by Alana Timms
In theory, Noah had thought he’d be a rational type of alpha. The type to talk things out. Refrain from manhandling anyone. Use brain power and not muscle power when faced with a tricky situation.
In practice, now that he had an omega, no matter that theirs was a contractual, working relationship, he had no use for rational. In his defense, the alluring scent Joshua had warned him about had a stronger effect than he’d anticipated. The scent of need. Indefinable but reminiscent of hot caramel. Put that in front of a raging sugar addict and defy him to resist.
By Tuesday, a new alertness invaded him where Trent was concerned, a low-level voltage humming through his body. Some beta leaned over the counter. Far too close. Leering and winking at Trent. Noah growled. The sound startled him as much as it did the beta, a deep, guttural warning he hadn’t known he was capable of.
Trent paused midway through making a cocktail to look at him with wide eyes. He abandoned the unfinished cocktail and stepped closer to Noah, placing a hand on his chest. “Did you just growl?”
He growled again, perhaps to convince himself as well as Trent.
“I thought so.” Trent rubbed Noah’s chest as though trying to smooth out the rough sound. “What’s wrong?”
“Place is full of assholes tonight.”
“It’s been like this since Zach left. Got a feeling things will soon go back to normal.”
A rap of knuckles on the counter. “Do I get my Snakebite any time soon?”
The low-level voltage under Noah’s skin cranked up a notch as Trent’s palm traveled from his chest to his abs. Exploring, not soothing. Counting the ridged muscle with his fingertips. Then, eyes fluttering shut and nostrils slightly flaring, Trent canted forward to run his nose along Noah’s collarbone, inhaling deeply. A bolt of lust shot through Noah. He groaned, dipping his head to rest his chin on top of Trent’s head.
Trent responded with a shaky, almost accusatory whisper. “Why do you smell so good?”
“Hello?” More rapping on the counter. “Am I invisible?”
That broke Trent’s trance. He whirled around and took a stumbling step to the counter, all grace gone, his voice over-bright as he said, “Sorry about that. Just ironing out some work-related kinks.”
“I’ll bet,” said the beta. “Is he the new Zach now?”
“Kind of. But not new to Pegasus, and not Zach. He’s just Noah.”
Just Noah. He’d imagined that when Trent finally said his name, there’d be nudity involved. But Just Noah worked fine, too.
By Thursday, Trent’s prediction had come true. Pegasus had returned to normal, the assholes gone back to the dives where grabbing at omegas was acceptable sport. But Noah’s hyper-awareness of Trent didn’t dissipate. His hands didn’t want to stop touching Trent, and it occurred to him that he was being a hell of a lot like a grabby alpha.
“Is it okay that I touch you so much?” he asked, standing close but not close enough for their arms to brush. “Would you like me to stop?”
A frown creased the space between Trent’s eyebrows. “Do you want to stop?”
“Far from it.”
“Well, then.” Trent closed the sliver of space between them, rubbing up against him, and that settled it.
****
Noah discovered a favorite place to touch: that slight dip between Trent’s shoulder blades. He’d press his palm there, soak up the warmth. Smile as the tension bled out of Trent’s muscles and he gave a little stretch, like a cat. It amused Noah, how much of a feline this wolf was. How he stretched with arms overhead and back arched. How he tapped out agile dance steps on slow nights when he thought no one was looking.
Noah was always looking. Had been from the day Andrew pushed him out the door and said, “I’m not an omega, Noah. I’m not what you need. Go find your omega.”
Because he was always looking, he didn’t miss the return of Trent’s strained smile when he came on duty Friday.
“Everything all right?”
“You’re late,” snapped Trent. “Over an hour, Noah.”
“Killer commute from West District. I got caught in the traffic.”
Trent’s facial muscles twitched as he dragged up the pretend smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“Don’t do that, not with me. If you’re mad, be mad. You want to yell, go right ahead. Just don’t apologize or put on a show for me.”
