Page 38 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Twenty-Three

Morgan

“ O h, that’s cute.” Alijah stopped in front of a resale shop downtown, peering through the window at an indigo cardigan embroidered with silver stars. “Would that work for Kelsey?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Not sure about the size.”

“Won’t know unless we try.” Hooking our arms together, Alijah pulled me into the shop.

He’d been like this all morning. Friendly and open, the perfect shopping partner—as if our weeklong sex-fest had never happened.

His normalcy irked me, except that it shouldn’t, which only made it bother me even more.

An amused Joaquin took his sweet time following us inside, carrying his mate’s shopping haul and one bag of gifts for my parents, wearing his customary aviators and a winter coat.

Would he notice if his aviators went missing? They didn’t seem to be branded, but that didn’t mean they weren’t expensive. Did he put his leather jackets away for the winter? Could I bribe Wyatt to steal one…

Groaning internally, I paused in a quiet corner of the store, leaning against a pillar while Alijah chased down a sales assistant.

Heat hangovers were the worst, and my omega’s obsession with stealing clothes from the guys—not my guys, thank you very much—had yet to wane. I was all kinds of sore and running on fumes.

At least I didn’t have a headache.

Joaquin stopped beside me, resting an elbow on a jewelry case, and said, “You don’t have to humor him.”

“But I appreciate the help.” Straightening my glasses, I gave him a wry smile. “Shopping’s not my strong suit.”

I would have been in major trouble if I hadn’t discovered a gift idea list on my phone last night.

Couldn’t remember starting it or what some of the notes meant, but at least it reminded me that Rory wanted a 3D printer, and I’d won both the make-up set and spa sessions Piper wanted at the ballet’s fall gala silent auction.

Alijah returned with the sweater, beaming as he held it out. “Isn’t it pretty?”

It was. And very much Kelsey’s style. After checking the size tag, I nodded with satisfaction.

“Perfect.” Draping the sweater over my arm, I added, “At least it gives her something to open Christmas morning. Can’t gift wrap a piano.”

“She plays?” Alijah asked, perusing a display of winter hats.

“Mhm, and very well at that. Used to practice on Jacobi’s piano. Know she’s been missing it.”

“What a great gift.” Wearing a trapper hat with fleece-lined ear flaps, Alijah admired himself in a nearby mirror.

His striking bone structure deserved better.

“Did you buy it already?” he asked.

“No. I don’t know enough about pianos. Stuck an IOU in a card. She picks, I pay.”

“Hey, doc,” Joaquin said, tapping the glass to draw my attention to a pair of star-shaped rhinestone earrings that matched the sweater. “We know some guys looking to offload a pretty sweet grand piano.”

Alijah whipped around, ear flaps bouncing against his cheeks. “We do?”

Joaquin gave him a pointed look—and a nudge through their bond—causing Alijah to give a startled little jump and rush over, wearing a bright smile.

“Oh! We do, we do. Extremely local. Very friendly. Willing to sell it for a song. Or maybe a few dozen olybolly—olenbollen?”

“Oliebollen,” I said—and only then did my lagging mind understand their meaning. I looked at Joaquin in surprise. “Wait, you’d seriously sell me Jacobi’s piano?”

The corner of his mouth hooked up, exposing an incisor. “Why not? None of us can play. It came with the place, and now it’s gathering dust. If it can make Kelsey happy and get it out of our way, there’s no reason not to. It’s a win-win.”

“Only if you agree to accept the market price,” I said, looking between the mated pair. “And it won’t upset Owen.”

“Pfft. Like he cares.” Joaquin looked down at me, dark eyes sparkling. “How about market price and two dozen Dutch donut thingies?”

Pressing the trapper hat to his chest, Alijah offered me a bow, extending his hand with a flourish. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do indeed.”

The three of us made a great show of shaking hands and congratulating ourselves on our superior negotiation skills, all with a joyful smile on my face.

I couldn’t help it.

Keeping a lid on my emotions was more taxing than it seemed.

***

After we finished shopping, we secured our loot and coats in the back of Joaquin’s truck in the staff section of the ballet theatre’s parking structure and headed inside for the four o’clock performance of The Nutcracker.

The lobby had been transformed into a candy forest with copious amounts of glittery fake snow. With one hand on Alijah’s hip and the other on my shoulder, Joaquin ushered us through the crowd of patrons, including many families with small children wearing fancy clothes.

Our seats were about halfway down the center section, adjacent to the aisle. Alijah took the farthest seat without hesitation and started reading the program. I paused, expecting Joaquin to sit beside his mate.

But he just stood there, arms crossed, the dimple on his left cheek deepening as he leered at me.

I was not in the mood for an oddly suggestive stand-off.

“Go,” I whispered firmly, nodding toward the middle seat.

“Ladies first.”

“Joaquin.”

He leaned down and whispered, “Thought you liked being in the middle of two men.”

Warmth flooded my cheeks as fragmented memories of my heat surfaced.

Four hands wandering across my body. A mouth on each of my breasts. Two cocks drilling into me at the same time.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I took a step back and glared at him. “Stop.”

“Everything okay?” Alijah asked, fidgeting with the corner of a page.

Joaquin raised a brow, looking at me expectantly. “Yeah, doc. What gives?”

Biting back a myriad of curses, I sank into the middle seat. Still blushing.

How unbecoming.

Where had the bold omega from my heat gone? Or had she been a drug-induced apparition, and I was just a weak shell—

“Morgan, what’s wrong?” Alijah asked, sounding as sweet as I knew he tasted.

Shut up, I told my traitorous brain. Just shut up and watch the ballet before you ruin this for Alijah.

“Nothing, but apologies in advance if I nod off. I’m still tired.”

“Me too,” he said with a soft smile. “But it’s a good tired. Right?”

