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ELEVEN

Playing: Silence by Marshmello (ft. Khalid)

This house is a suburban dream. It’s nicely sized with worn down brick.

It doesn’t look polished like the houses in our neighborhood, which calls to my omega in a way I didn’t expect.

There’s fallen leaves still scattered amongst the lawn, a partial crack in the side of the porch, peelings of paint falling off the door.

All the little imperfections scream that this place is a home .

And the finishing touch is the snowflake decoration that’s hanging on their door.

It’s twinkling at me as I stand there, frozen in my step with my knuckles raised.

Now that I’m here, I feel something stirring. It’s like impending doom but lighter. It feels like excitement and anxiety are trying to befriend each other in my stomach.

Just as I’m about to knock, the door suddenly opens and the very handsome beta I’m here to see appears on the other side.

He beams at me and I take a moment to take in his appearance.

His style is a beautiful mix of prep and punk.

He’s got on a deep purple sweater vest with nothing underneath so I can see his beautiful tattoos cascading down both arms. He’s wearing the same earrings from the night we met, little silver lightning bolts that sway with the movement of his head.

His trousers stop right above his ankle and are tight around his thighs.

My cheeks flush involuntarily as I shake my head and raise my eyes to his face. His expression doesn’t give away whether or not he caught me checking him out, but his rum scent smoothens just the tiniest bit.

“Hi, doe. Are you ready to watch some hockey without freezing to death?” he asks teasingly before holding the door open for me.

“You have no idea.” I smile before stepping inside. He follows behind me as we walk further into the house. “Maybe I’ll actually enjoy the sport this time instead of wishing for it to be?—”

I halt abruptly in the doorway of the living room. The light is dimmed and the room is quite spacious. There’s one large sectional, with a matching loveseat and recliner. The mahogany coffee table is covered in snacks and there’s warmth coming from the fireplace.

The real fireplace.

But that’s not the reason I stopped in my tracks.

It’s the smell. Or rather, the mix of smells. They’re all jumbled together in one big aroma that leaves me lightheaded in the most glorious way.

I can’t tell the scents apart, but I know that I feel at home amongst them. And that kind of familiarity makes my anxiety spike even more.

Ciro looks back at me and smiles, pretending politely that he doesn’t notice my pause in the doorway.

“Does it look okay?” he asks, and I realized he made the place look like this in order to make me more comfortable. My heart beats rapidly at the gesture alongside the assortment of scents in the air.

What is happening?

“It looks wonderful, Ciro.” I finally make my way into the space and follow Ciro to the couch.

The fragrancy gets stronger, and it takes everything in me to not let the whine in my throat escape.

I roll my eyes at the omega inside of me, begging her to calm down her hormones. She rumbles inside me as her response.

I know she’s trying to tell me something, but now is not the time.

There’s faint murmuring coming from the TV as we sit on the sectional. I feel myself sink into the comfortable material, the dim atmosphere putting my nerves at ease as I soak up as much coziness as I can. I turn to look at the snacks when I feel something soft under my fingertips.

I swipe my hand over the white blanket, admiring its fluffiness. Instinctually, I pick it up to wrap around me when the smell of its owner reaches my nostrils. The intoxication of it causes me to pause before I inhale even deeper. Coconut . And the most decadent version of it I have ever smelled.

I clutch it closer to my body, a certain calmness settling into my bones at the proximity of it.

“That’s Kendall’s.” I look over at Ciro; he’s watching me with a strange look on his face, like he isn’t surprised by my reaction to his pack mate’s blanket. That can’t be right . “Out of all of us, he’s the one that leaves his stuff around the most. Hoodies, blankets, books. You name it.”

I imagine finding a hoodie with this insane scent on it. An audible gulp almost escapes me.

“Do you want me to move it?” he asks, but he seems to be saying it out of courtesy rather than trying to take it away.

“Um.” No , I do not want him to move it. My omega is unsettled at the very thought of it being taken from our grasp. “I’m actually kind of cold, do you think I could use it?”

Even as I say the lie, shame rises to the surface. What kind of person does this? Becomes possessive of a stranger’s blanket?

