Page 74 of Lilacs and Leather
Mateo chuckles but shakes his head. “Don’t try to lump me in with the rest of y’all. Kinky fuckers,” he says, but the words are warm with hidden laughter and teasing.
I can’t help the scoff and harsh roll of my eyes at his words. “Puh-lease. Then where are my underwear, you fucking perv?”
Mateo laughs outright but shoves his hands into his pockets. And to my shock and horror, he extracts a wad of purple lace as he withdraws.
“Told you, baby. Finders…keepers,” he purrs.
My face heats, but Rhett growls. I let him take over, picking up a full head of steam as he lays into Mateo about how unprofessional it is to carry women’s underwear in his pocket, but especially those of an unbonded omega, to a new client meeting. I turn back to face Alexandra, sighing sharply. But my eyes go wide as I catch her smiling at me, just for a moment before she too starts in on Mateo. The expression was so different, so brief that for a moment, I swear I’m imagining it. But my heart still takes off, stomach twisting pleasantly.
Maybe I haven’t made such a bad first impression after all.
Twenty-Eight
Lydia
“Remember, we have that early drive tomorrow out to Waynesboro. So don’t stay up ’til the ass crack of dawn,” Wila instructs, standing on the landing to the stairs.
“Yes, Gran,” Gabby and I drone in unison, breaking off into giggles.
Wila rolls her eyes but retreats up the stairs. I’m staying at their place tonight, as we have an early wedding out-of-town tomorrow. Gabby took it upon herself to turn it into a sleepover, complete with junk food, gossip magazines, and face masks. We’d pulled the sleeper couch out and piled it with blankets, including my present from Rhett. Gabby had nearly wet herself in delight when I’d told her, in vague terms, about my weekend in the pack suite. She made me go through every detail I was willing to share, insisting that she needed to live vicariously through me.
I’m scrolling through the movie selection on the streaming service, and Gabby is flipping through the local gossip rag while she waits for me to decide. Her head is resting on my shoulder as we share a blanket, her candy apple scent mixing with the traces of Rhett’s chocolate and whiskey. She hums now and then when I nudge her to look up and give her input on a movie choice, but otherwise she is absorbed in her gossip. Eventually, I settle on Hot Fuzz, a tried-and-true favorite.
“Get the popcorn ready, babe. It’s time to watch Nicholas Angel save the day again,” I announce, turning to look at her.
My smile slides from my face, my blood going cold when I see the photo on the page she’s reading. It’s dark, colored lights illuminating a crowded dance floor. In the middle of it, a couple is entwined, the man’s face buried in the woman’s neck and hair. She’s wearing a purple one-shoulder top and skinny jeans, and there’s a hint of a scar visible on her left shoulder. The man’s arms are tight around her waist, and I recognize the tattoos in the blurry photo even before I read the bold headline:
MATEO HUTCHENSON MOVING ON AT LAST?
Gabby shifts to head to the kitchen and notices my wide-eyed stare. She looks down at the article and photo and then back at me, her brow pulled down.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, confused.
“Can I see that?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.
Gabby nods hesitantly, passing the magazine to me. I stare at the photo for a while. My face isn’t visible as my back is to whomever took this picture. But my hands are in Mateo’s hair, and his leg is between mine. One of Mateo’s hands is resting right above the swell of my ass, holding me close. The position is compromising, to say the least. I breathe a slow, measured breath before turning my attention to the text of the article.
Mateo Hutchenson is back on the prowl. After the very public breakup with pack omega Seth Douglas last year, and Hutchenson’s withdrawal from the public eye, we thought Mateo had hung up his Casanova spurs and left the life of partying and playboying behind him. But, thanks to this anonymous submission, we can report that Mr. Hutchenson has come back out to play and found some company to mend his broken heart. He was spotted dancing with this mystery woman at Freddy’s Retreat, the popular local gay club, on Thursday. Is this a sign of a changed man? Or is this just a belated rebound? Only time will tell.
I sigh in frustration, the article leaving me with more questions than answers. The most pressing of which was: “who is Seth Douglas?” It wasn’t like Mateo and I spent a lot of time talking during our night together, but I can’t help the flare of anger in my gut at the mention of him with another omega. And what does the author mean, exactly, by “pack omega”?
“You going to just huff and puff all night, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Gabby asks flatly, making me jump.
“That’s me. In that picture,” I grit, turning the magazine around to face Gabby again.
“Really? How can you tell?” Gabby asks, perking up.
She takes the magazine back and skims the article before looking back at me expectantly.
“Mateo and I went to Freddy’s on Thursday after I got off work. He took me to the drag show, we danced, and then I stayed the night at Wickland House.”
“Doesn’t explain how you know this is you in the picture. It’s too dark, and I can’t see the girl’s face,” Gabby retorts skeptically.
“That’s the top I was wearing, and you can see a bit of my shoulder scar. Unless he was dancing with another woman in a purple one-shoulder top that night, then that’s me.”
“Does Rhett know you were out with his pack mate?”
I bite my lip at the edge to her tone. “Yeah, of course he does. He was there at Wickland House on Friday morning and saw me coming out of Mateo’s room. He’s smart enough to put two and two together,” I answer, shoulders tensing defensively.