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"Oh, no, it's okay. I don't need one." I feel stupid for asking. I like the beer, but it's strong, so I try not to wince at the flavor, though the distraction is helpful.
Cass narrows his eyes in amusement. "You don't have to drink that, you know. I can get you something else."
I look at the glass. Even after two small sips, it's nearly full. "No, that's alright. Thank you."
"What do you like? To drink, I mean? I'll make sure we stock up."
I'm embarrassed to admit, I'm not entirely sure. I'm so used to suppressing calories, as they taught us at the OFA, to keep our frames small (but not too small), and soft in the belly (but not too soft), that I got used to drinking nothing but water and the occasional glass of wine or champagne when in public. Sometimes coffee, or a green smoothie, which I do enjoy, but soda? Beer? Never.
"Imogen?"
"I don't know what I like," I admit. "I don't like soda. I got used to not drinking sugar, so it tastes too sweet now. Usually, I just drink water."
He nods encouragingly, like I'm endearing, like it's not strange that I'm a grown woman and don't even really know who I am and can't answer a simple question like what do you like to drink? Reading between the lines that I'm just a byproduct of the OFA's rigid curriculum, Cass smiles warmly.
"Don't worry. We'll get every kind of drink imaginable and figure out what you like. Same with food?"
I nod slowly… "Nothing too rich. But yes, I'm used to a strictly monitored diet. A protein and a vegetable. But since I've been staying in South Loop, I've been… indulging." My cheeks flame when I think about the entire pasta entrée I ordered only a few days ago. My mother would have shamed me for months if she knew.
"You like wine?"
"I do like wine, I know that much," I laugh lightly.
Cass nods. "So we'll figure out what you love to eat, too. I can't fucking wait, babe. I love to cook."
I want to ask more about Cass's cooking, about what they like, what they eat and drink. I want to know the little things. Do they prefer takeout or restaurants, or does Cass cook for the three of them? But my questions stay buried when Red pins me with a look. I'm not sure they have an official pack leader, but I'd put my money on Red.
Cass is too easygoing, and Iggy is too single-minded and focused.
"So… what now?" I ask, afraid of this part of the conversation—they brought me back downstairs so we could talk and they could get answers I'm not ready to give. I told Red at the country club I'd tell him everything, but I was just trying to get him to leave.
Now I know Red's the pack leader because the three of us look to him for guidance. He replies, "Now, we court you. But I'm not keeping you a secret, Imogen."
It's been a roller coaster of a day, and I'm tired and nearly ready for sleep, but Red's automatic assumption that I will fall in line makes me bristle. I'm already falling in line for someone else. I can only be pulled in so many directions before I'm torn apart. Fear that they won't understand, that they'll still ultimately reject me when I try to explain, has my stomach in knots. I resist the urge to fidget, willing my hands to stay still, folded in my lap.
Red sits beside me on the couch, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. Iggy, in the chair across from me, leans back, almost carelessly, watching me with those intense, heady eyes. They're so dark, almost like he was built like this intentionally, to hide a world of secrets in their depths. Iggy's arms spread on the cushions behind him, and while he's not as tall as his brothers, closer to me in height, there's something undeniably raw and dangerous about Iggy. His strength comes from within, and, while thin, his thick, corded, sinewy forearms and biceps were built for control. He didn't get that muscle in the gym, that's for sure.
I've had flashbacks from my heat all week, but one I keep coming back to is Iggy using his incredible strength to effortlessly lift me up and impale me against the wall, holding my body like a rag doll, manipulating my limbs as he saw fit, a faint memory of dust coating my skin…
My sudden, strong perfume blooming into the room doesn't mask my trail of thoughts, and I blush, looking back at Iggy, who stares unabashedly.
Next to Iggy, Cass laughs, and it helps break the sexual tension. I can see this easily devolving into an orgy if my perfume and their pheromones have anything to say about it, so I stay on track, not allowing my omega to have her way. Now that Dante is aware of our match, she relentlessly beats inside my walls, begging to be let out, to let them take her right here, right now.
But I'm in control, and we need to talk.
I barely know them, in truth. But I've always believed in the power of packs, in the strength of love, and I've seen how potent the fated match is for others. I'm a dreamer at heart, so I'm willing to take a leap.
Their patience wanes the longer I take the answer, and the wait doesn't help my nerves either, so I rip off the band-aid, so to speak. "I can't be with you publicly. Yet."
Their scents mingle, and Red's engine oil and leather lingers in the air, sharpening at my declaration. Red and Iggy growl, angry and hurt. I attempt to explain, but Cass cuts me off.
"Why are you engaged to them?"
"My parents accepted their proposal on my behalf. I'd never have said yes to them on my own. They courted me briefly, but I wasn't ultimately interested."
Red nods. "But you're still engaged. You said your parents accepted on your behalf… why didn't you tell them no?"
"My mother threatened to cut me off from the family. Not just financially. She said she'd never speak to me again, and she'd demand the same of her mates, my fathers, and I believed her."
