Page 53 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

The man was silent on the other line for a moment. Then, “Yes. We do. Do you trust your previous manager’s decision?”

Despite how much she trusted Andi, Lyric hadn’t expected to share her bus with the new stranger, especially on such short notice. But even if the label was just looking at it from a business perspective, it would be plain stupid to put her in harm’s way. Being an omega came in handy in a few instances. One of those was the safety clause in the contract. If at any point she felt she was in danger, she could break the contract, and not even the corporate suits were dumb enough to put that in jeopardy.

“Okay. If I have any issues, I expect him to be replaced immediately.”

“Understood. Do you have any other concerns?”

“Plenty,” she snapped. “But I’ll let them rest for now.”

“Okay then. Good luck at your first show.”

She ended the call after a short goodbye, her stomach twisting itself into new knots at the reminder.

Tonight. Her first show. Her first live stage appearance in years.

“It’s okay. Things will be fine, and maybe—” She began a mantra aloud, but deep, hushed voices reached her ears, and she spun in place to face the front of the bus. Through two doors—one the door to her nest, and the other the door separating the bunks from the living area—waited the band. Or maybe Henry, the new tour manager.

“Oh fuck,” she breathed, and shook her hands out.

Wiping the clammy sweat on the sides of her dress, she ran her fingers through her hair and smiled at herself in the mirror hanging on the wall next to the door.

She just knew nervous energy was pouring off of her, so she opened the door to escape to avoid tinting her nest with the scent, and locked the door behind her with the electronic key. Only she had the copy, and no one else would be able to enter her nest.

As she walked through the bunk area, she tried to picture the bunks lowered and the band sleeping soundly night after night. The rumble of the road beneath the bus, the passing street lamps.

The imagery calmed her, and by the time she pulled the door to the living area open, she felt almost normal.

At least until she caught sight of her new tour manager.

“Hey, Lyric,” Adra greeted with a smile.

She sought comfort in his friendly, familiar demeanor, but lost every bit of it as her gaze bounced back to…

“Hey, I’m Henry,” he said, and stood from the couch to offer her a hand.

She shook it absently, his palm warm against hers, and nodded. “I’m Lyric, but I’m sure you already know that,” she said numbly.

Wow. Excellent introduction.

Henry was… hot. Like, really fucking hot.

Leather jacket, pants that cupped his ass like a pair of hands. Dark hair trimmed short on top and shorter on the sides. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose to frame his gray eyes, and the early stages of a beard highlighted his sharp cheekbones.

And he was an alpha. Even if she hadn’t already been aware from what the representative told her, she would have figured it out in a few seconds.

Her sense of smell might have been dulled, but not numbed, and she scented the alpha on him even before she scented him. Dark and heady, delicious and intoxicating. Like… tobacco and something more that she couldn’t quite place.

Even the slight hint of it she caught made her belly squirm, and she shifted in place. “I just got news that you’d be staying on the bus with us?” she asked, hoping, praying, maybe something had changed between her nest and here.

“That’s right,” he replied, wincing and running his hand up the back of his neck. “Is that okay? I don’t think we really have any other options, but… maybe we can figure something out.”

Lyric didn’t want to cause any more problems. But he was attractive—like, really attractive.

Her gaze shifted to Adra and Emerson. They were attractive too. Emerson’s prickly exterior and his light brown waves and matching scruff. Adra’s big bright smile and his big arms and all his rich brown skin.

Like a merry-go-round, she glanced from alpha to alpha to alpha, growing dizzy with all the possibilities and—

Mistakes.