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Grunting, I shove Cass out of the way and kiss Imogen hard, her sweet cherry taste blooming on my tongue. She hugs me tight, and when I release her, Cass does the same. Then she straightens her shoulders and jokes, with a bright blush creeping up her neck, "However, if these don't all fit in the closet, perhaps we could get a bigger closet?"
Cass laughs, making Imogen light up.
Once we clear her things, I tell her to put on pants. She lifts an eyebrow questioningly but does as I ask, and when she comes out of Cass's bedroom a few minutes later, wearing tight black high-waisted pants and a short-cropped, long-sleeve black sweater, my mouth drops open in awe. Showing off her incredibly toned but curvy body, growing curvier by the week, and with the red lipstick and her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, she looks un-fucking-stoppable.
"These don't look like OFA clothes," I tell her, gripping her hips in appreciation. Unless she's at the club, or hanging with us or Phe, she mostly wears dresses that seem ill-fitting to her personality. Thick materials, weird prints, something someone twice her age might wear. All very prim and proper. Right now, she actually looks her age, like a carefree, happy, twenty-three-year-old woman.
Imogen shrugs, "They certainly aren’t. Well, I do love shopping. These are recent purchases."
Cass snorts, making another joke about her clothing habits. I suppose it's good we know about it now and can prepare since we're about to build her closet.
Finally, I'm dragging her downstairs by the hand, and she follows along happily, her scent open and carefree. More and more as each day passes, she seems lighter. Less sadness, fewer fake smiles. When we bond, it'll be easier to tell how she's feeling and fuck, my alpha and I have a pep talk every day that we have to wait to bite her.
Because we really want to.
I bring her to the far end of the garage, stopping her in front of her present, and she looks around, confused, wondering what we're doing.
"I… I made you something. I mean, I didn't make it. But I fixed it up. It just got back from a buddy's shop, repainted, and, well. Anyway." She might think I'm insane, but I rip off the canvas covering, revealing a cherry red vintage scooter, custom painted, glittering under the garage lights.
My confidence wavers while her eyebrows furrow together. If only all the guys at the club and on the streets—the ones who duck when I walk past, who turn in the other direction—could see me now.
"I don't understand," she says softly.
I rub my hand over my head, feeling out of sorts.
"It's a scooter. I mean, if you're living here… I know you have your own car. But South Loop is small. You might like using this when the weather's nice. They're fun. It's a… your courting gift." I can't look back up at her, she's still quiet.
"You got me a scooter? To drive?"
"Yeah, Im, to drive. It's yours. But you don't have to. If you don't like it…"
"You know, another alpha wouldn't have done this. They'd have said it was too dangerous. Motorcycles, even bicycles, outside of a spin class, were considered off limits, too dangerous."
Her voice is lighter and she steps closer to me, but I feel like a fucking idiot, so I still don't look up. "Yeah, well… fuck those alphas. And I got you a helmet, obviously. And I'll teach you how to drive it. But if you feel unsafe—"
She practically throws herself at me, locking her legs around my hips, lips meeting mine in a ferocious claim.
"Thank you, Iggy," she whispers against my neck. "Thank you so, so much."
"It's… I know it's a strange gift. I'm sorry if—" She kisses me again, effectively shutting off my insecure mutterings.
"I love it. I can't wait to drive it." Her eyes shine, and when I let her down, she shakes her head, staring at the scooter in awe. "No one has ever trusted me to be… capable. I know that's a product of my upbringing, of the OFA… but I've never felt strong until I came here, to South Loop. Or met you, or the guys, or Phe. You all… thank you. This is more than a ride. It's trust. And freedom." Then she squeals, "I can't wait to ride it! Is that what we're doing today?"
I laugh, "Yeah, actually, I thought we could run through the basics. Here, let me grab your helmet." I find the cherry red helmet I bought sitting on the workbench and fit it over her head, securing the strap beneath her chin. Her eyes are glittering the whole time, her skin vibrating with excitement.
I climb on and show her how to use it, pointing out the gas and brake handles. They're so easy to ride, much easier than motorcycles; she just needs to get used to the balance and the slowing down at stop signs and lights. I make her promise me, for the time being, until she gets good at it, not to leave South Loop in it, and she agrees.
She rides it up and down the street a few times, each time whizzing past me, her maniacal laugh on the wind. She's amazing.
I did that. Fuck, that's heady. I put that smile there.
After a few more turns, she slows, and we park the scooter beside her BMW. This time, she climbs onto the back of my bike, and after she gives me shit, I put on my helmet, and we head out. I ride around for a while, and though she clutches my back and leans into me, I can feel how much she enjoys the wind coursing through us. I love riding, there's nothing like it. The scooter may be small and won't reach those speeds, but when we cruise towards the mountains and back, I know she's happy either way—on the back of my bike, clutching me close, or on her little red scooter, zipping through South Loop.
On our way back to town, we stop at May's Diner. I park out front, and she hops off, animatedly describing every twist and turn we took and how much she loved it.
I'm feeling pretty good about this date so far.
The overhead jingle chimes as we walk in, the place already packed with afternoon diners. Half the room nods or greets as we walk past, each person eyeing Imogen curiously. Her earlier excitement fades, and I can tell she's feeling insecure like I was when I gave her my gift, so I reach back and grip her hand tight, snagging a menu as we walk past all the diners.
