Page 45 of The Rogues

He is always checking up on his pack and doing things to make them comfortable. It is such a beautiful thing to witness, even from afar.

Lennon—whose shirt billows so freely that his chest shows—cuts the tension by pulling out a chair for Nicola between him and Cyrus, which is where her nameplate is showing on the table. I look for mine and lock eyes with Malaki. He pulls the chair out beside him and gestures to it. When I sit down and he helps me adjust my chair, I realize that it doesn’t matter how far spread everyone is, because I can feel them from every angle. Cyrus takes the other empty seat beside me, and Jamie smiles at me from across the table. Remi hands Cleo a drink menu after she asks for it, his eyes catching mine for a moment, and Lennon’s presence is large on the other side. He just asked Nicola where she got her flannel and is trying to listen intently, but I can feel his eyes on me every couple of seconds.

I try my best to take a deep breath, paranoia overtaking me.

Is Cleo looking at me? Can she smell the anxiety in my scent from the other side of the table?

Then the amazing scents of dark chocolate and roaring midnight campfire flood my space and take up every available thought in my head. I can’t focus on anything but the enthralling smells covering me from both sides, their pheromones doing their job and calming me into a pile of melted butter.

I pick up my menu and try to focus on figuring out what I want, although honestly all I want is to go camping apparently. Eat s’mores near a campfire with wild black orchids growing nearby, with a hearty ginger beer to wash it all down. Then we can all cuddle up in a too-small tent that’s probably way better than our tour buses and bask in each other’s warmth.

“And for you, miss?”

I startle, looking up at the waiter. I blink at him, wondering when the hell he showed up. I look around to see everyone else has already forfeited their menus and is waiting on me. How long was I in my daydream?

Well, this is a great start. I’m really selling this.

“Can I have an order of calamari?”

“We already got one for the table, I—” Malaki starts, then closes his mouth sharply, apparently about to ruin our cover.

My cheeks flush. “Sorry. Can I have the pesto chicken, please?”

The waiter jots it down and then accepts my menu before scurrying away. My face is still red as I look around the table.

“Sorry. I’m a little overstimulated,” I say.

“Is the music too loud?” Cleo gives me a concerned look, halting another waiter as they pass by. “Can you turn the music down a little?”

They nod, and Cleo turns back to me, giving me a small knowing smile before looking down at her phone. Cyrus, who is the furthest away from Cleo that he can be, leans down to whisper, “Is loud music usually an issue for you?”

I bite my lip, not knowing how to disclose my issues without it sounding contradictory. During our shows, we have filtered earplugs to help us hear ourselves better, so the noise from the crowd normally doesn’t bother me. Still, it’s kind of insane for me to be this way and do the job we do.

“I have sensory issues,” I tell him. “It’s not always consistent.”

“Okay.” He nods. “So, loud music. Anything else?”

“Stressful situations,” I tell him, hoping he understands the real reason why I was awkward a second ago. The gleam that enters his eye tells me that he already knew. “Scratchy fabrics. Sometimes, I’ll have a hoodie that I’ve loved forever and one day it’ll just feel wrong all of a sudden. Certain textures with food.”

“That sounds like a lot to handle.”

I shake my head. “It’s my version of normal. I don’t know anything else, and I try not to compare it to how others live.”

He nods, accepting. “So, if you were to have a nest, for example—” I gulp, my eyes looking into his cautiously. “You’d probably want a lot of different options, to switch in and out depending on how you’re feeling. Is that a correct assumption?”

Butterflies soar in my stomach as I nod. The truth is, I don’t know how my omega would react while in heat. Omegas don’t have their first heat until they bond with their packs, but I guarantee mine would be just as picky as me. I’ve always wondered if that makes me too high-maintenance of an omega, and if my future pack would accept this about me.

“Does that seem…” I swallow roughly. “Complicated?”

He shakes his head and whispers, “Nothing is too complicated if it’s for my omega.”

Our eyes stay connected for a moment, but I break it so I can take a sip of my water. The liquid goes down smooth, but it does nothing for my thirst.

To stomp out any suspicion, the conversation is dropped, and I go back to listening to the group. Cleo stays on her phone the whole time, not having any patience for this charade, but Nicola and Lark embrace the time given to us to get to know the guys. Lennon is apparently hilarious, and has a knack for telling funny stories. He tells us all about the early days in the band, how the people in Bristol reacted when they started playing at local pubs, and how, still to this day, they treat them like rambunctious kids they once were rather than the accomplished musicians they are.

Lark and Lennon discuss something about the drum kits they brought for the tour, and Remi and Nicola bond over the fact that they often get called guitarists in the media instead of bassists. Cyrus and Jamie casually talk about which places we’re visiting that they’re most excited about, which both happen to be on other continents and way later in the tour dates.

I find myself listening to everything and anything, loving any tidbit I can get of the guys and their life.