look at who posted it.”
I checked and felt my heart screech to a stop in my chest.
Nathan Garnet. Wish you were here, the caption read, but he hadn’t tagged anyone in it.
My heart restarted with a roaring pang. It hurt like hell—not the possibility that he was wishing for some other Omega, but the reality of how bad I wanted that person he was wishing for to be me.
“Looks like he’s in California. Posted it last week. You sure he hasn’t…I don’t know, called or emailed or anything?”
“Doesn’t have my email. If he’d called at the Ballroom, someone would’ve told me.”
“You should message him,” Anders offered.
“From your account?”
“Why not? DM him or something. Sign your name. ‘Hey, Nate. What the fuck, man? Love, Damon.’”
“I…can I think on it?” Messaging Nathan was a tempting prospect. It had the chance of clearing all of this up completely if he answered. But on the other hand, there was just as good of a chance that he’d ignore me completely. Which, I supposed, would clear all of this up too, in its own way. I just didn’t know if I could handle the outcome of something like that.
“Sure. Just think fast, yeah? I gotta head out soon.”
“Of course.”
Anders disappeared again, belting that Police song about every breath you take as he gelled his hair in the bathroom. My breath, I held in my chest as I checked out the rest of Nathan’s Instagram pictures.
He hadn’t posted anything since meeting me. I didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad one. And before me…Christ. Playboy didn’t even begin to cover it. There was Nathan Garnet with two Omega supermodels in banana hammocks in the Bahamas, double-fisting twin coconuts with little umbrellas poking out of the tops of the shells. Nathan Garnet at a gala, a pouty-lipped Omega draped all over him like they were at The Backdoor and Nathan was the stripper’s pole.
Surprisingly, a candid. Someone else must’ve taken it—Nathan Garnet in black and white, sitting at his desk at work and staring at his computer screen with the utmost concentration. He was handsome when he was deep in thought like that. Elegant and intelligent-looking.
He was even handsomer when he wasn’t ghosting me, though. Wasn’t posting sunsets from the other side of the country with cryptic captions beneath them that I didn’t dare dream he’d meant for me to read.
Finally, I let my breath out in one giant huff and typed in a comment to the sunset picture. I didn’t want to DM him—it would feel too much like a knife to the back if he didn’t reply—and I didn’t want to write anything too dramatic. Starting shit on social media wasn’t really my style.
Looks like you’re having fun out there, I typed, agonizing over every single letter. Hope you find what you’re looking for. Damon.
My breath hitched in my throat as I signed my name.
17
Nathan
“Answer your goddamn phone!” I yelled at my screen in frustration.
That earned me some major side-eye from the couple sitting two tables over. They stared at me with performative shock, glancing around at the other diners in the restaurant to see if they, too, were appalled at my behavior.
It didn’t matter. I wasn’t the first person in Los Angeles to lose their shit at their phone while sitting alone at dinner, and I doubted I’d be the last.
I glared at Damon’s caption to my sunset picture with renewed annoyance, reading it over and over again like somehow the letters were going to rearrange themselves into something nicer. I miss you, Nathan, maybe, or Come back to me, Mr. Garnet.
They didn’t, of course. That almost pissed me off more. Hope you find what you’re looking for, he’d written. What was that even supposed to mean? If he’d just pick up his damn phone and listen to me for five seconds, he’d know that I was pretty sure I’d already found what I was looking for.
An angel back in New York, who my dog approved of and who called me by “mister” plus my last name.
“Fuck,” I swore at the bread bowl, willing it to catch fire just so I’d have an excuse to stomp on something.
“Does that mean it’s good or bad?” a hoity-toity male voice said across the table from me. The waiter pulled out the man’s chair as he slipped his white-suited self into his seat and smoothed his white-gloved fingertips over his snow-white hair.
“Mr. Mornington,” I said abruptly, blinking as I rose from my own chair.
“No, no. Sit down, you silly thing. I appreciate the gesture, but believe me—I’m very much done with gentlemanly behavior for the evening, I can assure you.”
I lowered myself back into my chair as Chester Mornington pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time. He was the Omega of the couple, and despite normal social conventions, the more powerful of the two. The last heir of the Mornington fortune and family name alike, his Alpha had broken with tradition and taken Chester’s last name.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Chester,” I said, lowering my lips to his knuckles as he daintily offered me his hand. “Is the valet giving Alphonse trouble?”
Chester scoffed. “Only in the carnal sense, I’m afraid. Thought you’d heard already, Nathan darling.”
“I…haven’t,” I said slowly, careful with my words. Chester Mornington was West Coast wealthy, unlike my eastern parents. Slower to make judgments, but harder to read. The product of a different time. “I’m not much for gossip, Chester. You know that.”
“Oh, you’re a peach, dear.” Chester’s voice was dry and thin. “Yes, I’m afraid that I caught Alphonse giving the old one-two to the valet over at Takahashi’s shortly after you arrived here in our beautiful city.”
