Page 5 of Angel Boy (Pack It In #2)

"Alpha," I try, hating how the word tastes on my tongue but desperate enough to use it if it'll get me what I need. "I'm not feeling well. Maybe we could just do a quick photo op and—"

"You're fine," he cuts me off without even looking at me. "Stop being dramatic."

I fall silent and press my forehead against the cool window, watching the city blur past. The glass feels good against my overheated skin, a small relief from the fire building under my surface.

Not soon enough, we pull into the parking lot of some trendy bistro with floor-to-ceiling windows—perfect for the paparazzi shots Ryker's so obsessed with.

He helps me out of the car with practiced charm, his hand finding mine with the kind of casual intimacy that looks perfect from a distance.

I try not to react to the contact, try not to let my desperate Omega brain read too much into it. It's just for show. It's always just for show.

I manage a quirky smile as we walk toward the restaurant, slipping into my Angel-Boy persona with ease. The photographers lurking across the street go wild when I wave at them, wiggling my elegant fingers in the evening air, camera flashes lighting up the night.

Ryker says whatever bullshit he needs to so that we get placed at the perfect booth, right next to those windows, because nothing about this dinner is accidental.

The public was getting a little worried about our relationship, rumors swelling that it might be the end.

So, Ryker does what he always does—show up, make a big deal about being the perfect Alpha, and then he disappears.

I huff out a little breath as he helps me slide into my side of the booth and then takes up a space across from, the distance making my heart sink into my stomach.

"Make sure you keep smiling, Angel. I'm giving you my time, and you should be grateful for that. I'll make sure to send you an extra shipment of those mango candies you like if you're good."

My nose scrunches up in disgust before I quickly fix my face. The man I'm supposedly destined to spend my life with can’t fucking remember I hate mango. I like the orange ones—the ones that taste like childhood summers and make Xavier roll his eyes when I eat too many at once.

But Ryker doesn't know that. Doesn't know that I spent weeks studying everything about him when we first got scent-matched—his favorite foods, his hobbies, his business philosophy, every interview he'd ever given.

I memorized it all like I was cramming for the most important test of my life, desperate to be perfect for my Alpha.

Xavier had gotten so pissed off watching me obsess over articles and photos, telling me I was trying too hard. But I'd wanted to be everything Ryker needed, wanted to prove I was worthy of being chosen.

What a fucking joke that turned out to be.

Ryker isn’t half the Alpha his own brother is.

A young waitress approaches, the woman immediately geeking out over meeting Angel-Boy.

Her eyes widen as she holds her notepad to her chest, a little squeal slipping from her lips, and for a moment, I remember why I used to love this job.

The way I could make people happy just by existing, just by being the fantasy they needed.

"Oh my god, you're even prettier in person!" she gushes, slipping her phone out of her pocket. "Could I maybe get a selfie? My girlfriend is never going to believe this!"

"Of course, sweetheart," I say, leaning in close for a picture. Her joy is so pure it makes my chest tight with nostalgia for the person I used to be.

After she takes our drink orders and bounces away, I settle back into the booth and try to ignore the heat building in my belly.

But it's getting harder to focus on anything else.

My cock thickens between my thighs, pressing uncomfortably against my loose pants, slick starting to coat my briefs in a way that makes me shift restlessly in my seat.

The pre-heat symptoms are accelerating faster than usual, probably triggered by stress and the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days.

I thought wearing something with less fabric would be better, but it just makes it worse, every brush of the mesh across my nipples causing more slick to coat my hole, and every breath carries Ryker's Alpha scent in a way that makes my body respond even though my heart knows better.

I bite back a soft moan as another wave of heat rolls through me, my skin flushing with need that I can't hide despite my best efforts. Ryker notices, his dark eyes taking in my flushed cheeks and my sweetened scent beneath my patch.

He smirks with obvious amusement, leaning back against the cushioned booth like he's enjoying this. "Behave, little Omega," he says quietly, but there's no sympathy in his voice. No concern for what I'm going through. Just that same cold command he uses for everything else in our relationship.

I want to snap at him, want to tell him exactly what he can do with his orders. But the cameras are still flashing outside the window, and I can feel the curious stares of other diners who've recognized me.

So, I smile and nod and pretend my body isn't betraying me in the most public way possible.

Just another performance. Just another night playing Angel-Boy while Angel slowly disappears.