Relief flashed across Trent’s face before he took Noah’s advice and let his mad show. Spine rigid and tone even more so, he said, “There’s an enforcement agent writing up a citation in the office right now. He came to meet my stand-in alpha. Except you weren’t here. I could be closed down, Noah.” A customer approached the counter, and Trent rounded on her with a vicious, “Yes?”
“Oh,” she said with a little jump. “Bad time? I’ll come back later.”
“No. Mojito, isn’t it? I’ve got it, just give me a sec.” Trent pulled the ingredients together, stopping midway to tell Noah, “It sucks that I have to rely on an alpha to make a living. But that’s how it is. So I need to know: can I rely on you?”
Rely on him to not desert Trent too, like the absent business partner? The unspoken comparison rankled. But it was a fair question. “I’ll fix it,” he said and headed for the office.
His complete lack of knowledge on anything to do with running a bar stalled him outside the door. What was he doing? Volunteering to be a sort of rebound guy. Thinking he could fix things for Trent when his own life was in a state of confusion. Just what the hell was he doing?
The door swung open, and the agent almost mowed him down. The man recovered, stepping back with an apologetic smile.
“Is that the citation?” Noah glanced at the envelope in the agent’s hand. “Or is it a suspension notice? I just started here. I’m not a hundred percent sure how it all works. Can we appeal?”
“And you are?”
“Noah Archer.” He extended his hand. “The alpha stand-in.”
“You actually exist?” The agent shook his hand. “I was convinced McIntyre was lying.”
“I exist. In the flesh. Need to see a copy of my employment contract and ID?”
“That would be great.”
Noah had no idea where the hard copy of the contract was kept, but he was able to access the electronic version on his phone. He showed this and his driver’s license to the agent, who gave the documents a cursory glance before ripping up the envelope.
“You get a pass. But next time, notify licensing of any changes.”
Fixed in five minutes. Noah didn’t kid himself it was down to his negotiation skills. He was an alpha. That was all it had taken. He returned to the bar, and finding that Trent had help behind the counter, sat on his usual barstool.
Trent changed the offering on the specials board from Mai Tai to Californication, then brought him a drink. “Fixed?”
“Fixed.”
Trent’s slow smile had no pretense in it. Relaxed, no strain. Warmth bloomed within Noah. He wanted to kiss that smile. Wanted to wrap a hand around the back of Trent’s neck, draw him in, and kiss him until they were both panting.
“You should move in with me,” said Trent.
Noah choked on his mouthful of spicy cocktail.
****
Trent
It made perfect sense. He said so, after Noah was done coughing up a lung.
“What could make more sense? A, you need a base in East District. I’ve got an extra room. B, you want to experience living in a co-op. Again, I’ve got an extra room. C, you want Approval. Failproof way of getting that from Alpha Logan is by pairing up with someone from his co-op.”
Noah cleared his throat. His eyes were still damp from all the coughing, his voice hoarse when he spoke. “But we’re not in a pairing.”
“Not a real one, no. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Noah gave his glass a wary look before picking it up. He didn’t drink though, just swirled the glass, ice cubes chinking. “You’re pro
posing that I pretend to be your alpha to boost my chances of getting Approval. I’m clear about that part. Not so much on what you’d gain from this arrangement.”
Trent reached across to still Noah’s hand, the chinking ice too much of a distraction. No bull, they’d agreed. Difficult as it was, he admitted to what he needed. “I get a soft landing, Noah.” He maintained eye contact despite wanting to look away. “I’m not adjusting well to life without an alpha. Especially with some jackass alpha back in Logan’s Reach figuring I’m prey…ugh.” He shuddered. “Like, just because Zach’s gone, it’s now open season.”
The longer Noah watched him in silence, the lower Trent’s heart sank. A customer caught his eye, and he used the excuse to rush off. He mixed cocktails served up with big smiles, wondering what kind of fool he was. Bad enough he’d driven Zach away, he had to spook Noah, too? Why couldn’t he have kept his big mouth shut?
