Movement catches my eye, and I look up just as the front doors open. She steps out, her hair loose, sunglasses perched on her nose, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. Even dressed casually, she’s stunning, effortlessly drawing attention.
And unfortunately, she’s not the only one here.
The second she’s on the sidewalk, the paparazzi swarm like vultures, their cameras clicking, voices shouting over each other.
“Ashlyn! Over here!”
“Are you really dating them?”
“What’s the deal with Todd and the band?”
Her steps falter, and I see her take a steadying breath. Her scent reaches through the crack in my window even from this distance—strawberries and cream, sweet and soft, but there’s a faint tang of nerves underneath. She wasn’t wearing blockers last night, and it’s clear she isn’t wearing them now.
I’m out of the car and up the curb to her side before I can think twice, coffee in hand. The paparazzi barely notice me at first, too focused on her, but as I push through the crowd, their attention shifts. The noise level spikes, their questions turning frantic.
“Is it true?”
“Todd, are you and Ashlyn together?”
“What does the band think about this?”
Ashlyn turns toward the commotion, her lips parting when she sees me. For a moment, she looks stunned, like she wasn’t expecting me to show up. Her perfume spikes, that sweet, familiar mix swirling with something warmer now, something that makes my pulse race.
I don’t stop to think. I step up to her, sliding my free hand to her waist, and before she can say a word, I kiss her.
The crowd erupts, cameras flashing so fast the lights blur together, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way her body softens against mine, the way her scent shifts. The strawberries-and-cream pheromones flood the air, richer now, sweeter, laced with the unmistakable heat of desire. She likes this—likes me—and the realization sends a bolt of satisfaction through me.
When I finally pull back, she’s breathless, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. Her perfume spikes again, nervous energy threading through the sweetness, but I can still feel the effect I have on her.
I hand her the coffee, my hand brushing hers. “Good morning,” I say, my voice low enough that only she can hear.
Her sunglasses slip down her nose as she stares at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and something else—something I can't name yet. “Todd,” she starts, but the paparazzi drown her out.
“What does this mean for the show?”
“Are you two really a couple?”
“What about the rest of the band?”
I step closer, shielding her from the crowd, keeping my hand firm at her waist. “We should go,” I murmur, and she nods, still clutching the coffee like it’s a lifeline.
I make a path through the paparazzi, keeping her close, and pull open the passenger door of my car. She slides in without a word, clutching the coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. I don’t waste time, circling to the driver’s side and sliding into the darkened interior.
The engine hums to life, but my focus isn’t on the road. It’s on her. She stares straight out the windshield, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the coffee cup that her knuckles are white. Her silence is louder than the chaos we just left behind, but her scent? That gives her away.
Strawberries and cream, sweet and natural, completely unblocked. My hands tighten on the steering wheel, the urge to growl bubbling low in my chest, but I manage to swallow it down.
“You’re not wearing blockers,” I say.
She presses her lips together, finally rolling them between her teeth like she’s considering how to answer. Her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, and for a moment, I think she might deny it, even though we can both smell her. But then she exhales, her voice low and hesitant. “Shelley said it would make it more convincing… a pack would want their omega to be natural.”
Shelley. Of course. I clench my jaw, squinting at her profile, trying to read her expression when she still won’t meet my gaze. Her scent swirls in the air between us, warm and unfiltered, and I can’t stop the way it makes my pulse quicken.
Convincing? Sure. That’s what Shelley would say. But the fact that I can actually smell her—really smell her—without any blockers dulling it? It’s intoxicating. She’s still our scent match, no matter how many years have passed, and being able to breathe her in like this is heaven.
“You didn’t have to,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
She finally glances at me, her eyes cautious but searching. “I know.”
