Page 1 of Angel Boy
Angel
I slip the lace straps of a ridiculously gorgeous green number up my arms, the velvety fabric cool against my pale skin. It's one of my favorites—hugs me in all the right places and makes my blue eyes pop like crazy. It makes me look like a whole snack and a half. But tonight? Tonight, I can't even muster up the usual thrill I get from getting ready for a show.
I flop back dramatically onto the mountain of silk pillows in my nest, letting out a frustrated little growl that would probably make my fans go absolutely feral if they could hear it. God, Ryker's latest "image protection" rules are driving me up the fucking wall. No more spontaneous social media posts. No more interacting with fans after shows. No more wearing anything he deems "too revealing"—which is hilarious considering my entire brand is built on being a tease.
The one man in the entire world that people keep telling me I’m supposed to fall in love with—my scent match, a rare thing these days—is the one person who keeps trying to keep me contained in a box.
AndAngel-boydoesn’t belong in a box.
Neither do I.
A knock on my door has me lifting my head, and I swear my heart does this stupid little skip when I see Xavier leaning against the entrance. Arms crossed over that broad chest, all deliciously intimidating in his usual black everything. His hazel eyes do that quick scan thing—checking me over like he always does, making sure I'm okay, that I've eaten, that I'm not pushing myself too hard.
Me? I just stare, unashamed, taking in every delicious part of him from the cropped haircut to the tattoos peeking out from beneath his collar, adorning his bronze skin, to that class ring on his left hand that he’s worn since high school.
"Hey, hotshot," he teases, and fuck me if that nickname doesn't make me want to purr every single time. "You ready?"
I let out a pathetic sigh and sink deeper into my pillows. "Can I just cancel?" With Xavier, I can be me. Just an Omega. Just his friend. Just the boy who grew up too fast and now has to perform for thousands of people every day.Bleh.
The silence worries me as I shake myself back to reality, suddenly realizing that I fucked up. Of course, Xavier wouldcatch onto whatever is going on in my head. He always does. He’s theonlyone who does. My own fucking scent match calls to check in every few days, but my security detail?Observant as fuck.
His whole posture shifts, arms uncrossing as he steps forward, concern written all over those sharp features. "Hey, babe, are you okay?"
But then he stops, and I can't help the little whine that escapes me. Ever since I started this whole charade with Ryker, ever since I had to put my friends-with-benefits thing on hold with Xavier to "maintain my image," Xavier won't come close enough to touch.
And Christ, I miss it. I miss his hands in my hair, miss falling asleep wrapped around him in this very nest, miss those late-night drives to hole-in-the-wall restaurants where we'd talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up. I miss being touched like I matter, like I'm more than just Angel-Boy the brand.
Now? Now, I get Ryker's cold handshakes at public events and maybe—maybe—if I'm really lucky, he'll hold my hand for the cameras. But even then, it feels like a business transaction. Like I'm just another asset he's protecting. Whoever told me scent matches were special fuckinglied.Worse off, my Omega, my instincts, hell even my hormones keep telling me that I want Ryker, that Ishouldwant Ryker.
Even if I don’t.
"I'm fine," I lie, sitting up and running my hands through my hair. "Just tired. Maybe I'll ask Carter for a break or something."
I huff out a laugh because we both know that's not happening. My manager, Carter, would probably have an aneurysm if I suggested taking time off during peak season. All he sees are dollar signs and sponsorship deals, not the fact that I haven't felt like myself in months.
Xavier reaches behind him, and I watch as he produces a small sandwich and a bottle of water. My favorite turkey and swiss on that weird grain bread I like, and the fancy sparkling water that costs way too much but tastes like heaven.
I glare at the offering, even though my stomach chooses that exact moment to growl. "Xavier—"
"I wouldn't be doing my job if I let you walk out of here without something to eat.” The Alpha tilts his head to the side, daring me to fight him on it.
"You're not my mom," I sass, but I'm already reaching for the sandwich because he's right and we both know it. I've been running on caffeine and spite for the past three days.
"No, but I'm your security detail," he says, settling against the doorframe like he's planning to stay there until I eat. "And you can't perform if you pass out from hunger." He always gently pushes in something to remind me of where we stand, of the line we shouldn’t cross. He’sjustmy security detail. I’mjusta performer. We’rejustfriends.
Ignoring the spike of pain in my chest, I tear off a healthy bite and nearly moan at how perfect it is. Xavier always pays attention to the details. He remembers that I hate mayo, that I like my turkey sliced thick, that I'm weird about the crust being cut off even though I'm a grown-ass adult. He’ll be someone’s perfect Alpha, one day.
"Besides," he continues, and there's this teasing lilt to his voice that makes me look up at him, "your fans would never forgive me if Angel-Boy didn't show up tonight."
"Ugh, don't call me that," I groan, flopping back again. "I'm so fucking tired of being Angel-Boy. Can't I just be Angel for like, five minutes?" Angel-Boy started as just a little gimmick, a few modeling contracts here and there. Someone called me Angel-Boy, and it stuck, the same way that the employees callme ‘pretty boy’. I didn’t mind it then. I felt special, adored, the center of attention.
It feels different now.
Xavier lets out a soft sound, an almost saddened purr that cuts deep. "You're always just Angel to me," he says quietly.
Fuck, why does he have to say shit like that? Why does he have to make it so hard to remember all the reasons we can't be together? I'm scent-matched to Ryker. Xavier's contract explicitly forbids any romantic involvement. My entire career depends on playing the part of the perfect Omega who found his Alpha match.
But lying here in my nest, wearing my favorite outfit, eating food Xavier brought me because he knows I forget to take care of myself… this feels more real than anything I've done with Ryker.
