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“This is a business event,” Jett adds. “Everyone will be polite. Correct?” His gaze slides to Finn.
Finn shrugs. “I don’t want to dance with other packs’ omegas. I just want to dance with my babydoll.”
I tense, ready for Orion’s flinch, but he surprises me with a disgusted noise in his throat. “Don’t start shit, Finn. It’s already going to be a fucking night.”
“And can you not with the babydoll?” I can’t relax with Orion this close, but I’m at least comfortable enough to give Finn shit.
He grins. “I’ll think of an even better name.”
Orion scoffs. “Your nickname’s trouble.”
“Maybe Lilah likes a little trouble. Maybe she likes big trouble.”
I try not to shiver at the mischief in his voice, but I can’t fight the delicious rightness rolling through my body as the guys banter around me the way they would if I belonged.
Too soon, the car slows and comes to a stop in a shopping mall parking lot.
“Give me ten.” Hunter hops out.
Tension fills the limo when the door slams behind him. Hunter’s not the most dominant in the pack—that award goes to Atlas who draws my attention like a magnet every time we’re in the same space—but he is the most sane member, and without him, the pack’s problems jump out as boldly as the sexy freckles on the bridge of Finn’s nose.
Jett is in his own world, ignoring us all. Atlas stares at me and Orion like we’re a second from a blood-spilling brawl, and Finn’s too-sweet, too-angelic smile says he’s planning something fucking batshit.
It’s beyond weird that Orion and I—the ones who should be catfighting—are the most chill. Because as much as his scent stirs me up, giving my body ideas about how good that apple scent would mix with my carefully buried perfume, I’m very clear that we’re not in competition.
There is no competition, no matter how attracted I am to Orion’s mates.
They’re his and always will be.
The fact that I’m this hot for Orion is more proof that I’m an odd fucking duck. In all my classes, none of the trainers ever mentioned what to do when you want to lick another omega all the way down to his gooey center.
Hunter reappears carrying so many shopping bags that he must’ve charmed an army of beta salesgirls with his soul-seeing smile.
He offers the first bag to Orion, then ruffles his blond hair. “For you. You forgot to put this on.”
Orion pulls out a box of pheromone-suppressing perfume.
“Oh shit.” He rips off the plastic. “Good idea.”
“And for you.” Hunter hands me the bigger pile of bags, and it doesn’t escape me that he knows exactly how to manage Orion, giving him attention before he even looks at me.
Curious, I open the first bag.
It’s makeup.
Piles and piles of brand-name, expensive-as-hell product that I don’t need and don’t want to owe him for. “I can’t. It’s too—”
“It’s a gift, Lilah.” Hunter thumps the partition, signaling Craig to roll out.
I don’t want to accept, but I can’t toss the bag out the window.
Since there’s no way to hide in this dress, I might as well paint myself a shield.
Digging through the bag, I realize how thorough Hunter is. There’s a mirror, foundation that’s a scary perfect match for my skin tone, palettes and palettes of shadows, and when I add up what it must have all cost, I want to puke.
“Speaking of going in prepared,” Atlas says while I’m sorting boxes. “Are you armed tonight?”
I don’t answer, assuming he’s talking to the guys.
