Carrying the trays with food, I turn to look for our group.
Salt and I sit down at a table with Evan, Roman, and several other people Evan has already introduced us to.
Of course, the topic of the day is Shane’s pregnancy. Shane and Jeff sit together at an honorary table, where the best cuts from the grill are clearly being served.
Shane seems strangely happy, almost as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. I cannot tell whether Jeff knew about Drax at all, or whether he agreed.
From time to time, I glance in their direction. In a way, I feel sorry for them. If the option that Shane was forced into this arrangement is true, then it will stay with him and make proper bonding difficult. They would be building their relationship on a lie.
I also find myself thinking about the morals of the program’s overseers. How consensual is this whole mess, really?
I remember those strange words from Dr. Lee, suggesting that if the rules weren’t followed here, they could enforce certain procedures. It sounded vague, yet eerily so.
Roman and Evan also mentioned the gossip that it’s betternot to refusehere, or things could get unpleasant.
The thought that, after a certain period of stay without becoming pregnant, betas are presented with a one-way option to have sex with Drax fills me with a shudder. The other option being kicked out of the program?
Well, after all, Miller threatened to send us back to the ferry port, didn’t he? And we onlyresisted mildly. They don’t mess around here, that’s for sure.
So disturbing, all of it.
Sadly, I have no idea how I could confirm it without asking Shane outright.
Salt must be thinking along similar lines, because his gaze also keeps drifting toward Jeff and Shane’s table. He drinks from his mug, the level dropping quickly. But I rarely have the urge to drink, and I’m not in a hurry to change that. I eat one steak, then another. Alphas grow until they are twenty-one, sometimes even a bit longer, and I have always had a strong appetite.
More and more couples, loosened up by the atmosphere and the alcohol, drift onto the dance floor.
Meanwhile, Salt is already finishing his third mug. The rest of the people at our table are nowhere near keeping up, so I glance at him with mild surprise. After barely half an hour, he is already properly hammered.
"Salt, maybe slow down a little," I murmur quietly. "You’re going to fall off that stool."
Salt lets out a burp, then a hiccup, and says,
"I feel like dancing. Wanna sway around on the floor a bit, stud?" He drags out the words in a distinctly drunken way.
"Sorry, I don’t dance. Not my thing."
"Seriously? That’s disappointing. I like to hop around," he mutters.
Then, unexpectedly, Roman joins in. He leans forward slightly and says, "Maybe you can dance with me. What do you say?"
"Sure," Salt answers, not looking at me.
I stay quiet, even though I have a strange feeling that this is not the right moment for any of this.
Both betas stand up and head for the dance floor. At the moment, they are the only beta plus beta pair out there. The rest are couples from earlier unit numbers, at least as far as I can tell.
Salt and Roman start out with fast, lively music. They bounce around and clown a little, loosely holding hands. Roman is a bit taller than Salt, around six foot two, so he leads. He lifts their joined hands, making Salt spin, wobbling slightly as he does.
I keep my eyes on Salt. To be fair, even though he is quite drunk, he still moves well. There is a pleasant lightness and flexibility in his motions that sends a faint shiver through my abdomen, sliding downward toward my groin.
That is when I notice that Salt did not wear his flattener tonight. Through the thin fabric of his white tank top, the raised outlines of his nipples are clearly visible.
Great. Now that I have noticed them, my gaze keeps drifting back there. His slim hips sway to the music, Salt lifts his arms, and his bare, shaved armpits draw my eyes in as well. His tank top rides up, revealing a flat, pale stomach with subtle definition and a slim waist.
His body really does look like a work of art, and the way he moves… damn. Am I imagining it, or is it getting more and more erotic?
For one second, my gaze slides sideways, toward Sidorov. He’s staring at my dancing beta with a strange, dark smirk, like a shadowed version of Miller’s and Pip’s usual grins, only far more unsettling. I shake off the unpleasant feeling quickly. I refuse to let myself get distracted when something far more tempting is moving across the dance floor.
