Page 2 of Angel Boy
"You're staring," Xavier says, but there's no heat in it. Just this fond exasperation that makes my heart do stupid things.
"You're pretty," I shoot back, grinning when he rolls his eyes. "What? It's true. All brooding and mysterious in your black ensemble. Very sexy bodyguard chic." My mind shoots to moments when we’d tumble into my penthouse as I peeled off that button-down and licked every last line of his tattoos. He’d yank my head back before undoing the clasps of my outfit with his teeth like a fucking animal before pounding into me and making me want to call him mine.
My cheeks pink at the memory as I hide behind my sandwich, nearly choking on it before I down half the fizzy water. That only makes it worse as I cough around bread and turkey, Xavier still not coming closer out of respect for my relationship with Ryker.
Sometimes, I wish he would break the rules, but it would cost us both everything we’ve worked for, more so him than me. So, I don’t comment on it, finishing up the sandwich and standing up to inspect my outfit. I grumble at the little pooch of a belly thathangs over the waistband, the Omega biology that makes us a little plumper than the other designations.
I slap a hand against my stomach, watching the skin jiggle a little bit. "God, I'm getting fat.”
Xavier laughs at that, the sound much warmer than I remember. I’m probably just lonely and touch-starved as he tightens his arms around his chest. "Please. I love you with your extra curves and fluff."
"Xavier..."
He runs a hand over his face, and I catch that tortured look flickering through his hazel eyes—the one that's been there more and more lately. "Fuck, sorry, babe. Bad habits die hard, I guess."
But he said it. He fucking said it, and now it's hanging in the air between us like we didn’t both hear it. I down the rest of my water and then head into the main bedroom to grab my coat from the rack. It’s unusually cold in the penthouse, everything all marble and glass and expensive furniture that Ryker picked out to match his "aesthetic." It's supposed to be my home, but it feels more like a museum. The only place that actually feels lived-in is my nest, tucked away in the bedroom corner where I spend ninety percent of my time.
If Xavier didn't bring me food, I probably wouldn't eat at all. There's something deeply fucked up about that, but I try not to think about it too hard.
"Black or green heels, babe?" Xavier asks, moving toward my walk-in closet.
"Silver," I call back, flopping onto the massive bed that I never sleep in because it's too big and too cold and too much like sleeping in a hotel. "I want sparkles tonight. Maybe it'll help me smile." His soft laugh drifts back to me, and I can't help but grin. "You know what else might help me smile? If Rykeractually showed up to one of my performances for once. But hey, miracles happen, right?"
There’s no laugh this time, and when Xavier emerges from the closet with my silver strappy heels, his expression has gone all dark and broody.
I extend one foot toward him. It's become this little ritual of ours—him helping me into my shoes before shows. He’s always so gentle, his fingers moving with a grace that shouldn’t be possible for an Alpha, like I'm something precious instead of just a commodity to be managed.
Tonight, though, his touch lingers. His fingertips graze my ankles as he fastens the delicate straps, and fuck, it's been so long since anyone touched me with any kind of tenderness that my head falls back automatically, a soft gasp escaping my lips.
"You need to call my brother," Xavier says, his voice rough enough to almost be a growl. He doesn’t look up at me as his fingers wrap around one of my ankles. The warmth is more than I can handle, my Omega needing more. "An Omega can't be neglected, babe. It's not healthy."
Tears gather in the corner of my eyes as I rapidly try to blink them back, refusing to dwell on the fact that Ryker and Xavier arebrothers. How can one of them be so cold and distant, and the other one so considerate? How can my heart yearn for one and despise the other? How can I stare into the same sets of hazel eyes and swoon for my guard while biology tells me I’m supposed to love the CEO? "We both know he won't answer." My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate how pathetic I sound. "You touch me."
It's barely a whisper, but I know he hears it. He stiffens but doesn’t remove his hands from my feet. In fact, he stares there a few seconds longer, the slight squeeze of his grip drawing another gasp from my lips. It’s pitiful that just so brief a touch has me heating up from the inside, but Xavier isn’t wrong. AnOmega can’t be neglected, not for as long as I have. If I were honest with myself, I might have realized almost a month ago that I was suffering from a rejected bond.
Ryker might have ‘accepted’ me, but with words only. Nothing in the way he carried himself showed me that he truly wanted to spend forever with me. It was all just for looks, and my body has started to feel it.
Xavier stands slowly before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. It feels like my heart is being strangled as I fight the urge to reach for him and never let go, a tear falling down my cheek.
"If I could, I would," he murmurs against my skin. "But doing so would destroy us both. I know deep down you have a conscience, and it would eat you alive."
He pulls back, and there's so much longing in his eyes that it makes my chest tight. But in the next second, he steps away, putting that careful distance between us again, and I want to scream.
I’m supposed to want my scent match, I tell myself again.
"Come on, hotshot," he muses, forcing that easy smile back onto his face. "Let's get that sexy ass on stage and show them what Angel-Boy can do, hmm?"
Even though hearing that name makes me want to disappear, I nod and follow him out. Because what else am I supposed to do? This is my life now—performing for crowds who see a fantasy, managed by people who see dollar signs, dating someone who sees me as property.
The only person who sees me as just Angel is the one person I can't have.
Fucking perfect.
Xavier
I watch from my usual spot in the shadows, arms folded across my chest, eyes scanning the crowd even though most of my attention is locked on the figure moving beneath the stage lights. Angel's doing his signature routine—all innocent smiles and sultry movements that drive the crowd absolutely fucking wild—but I can see what they can't.
The exhaustion hidden beneath layers of carefully applied makeup. The way his movements are just a fraction too slow, a beat behind where they usually are. The crowd eats it up anyway, screaming his name like he's some kind of god, but they don't know him like I do. They don't see that the spark in those bright blue eyes has dimmed to almost nothing over the past two months.
