Page 82 of The Rogues

Her eyes soften with sympathy. “Your skull one?”

“Yeah.”

She sits down beside me, her long legs spreading out in front of her. Her eyes trail over the ground where more of my clothes are sprawled out and snags on the notebook I left open in the fray.

“Are you writing new songs?”

I pick it up and give it to her despite the fear curdling in my stomach. She would never read my stuff without my permission, and my instincts are telling me it’s fine even though it makes me want to run into the closet and hide.

I keep my gaze off her while she’s reading, afraid of what I might see. I’m not usually the one for love songs, considering I’ve never been in a relationship or infatuated for long enough to dabble in it, but this new material is riddled with lustful omega undertones. I know she’s going to pinpoint it the second she reads the second verse.

Scents so sweet, an omega’s dream // with a bond I can’t complete

Life so simple, stereotypical // it forces me offbeat

She mouths the words as she reads, a habit she’s gotten used to that helps her better form a melody to Cleo’s and my lyrics. She looks over them intently, her soft honeysuckle scent staying in a baseline as she absorbs the material. When she’s done, she closes the notebook and looks over at me, a knowing look in her eye that makes me wince a little.

She doesn’t say anything about the topic of the song, and she definitely doesn’t ask me to confirm the suspicion that’s staring back at me in her gaze. She just smiles gently, ever the uplifting party.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

I still shrink in on myself. I’m ashamed that I have to hide this part of my life from my best friends. I know Lark would be nothing if not supportive, but a part of me isn’t ready for this secret to be out in the open yet. Our tiny bubble of courtship has been a retreat (reprieve?) from the stress of our day-to-day lives. It’s been a godsend being able to get to know these men without external expectation or our relationships being watched through a magnifying glass.

Once we take that step, it’ll just be another thing our labels can tear apart and use at their own expense, and I don’t want that. Not to mention how badly Cleo is going to react to the news.

“Thanks,” I say curtly.

“Your songs are always beautiful.” She sets the notebook aside and turns to me. “Just let me know when you want me to add some music to it. I think this one could be a fan favorite.”

I’d like to think that my omega instincts are normal and completely void of melodrama, but I don’t think I can say that anymore.

My skin sweats profusely inside all the material covering my body. I find myself huffing as I come up to the guys’ door, my body completely swamped in layer after layer of clothing. I put on four T-shirts, two long sleeves, three pairs of leggings under my jeans, and everything is being smothered in a comedically large winter jacket that I know I’ll be needing the further we go into Canada.

I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I told myself it was to move incognito. No one would suspect the Josie Rosewood to be covered in ten layers of clothing just to go down the hall of a hotel. If one of the girls were in the suite, I would have been screwed. Luckily, they’re all getting some much-needed rest after our concert tonight, so there wasn’t a peep.

The real reason is that I need to drop everything off with the guys. I thought maybe I’d put on an extra shirt and leave it on accident, hoping one of the guys would scoop it up and keep it safe in their suitcase.

Their suitcase… full of all the clothes that contain their delicious scent.

I needed it bad, and before I knew it, I was swimming in clothes, every article more desperate than the last to be covered in their scent. I tried to rationalize. Maybe I don’t need three pairs of leggings to have all of their scents, but then my omega rumbled an angry protest, and I realized it’s not up to me.

I am in the passenger seat right now, fully letting my unhinged omega take the wheel.

I knock as best I can, my arm only moving up a few inches before the bundle of sleeves keeps it from moving any further. If I wasn’t being driven by my instincts, I’d probably cry. This is so fucking embarrassing.

Why didn’t I just pack a bag? Why am I wearing them?

Their hotel door swings open, and their scents hit me in my fur cocoon, knocking me off my feet.

Ginger goodness on my tongue.

“Uh, hello?” Lennon says.

I peek from underneath the hood that’s covering my eyes. “Hi.”

He peers into the hood, his brows scrunching as amusement blooms over his face. “Josie?”

“Are you going to let me inside or not?”