Even the near-black hue of his eyes couldn’t mask his vulnerability.

A nod was the best I could do.

“Settle a dispute for us,” Joaquin said, pressing our shoulders together. “Who do you root for during the battle scene?”

“Well, that depends,” I said with a touch of hesitation. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Oh, this bodes well for me.” Joaquin rubbed his palms together in anticipation.

Alijah rolled his eyes.

“You have to understand,” I said, “I’ve seen this ballet dozens of times. Piper’s been in it every year since she was five or six. So, after a while…the pack of rat kings starts to look like they have more fun.”

“Unbelievable.” Alijah swatted my knee with the program. “Don’t tell me you think Drosselmeyer is creepy, too?”

“But he is,” Joaquin and I said simultaneously.

We exchanged looks of approval, then laughed. Even Alijah begrudgingly joined in.

Shifting closer to Alijah, resting my elbow on the armrest, I said, “Fun fact—Piper wanted a cat when she was little. A big, fluffy one, ideally with a snaggletooth, that she planned to name Uncle Drosselmeyer. Begged our parents for years until she realized she’d be responsible for cleaning its litterbox. ”

“But he would have been adorable.” Alijah’s head canted toward mine. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask—do Kip and Tenny mean anything special?”

“Yes, they’re gymnastics terms. A kip’s a foundational element, kind of, for uneven bars. It involves flexing your hips to get up on the bar. Something you should master early on before you can connect one move to the next.”

“And Tenny?” Alijah asked softly, doing his best not to stare at my lips.

“His name’s actually Ten—as in perfect ten—but it somehow morphed into Tenny.”

“A beginning and an end,” Joaquin murmured. “I like that.”

“That’s one way to look at it. My thinking was more like…every goal requires a first step, even the unobtainable ones.”

The orchestra began playing the overture, drawing attention toward the stage. Younger children craned their necks to get a better glimpse of the instruments.

A few rows over, one confused little girl burst into tears, upset that she couldn’t see any ballerinas.

“You have nieces, right?” Alijah pressed closer, his voice just above a whisper. “Are they old enough to come to things like this?”

“No. They’re not even two yet.”

Pulling out my phone, I opened the photo album dedicated to Liv and Cece. Handing it over, Alijah raved about their cuteness, asking questions about their parents, preferences, favorite activities, and so on.

Turning to Joaquin, I asked, “Do your sisters have kids?”

“Not yet. One’s been dating a pack for a few months, but it’s not serious. The other two are focused on their careers. But they’ll get around to it eventually.” He looked at me for a long moment. “You like kids?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That’s why I wanted to do my residency at the children’s hospital.” Deciding it was better to be honest, I added, “But I don’t want any of my own.”

“We’ve talked about fostering—but way down the line.”

“That’s a lovely idea. You guys would be fun dads.”

Excellent uncles, too, not that my nieces needed any more.

Alijah held out my phone, and as I turned to accept it, I caught a hint of relief in his expression.

I wasn’t sure what unspoken test I’d just passed, but I didn’t want him to envision me in their plans for the future.

Alijah didn’t understand. I was too much of a risk, even without the threat of potential waning syndrome hanging over my already damaged head.

But as usual, this was neither the time nor the place for a heart-to-heart with Alijah.

Ignoring the tinge of regret scraping against my tired eyes, I pretended to read the program until the curtain went up.

***

“Morgan,” Joaquin rasped in my ear as if we were still in my nest, lost in each other. “She’s on.”

I bolted upright in my seat.

Oh no. I’d fallen asleep again. Only this time, I’d used Joaquin’s shoulder as a pillow.

Fantastic. No mixed signals there.

Trying to hide my embarrassment, I stared at the stage, watching as Piper was lifted into the air, wearing an elaborate pink costume with a bejeweled tutu.

This was her second year performing as the Sugar Plum Fairy. With her elegant lines and regal grace, she was perfectly suited to the part.

Joaquin slid his arm across the back of my chair to rub Alijah’s neck.

He leaned in and whispered, “He was telling the truth. About mistaking Piper for you. We were sitting here, just like this, when he got all flustered. It had nothing to do with her dancing. He was thinking about the lines of your face and your amazing legs. Plus, that ass—”

“What are you doing?” I demanded in a biting whisper.

“Making you understand.” His hot breath brushed against the shell of my ear. “I’m a picky bastard. I knew Alijah was a diamond in the rough as soon as I saw him, and only I could make him shine—and haven’t I done a marvelous job?”

The arm draped across my shoulders grew heavier, almost possessive. “You think I’d trust my treasure with just anyone?”

“You don’t… You know, what, no. We’re not doing this,” I said, returning my attention to Piper as she completed a graceful turn.

“Oh,” he mouthed against my hair, nose skimming my temple, “but we are. I don’t care if you want to work with Owen or not.

This is separate. Our own thing. And we’re going to keep doing it, over lunches, in the elevator, on the gray chaise, wherever’s necessary, until you’re willing to admit that you want us for more than sex. The same way we want you.”

“Good luck with that,” I said, internally cringing at how lame I sounded.

“Likewise, doc.” Joaquin poured a knowing laugh into my ear and then withdrew, running his calloused fingers along the back of my neck as he returned both hands to his lap, tapping his thigh in time with the music.

I focused on breathing in and out, in and out, my unseeing eyes fixed on the stage, clapping when the rest of the audience clapped, absorbing the familiar music without hearing the melody, until my heart stopped racing.

Alphas told lies, making false promises about shared experiences—that never lived up to the hype—while obscuring their real goal of getting what they wanted from me.

Favors. Clout by association. Sex. Submission.

I’d long learned how to see through them. That’s how I knew, for all his slipperiness, that Joaquin was honest.

And the most terrifying type of alpha was a devoted one.