Because Noah smelled incredible, that’s why. The faint alpha scent on Zach’s stale sheets just could not compare to Noah’s fresh, heady scent. Add the touches, Noah’s steady hands keeping Trent in the present. Those same hands igniting him when they dipped too low on his back. Being around Noah kept him from obsessing about Zach. It made complete sense to bring Noah home and hold him hostage until Trent had been cured of Zachilitis.
Too bad Noah didn’t see it that way, tapping away on his phone. The screen’s blue light illuminated his lopsided smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Probably telling his friends about the omega audacious enough to proposition an alpha, with a string of laugh-crying emojis added.
Trent’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it to fix a couple of Mint Juleps. It vibrated again a few minutes later. He ignored it to serve tequila shots to a loud bunch of betas. They tried to draw him into a drinking competition. He shook his head with a small smile, thinking, I can drink you all under the table, you fucking minnows.
His phone buzzed again.
As things had quietened down some, he said, “I’m taking my break, Kimberly.”
He kept an almost empty cigarette pack in his back pocket. Didn’t smoke anymore. The pack was a crutch, knowledge that he could if he wanted to. It had been a while since he’d gone out back with the full intention of lighting up the single cigarette in the pack. He leaned against the rough wall a few feet upwind of the dumpster, about to reach for the pack when his phone vibrated.
“Damn,” he muttered, fishing it out of his pocket.
Four new messages, all from Noah.
Soft landing? No part of me is soft.
Well only one part and only sometimes.
So. From my POV you just applied to be my temporary pretend omega.
Gonna have to interview you for the position...still game?
Trent laughed, mini-freakout giving way to delight. He thought back to Noah at the bar counter, texting him with that blue-lit crooked smile. Still game? Without a doubt. He texted Noah back:
Interview venue? Time?
Noah’s immediate response: Your place tomorrow. 10:30
Trent: Cool. Bring a toothbrush and change of clothes.
Noah: ???
Trent: Gotta try out the extra room, right?
Noah: Good thinking. Where are you? Kim’s tearing the place down looking for you.
Trent stuffed the phone into his pocket and hurried back. Not even Kimberley’s disgruntled glances could dint his high.
But come bedtime, guilt blew the high away. And with guilt came insomnia. He felt disloyal to Zach for enjoying Noah’s company. Getting so excited about having him over.
After hours of tossing and turning in his bed, lying there itchy and uncomfortable, Trent surrendered. It would be the last time, he promised as he walked the mile to Zach’s house. Slid between his cold sheets. He dreamed of screams and wicked canines. Of huge cats as black as shadows stalking him through an overgrown garden.
He woke to the sounds of life downstairs. His eyes were gritty and his head stuffy like he hadn’t slept at all. He stripped the bed and steeled himself for the inevitable encounter with Zach’s housekeeper. She clearly wasn’t going to let a little thing like Zach’s absence stop her from cleaning up after him.
“Good morning, Mr. Trent. Some breakfast?” she asked, eyeing his bundle of dirty sheets.
“Thanks, Imelda, but not today. I’m running late.” Which was true. He walked through to the utility room and crammed the sheets into the washing machine. Imelda, having followed him in, barred his way back to the kitchen.
“But you must eat. Mr. Zach will never forgive me if I let you become skin and bone. You’re awfully close to that as it is.”
“Thanks. You look ravishing, too.” Trent ripped a trash bag from a roll he found in one of the cabinets. “I really need to get going.”
Imelda stepped aside. He returned upstairs to stuff all his belongings into the bag. Toothbrush, clothing, shoes, everything. Like Noah had said, letting go took courage; Trent almost lost his downstairs by the hall table. Not allowing himself to overthink it, he placed his key on the table and walked out.
Imelda wasn’t the only one of Zach’s staff on duty despite him not being around. Outside in the driveway, Zach’s driver was vacuuming a spotless Range Rover.
“Need a ride somewhere, Mr. McIntyre?”
If Trent ran, he’d just about make it before ten thirty. Arrive hot and sweaty and flustered. Why put himself through that, hauling a bag full of clothes, when there was a car right there? He climbed in. Noah was waiting on the porch when he got home, a duffle bag hanging loosely in his hand.