“Ah. Explains the change of venue, then.” I’d thought it strange when Chester suggested we eat here at Nakamura’s instead. He’d always called the place tacky—all three of the chefs’ Michelin stars notwithstanding.
“Yes, darling, and the change of date to boot. I had to have several long talks with my lawyer this week, I’m afraid.” He crossed himself, eyelashes fluttering as he closed his eyes. “Thank the good Lord for decent prenups.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Chester.”
“Oh, pish. Don’t be.” He unfurled his white cloth napkin with a flourish and laid it across his lap. “Incidentally, it was Alphonse who convinced me to move our accounts over to Hayward, so you’re in luck. You’d better give me one hell of a pitch before the California rolls arrive.”
I smiled. “You hate California rolls. I ordered the yellowtail sashimi to start.”
“Mm. So you remembered. Good boy.”
“As for my pitch…I hate to pry, Chester, but it’d be a hell of a lot easier if I knew why you decided to pull out from Sterling in the first place.”
He laughed. “From my understanding, Sterling’s usually the one who pulls out in the relationship—pardon the vulgarity, of course.”
“I think he’s more of a condom man, actually.” It felt good to rib on Sterling a little—considering that he was one of the factors that had forced me out here to LA to begin with. “Doesn’t really answer my question, though.”
Chester rolled his eyes and took a sip of water, patting his lips dry. “Hayward branded himself a family man—just as Alphonse and I were thinking of adopting, no less. At the time, it seemed like a better match. Now, of co
urse, it seems silly—so do give me a good reason to throw him out on his ass.”
I took a sip of my own water at the exact wrong time and nearly spat it out across the table. “Hayward? A family man? Please, Chester. That man’s only family is Jack, Jim, Johnny and Jose—and they live in glass bottles in his liquor cabinet.”
“Ha!” Chester thumped the table with his fingertips so hard, it made the water tremble. “Well, be that as it may—you can’t pretend that you boys at Sterling are much different. Apart from that Griffin fellow, there’s not a settled man between you all. You can understand why Hayward’s argument was…convincing, anyway. At the time.”
“Settled…maybe not.” Just like that, I saw my opening—and I jumped on it like a wolf on a wounded deer. “But when it comes to being unlucky in love, I think you’ll find that we have more in common than you’d think.”
“Is that so?” Chester leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Goodness, Nathan. Tell me more.”
I laid my napkin over my own lap and drew my mouth into a hard, thin line as the yellowtail arrived. “Ah…it’s nothing. Not that you’d want to hear about anyway, I’m sure.”
My eyes flicked up at Chester’s soft, watery browns, which were widened with interest.
Just like that, I had him.
And for once, I wouldn’t even have to lie when he pressed me to spin the tale.
“Don’t tease me, darling. Go on, then.”
“Well,” I began, plucking a piece of sashimi from the tray. “It all started with an angel, believe it or not.”
And just like that, the story spilled from my lips. Seeing Damon at the club that first night. My confusion—why the fuck didn’t he want me? I was the Alpha no man could resist—what the hell was I doing wrong? The flurry of our romance—from study buddies to casual dating to the morning after we’d woken up in bed together. The radio silence I’d had from Damon ever since.
“You poor thing,” Chester cooed. “So you think he doesn’t believe that you’re out here trying to win back the favor of little ol’ me?”
“I don’t know what he thinks,” I admitted. “But judging by the one modicum of communication I’ve had from him, I sure don’t think he fancies me anymore.”
Chester pursed his lips. “You know, you Alphas are all so silly and stoic about these things. Look at me—I cried the whole way over here! Had to run to the bathroom before I’d let the waiter bring me to your table so I could wash my face and pull myself together! And here you’ve been, just sitting here like this hasn’t been eating you all up inside.”
I shrugged. “Guess we’re taught to act that way. You Omegas don’t know how nice you’ve got it—there’s no social stigma working against you when you’re all emotional.”
“You know what would win him back,” Chester said, a wild look lighting up in his eyes. “Something big. Bombastic! Fireworks declaring your love for him, shooting up into the night sky!” He paused, narrowing his eyes at me. “You have told him you love him, haven’t you?”
“Well…” My collar suddenly felt all too tight around my neck. “I almost did,” I admitted. “But…I don’t know, Chester. It didn’t seem like the right time.”
Chester shook his head, tutting softly. “Silly thing. But you do love him, don’t you?”
I swallowed hard. Here I was again—the words were there in my heart, but I was having the hardest fucking time getting them up into my mouth.
“I do,” I said finally. “But…Christ, Chester. The way he’s acting now, he must hate me. I’m not really sure how to recover from that.”
Chester sighed, examining a piece of yellowtail between his chopsticks before drowning it in soy sauce and popping it into his mouth. “You know, if anything could’ve saved my marriage to Alphonse—other than, of course, him gaining the ability to keep that diminutive prick of his out of that valet’s ass—it would’ve been a little more passion on his part. You silly Alphas—you don’t have the hormones rushing through your veins that we Omegas do. You’re going through life like idiot cavemen, stumbling around in black and white. Meanwhile, the rest of us are seeing the world in vibrant Technicolor—feelings and hopes and dreams and longings, swirling all around us like a carousel in the night.”