Before I can take back my question, Ciro nods. “You can definitely use it. Kendall won’t mind.” He tries and fails to hide the smile that takes over his face as he watches me wrap myself up in it. He looks almost joyful at my insistence to use his friend’s blanket.

He turns the volume up on the TV as I bring a corner of the blanket up to my nose and inhale. Gods, it’s even better up close. I feel like an absolute freak. Why does it smell like this?

You know why it smells like this.

No . I refuse to even entertain that idea.

But then the other scents drift to me, including Ciro’s spiced rum with hints of orange.

The proximity of it causes me to perfume, adding my own scent to the mix.

At first, my omega is pleased at the new sensation, but then I’m mortified.

Ciro won’t be able to smell it , I reassure myself.

Betas can’t smell omegas or alphas, not unless they’re pack.

I think my ability to smell him is one-sided, a weird biological fluke.

But then I hear Ciro groan beside me as quietly as he can, the sound muffled but apparent.

I widen my eyes at him in realization. “You can smell me?”

“Yes.” Ciro looks at me with guilty eyes and I’m baffled. Mind-boggled. Betas normally don’t smell anyone. Except for one very specific case.

Scent matches.

“Can you smell me ?” Ciro asks, and I realize there’s a nervousness in his voice. Maybe he was also under the impression this was one-sided, and that causes me to nod.

I wrap the blanket further around me, trying to contain my perfume from further invading their space. “I’m so sorry. I don’t normally do… that unprovoked.”

This is so embarrassing.

“You seem to apologize a lot for things that aren’t your fault and also don’t bother me in the slightest.” That seems to break the tension.

He gives me a gentle smile before continuing.

“I think you smell incredible, Stacia. I don’t mind if we’re frank with each other about it.

In fact, I’m quite straightforward about things in general, so let me know if anything I ever say makes you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I would want.”

I nod, feeling a rush of warmth travel through my body. “I’m not uncomfortable right now at all. Thank you for having me over.”

His unease fades as his joy returns. He motions towards the coffee table. “So, I couldn’t quite decide on what to get, so I got a bit of everything. Hazelnut M&M’s, rice cakes, Oreos. I even got”—he grabs a certain green bag—“dill pickle chips. So, what are you in the mood for?”

The game enters the second period. I hate to admit it, but I am enjoying this game a lot more than I ever did when I went to watch Derek. I can’t even remember his number, so I watch nameless peers of mine slide back and forth on the ice as they try their best to maintain Bensen U’s lead.

I put down the hazelnut M&Ms, because I can’t possibly eat anymore, and pick up the glass of wine that Ciro had poured for me.

It’s a beautiful Malbec that Ciro explained to me was grown locally in his parents’ hometown in Argentina.

I had wondered where his subtle accent had originated.

He shined brightly when I asked him to tell me more about his family, then went on to explain how his paternal grandparents moved here when his father was young, how they fell in love with the state of New York.

His father had met his mother while visiting Argentina, having been drawn back there to feel closer to his roots.

Then he went on to talk about the trips he takes there with his family every summer, how he loves it but he’s known since he was a kid that he was always meant to be an American boy.

“My mom almost fainted when I told her I joined a fraternity.”

His enthusiasm is contagious. I could listen to him speak for the rest of my life and never get bored.

“So,” I start before placing my glass back down and interlacing my fingers. “Were you not keen on hockey as a sport?”

Ciro laughs heartily. “I find it hilarious that I was destined for pack mates that play hockey. I’ve never been one for sports of any kind.

I don’t have a lot of hobbies either. I just like to enjoy my time no matter what I’m doing.

But I won’t lie and say that supporting them in their endeavors hasn’t been the time of my life, because it has.

I enjoy every game of theirs I watch, and I love spending time with them afterwards, win or lose. ”

His eyes light up while talking about his pack mates.

It makes me feel a bit envious. Not only because he has it, but because he’s so open and receptive to the idea of it.

Even thinking about having a pack one day makes me nervous, because then there are multiple people who have the potential to hurt me.

“Tell me more about them,” I find myself saying in a soft whisper. He looks at me, a curious glint in his eyes. “Your pack mates.”