“Sorry, sorry.” Trent jogged up the shallow flight of steps. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“That’s okay.” Noah’s gaze followed the Range Rover as it glided away with a purr. “I just got here.”
“Zach’s car, one of them,” Trent explained, not that he needed to. He also didn’t need to feel awkward about his bag of clothes. Still, he stashed it out of sight in the hall closet as soon as he got the door open. “I don’t drive, so his driver takes me where I need to go, if Zach can’t. Which, right now, he can’t. Because he’s in the jungle.”
“Nice,” was Noah’s noncommittal response.
Trent tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, feeling flustered even though he hadn’t had to run the whole way home. “Do you mind if I jump in the shower? I’ll only be about fifteen minutes.”
“Not at all. I’ll just take a seat.” Noah glanced around the hall. “Somewhere.”
“Living room,” said Trent, leading the way. “I’ll show you where.”
****
Noah
Oh, wow. This was serious. He hadn’t realized just how enmeshed Trent and Zach were until he saw the photos lining the hallway walls. He dumped his bag by the couch and went back to have a closer look.
They weren’t all of Zach and Trent. Some looked like family photos. Young Trent, a girl, a man and a woman. Sister and parents, presumably. There were also some of co-op events. Big productions, large crowds. Trent, captured near a massive Christmas tree. And again, spinning his sister on a dance floor.
Noah smiled at one of Trent riding piggyback on his father. There were few of the father after that.
Of Zach, there were plenty. Every milestone of Trent’s life, there Zach was, smiling at the camera, while Trent smiled at Zach. First day of high school. Prom. Graduation. Opening night at Pegasus. In all of them Trent only had eyes for Zach. How could anyone look at these and not see the imbalance in Trent and Zach’s relationship? How could Trent not have seen it? Perhaps he had, and had decided to put himself through it anyway. Like Noah was doing, becoming sweet on someone who was emotionally unavailable.
Only difference was Noah’s life wasn’t knitted with Trent’s. He hadn’t spent years and years loving Trent, and couldn’t claim to love him now. It might sting when Trent was done with him, but it wouldn’t be the rip Trent had to be feeling, the bleeding wound.
Noah returned to
the living room. It looked unlived in. There were no person-dents on the couch cushions or armchair. No artwork, no photos. A fine layer of dust had accumulated on the coffee table and the plasma screen. Trent’s games console was still in its box in the glass-fronted unit below the TV. Dust lay thick over the box, undisturbed.
Dead plants stood listing in their pots in the corners of the room. The dining area opened off the living room and was dominated by a table, it’s surface dull with dust. The musty air suggested that the windows had been unopened for far too long.
Nobody lived here.
Consciously or subconsciously, Noah had started competing with Zach. An alpha thing. Every laugh or unforced smile he got out of Trent was a victory over Zach. But even if he could compete with a billionaire’s potential heir and owner of luxury vehicles, prince of La Tragua, eligible bachelor extraordinaire, how could he compete with this? Trent was a ghost in his own life, coming alive only for Zach.
The scent of shower gel preceded Trent into the room. Slightly citrusy tones, maybe a hint of mint. It stirred a hunger in Noah. He took a seat in the armchair as Trent came into the room rubbing a towel over his head. The hem of his t-shirt rode up, exposing a band of skin above his low rise jeans. Noah trailed his gaze down the groove of Trent’s hip bones, and that hunger sharpened.
“Brunch, definitely.” Trent slung the towel over the back of the couch. “Pizza’s always good.”
“I’m not hungry for pizza.”
Trent smoothed the unruly peaks of his damp hair into some semblance of order. “What could you eat?”
You. But as he was trying not to be pushy, he said, “I saw a park driving in. Perfect setting for an interview. All we need is you, me, and some sandwiches.”
Trent’s eyes sparkled. “You mean a picnic?”
“Why not?”
“Okay, but I think you better have a conversation with my fridge.”
The contents of Trent’s fridge were severely challenging. A moldy slab of cheese. An almost empty carton of milk. Three beers.