Page 21 of Glitterati Omega

Five

T

hey pulled up to a small, neat bungalowat the end of a cul-de-sac. The lights were on,illuminating a couple of small trees that lined the concrete walk up to the door. Rupert hurried to the shelter of the porch while Winston paid the driver. He paused only to investigate the cracks under his shoes once he was out of the wet.

He frowned. He’d expected Winston to live somewhere … nicer.

Maybe nicer wasn’t the word for it. Less … pedestrian. Suburbanite. Something.

Winston strolled up the drive—which glimmered in the rain, the slick, shiny black of a sealed driveway, even though it was cracked and heaved—then fitted his key in the lock. He opened the door and ushered Rupert in. “Did you give your driver a call?” the alpha asked, pitching his keys into a gaudy crystalline dish on the sideboard, both of which looked like they’d walked out of the 1950s.

His shoes echoed on the tile. “Um, no, actually,” Rupert said, peering into the living room—which was cramped and crowded and looked like someone’s grandmother’s, as far as he was concerned. The furniture had crocheted lace doilies over the back of them, with matching doilies on the arms, hiding the wear. An older television set was housed in a wooden cabinet beside the picture window, which was guarded by enormous drapes on either side of it. Over the couch hung a large painting of a mountain, which Rupert felt like he’d seen somewhere before. Table Mountain, maybe?

Winston re-emerged from wherever he’d disappeared to. “You … should call him now?” the lawyer suggested.

Rupert shook his head. “I thought we’d agreed,” he said.

The alpha lifted a brow. “Agreed on what?”

Rupert flushed. “That … that we would …”

Winston closed his eyes. “I can call him, if you like.” He strode through the archway. Rupert darted after him.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he insisted as they emerged into the kitchen. He skirted around the island. Winston peered up at him, then cast his gaze back down to the sink.

“I think you should go home,” he said calmly. “I was all right with you coming here to wait somewhere more private.”

“Will you come with me?” Rupert leaned over the counter, trying to force the alpha make eye contact with him.

“I think that would be unwise.”

“How is it unwise?” Rupert asked, nearly spilling the glass of water Winston forced into his hand. “We’re both consenting adults!”

Winston fixed him with a glare. “That’s the problem. You can’t consent.”

“But Iamconsenting,” Rupert insisted as he plonked down on the bar stool behind him. “Please! See? I’m even asking you nicely.”

Winston shook his head, then sipped at his own water. He took out his phone. “What’s the number?”

“I’m not giving it to you.”

Winston gave him a look, then slowly pocketed his phone again. “Mr. Cullinan, I can call the police to get you a ride home instead.”

“You invited me in!” Rupert cried.

“And I can turn you out,” Winston replied. “And if you won’t leave of your own accord …”

“You wouldn’t,” Rupert huffed. Then he frowned. “That wouldn’t end well foreitherof us.”

They stared at each other silently—neither of them needed to imaginethatscenario.

Winston shook his head. “Then I’ll call Morgan.”

“Oh!” Rupert knew he was whining, but he couldn’t help it. “Don’t be silly! You said you wanted me, and I want you, so to hell with the consent law—just believe me when I say yes, a thousand timesyes!”

Winston gave him a critical look. Rupert took a shaky little breath, then glanced away. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Would you believe me if I said I hadn’t had a heat in the last two years?”

“Hm.”