“Thank fuck,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Would be a righ’ shame to get fired me first night on the job, lettin’ the birthday girl pass out in a back alley.”
My eyes go wide as I take in his attire for the first time. A standard black and white waitstaff uniform hugs his tall frame, and a lit cigarette dangles from his fingers.
Before I can think better of it, my nose wrinkles. “Those things will kill you.”
He grins, and my stupid heart flutters. “’Aven’t you ‘eard? We’re all dyin’ anyway, Dove. Might as well ‘ave fun while we’re doin’ it.”
“I suppose…” I take a step back until my back meets the brick wall of the building. “But I’ve seen the fallout of a lung cancer diagnosis firsthand. Doesn’t seem like much fun to me.”
Just like it always does, the memory of my grandfather holding my hand in his hospice bed as the last of his breath left his lungs makes my stomach sink even deeper.
The mystery beta frowns, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.
Great. Now I’m even ruining the night of the waitstaff.
He joins me against the wall, keeping a few feet between us. “You don’t have to listen to me,” I offer weakly. “I just—”
“Nah, none o’that, Dove.” There’s amusement in his voice that has me looking over at him. “I’m more worried ‘bout what drove you out ‘ere to begin with.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Why did you leave your own fully-ca’ered, open bar, omega designation-slash-birthday par’y?” His eyes sparkle with mirth. “Would you rather I call you ‘Wren Messina, only daugh’er of Francesco Messina, owner of Alessandro, Northern California’s most luxurious fashion ‘ouse?’”
So he knowsexactlywho this party is for.
I clear my throat. “You can keep calling me Dove…if you tell me what to call you.”
Without warning, he turns to me, holding his hand out. “The name’s Theodore Leopold Covington the Third, m’lady.” He winks as I reach out and take his hand. It’s a little rough and callused, but it’s nothing but gentle as it envelopes mine. “But you can call me Teddy—all me friends do.”
A shiver runs through me as a tear stings my eye. “I don’t have any friends.”
Well, besides Kimberly, our maid, but I know it’s one based on necessity—not real friendship. I’m not deluded enough to think the people my parents abuse under their employment actually want to be friends with me.
“Can’t say that anymore.” He smiles gently, his free hand wiping a tear from my eye. “I’m your friend now.”
I almost laugh. It’s so ridiculous. My parents will never let me be friends with someone like Teddy, alpha or beta. It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-one now, my decisions never have, and never will be my own.
But…I can pretend for a little bit, right?
The gin burns as it coats my throat, and I do my best to suppress the cough that wants to expel from my chest.
I can’t be looking like a naive idiot in front of my new friend.
“Easy there,” Teddy’s hand runs over my exposed back in a soothing gesture. Goosebumps break out on my skin, making me feel exactly like the damn virgin that I am.
“I’m okay,” I choke out, my eyes watering. “I just…” wincing, I hand him back the flask, “I’ve never had gin before.”
Or any hard liquor, but it seems that I’m all about making poor decisions tonight. Which is precisely why Teddy and I are currently hiding in the back of the coat check room, sitting on the floor, sharing a flask of stolen gin.
When I hadn’t wanted to go back to the party, Teddy told me he knew the perfect place to hide. And so far, we haven’t had any surprise visitors.
He gives me a feral grin. “I’m ‘fraid I migh’ be a bad influence on you, Dove.”
My jaw drops, the gin going to my head as warmth spreads through my chest. “Excuse you. I’ll have you know that I drink plenty. I just haven’t had...gin. Specifically.”
“Oh really?” He arches a brow. “Enligh’en me then, won’t you? Wot’s your favorite cocktail?”
My cheeks heat. Teddy just said “cock”. Kind of.