I blinked as Chester basked in the success of his own poeticism. I’d never thought of it like that.
“So you’re saying I should…show him how I feel?” God, those words sounded stupid coming out of my mouth. The fact that I needed to ask at all seemed even more idiotic—of course, if I’d cared about Damon, I should’ve done a better job of reassuring him that I did.
“I’m saying you should go back to New York with a big ol’ grand gesture on your mind.” Chester whipped out his phone, typing away at it smartly before he placed it down on the table. “I’ve just emailed your boss to let him know that things are amicable between Sterling Enterprises and the Mornington fortune again. That should see you off just fine.”
“Thank you, Chester. That…that does mean a lot.”
“Oh, save it, darling. I’m embarrassed that I’ve caused you this much grief by dragging you all the way out here. Besides—Hayward was Alphonse’s man. Between you and me, he gave me the heebie-jeebies.”
I laughed. “He, ah…does tend to have that effect on people.”
“Well, good riddance then.” He smiled across the table from me, suddenly coy. “Do you know how you’re going to win your boy back? I’m dying to hear how this sweet little love story ends.”
I leaned forward, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingertips. “Honestly, Chester…I’ve got no clue right now.”
“It ought to be something special for him,” Chester pointed out. “Something that only he could want and only you could provide. That’s how they do it in the movies, you know.”
All that raised for me was more questions, though. What did Damon want? I’d spent so much time guessing and assuming at how to get him to warm up to me, I’d never bothered to ask.
Maybe Chester was right. We Alphas had some serious communication problems—ones that I’d need to remedy, and fast, too.
“Actually…” I said softly, thinking back to all the snooping around I’d done on Instagram that first night. “Now that you mention it, I think I might have just the thing.”
“Mm. Lay it on me, darling. You know I’m dying to hear it.”
“It will involve breaking and entering,” I said slowly, my lips curling into a smile.
Chester gave a hungry grin. “Oh, that’s delicious.”
“A little theft,” I added.
“Even better.”
“And depending on who’s around…maybe even a fistfight.”
Chester howled with laughter, thumping his hand on the table so hard he vibrated his chopsticks right off of it. “Nathan, darling, this boy isn’t going to be able to resist you. I’ve just got the strangest feeling that this is all going to turn out just fine.”
18
Damon
I rapped my knuckles gently on the door of Foster’s office. As dancers, we didn’t come up here often—and when we did, it was usually because something was wrong.
It was a fact that I heard in the weariness of his voice as he called out, “Come on in,” through the frosted glass window of the door.
Foster Collins was a handsome Omega—even when he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. In the pictures of him on the walls backstage, candid shots and images of the Ballroom’s early days, he was about ten years younger, but he hadn’t lost any of his looks with age. If I looked half as good as Foster did at thirty-five, I’d be luckier than I deserved.
He gave me a long, tired up and down look as I came to the chair in front of his desk. “Okay. What’s wrong?”
I eyed the soft leather of the chair, biting my lower lip. Foster didn’t do bullshit—but if I said what I was about to say out loud, I knew it would suddenly all feel far too real.
“What isn’t wrong?” I countered w
ith a scornful little laugh.
He sighed, then nodded to the chair. “Take a seat.”
I folded my hands over my lap and stared at them, unable to meet his gaze. We’d all gotten the Talk from Foster when we first signed on at the club. Use condoms. Use birth control. Morning-after pill for mishaps and be more careful next time. And yet…here I was anyway.
“I’m…I’m so sorry, Foster. I’m pregnant.”
He laughed humorlessly, turning back to his paperwork. “No shit.”
“You can tell?”
“Your pecs swell up any more, they’re going to pop. They sore?”
I ran a hand over my chest, feeling the tenderness in the muscles beneath my shirt. “Yeah. They’ve been aching for about a week now.”
“Boyfriend? Baby daddy?”
“Somewhere on the West Coast.”
“He know yet?”
“I don’t know how to tell him,” I confessed. “I don’t even really know how to talk to him right now, actually. Things got…weird.”
“Which is why you’re here in my office right now.”
I scratched the side of my face—anything to do with my hands to distract me from how awful it felt to admit how alone I was in all of this. “I guess so, yeah.”
Foster’s pen zipped across the bottom of a paper as he signed it, then stacked it into a pile with a dozen others. “Big life change, pregnancy. You planning on keeping it?”
I nodded gently. “I…I don’t think I could handle the alternative.”
“Good man. Taking responsibility for your actions. Says a lot about you.” There was a long pause, a pause so long that it forced me to look up at him. When I met his steely blue gaze, I realized he’d done it on purpose. He wanted me to look at him for whatever he was about to say next. “Look. It’s scary. I get it. But you’ve got friends here, Damon. Better than friends—we’re a weird little family, aren’t we?”
