Page 18 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
2 A very handsome boy
3 I have to go
4 I love you. See you later
5 Good luck
5
Hunter
Kim insistedon everyone getting ready at Ash’s house this afternoon. She says she can’t trust one of us not to wander off or oversleep or generally fuck everything up for tonight. We’re up for an award so she needs us in our seats at the right time, not off our heads and looking like the rock gods we’re meant to be.
Which is why I’m standing in front of the mirror in one of Ash’s guest bedrooms inspecting the outfit the stylist picked for me. I hate the shitty stuff they make me wear when I’m posing as Hunter fromThe Pack. Ripped jeans, leather jackets, designer t-shirts. And it’s always fucking black.
Black suits Ash. Black suits West and Trey. Those guys can pull off a pair of leather pants. I look fucking stupid. Like I’m ill or anemic or something.
The omegas – Layla, Ruby and now Isabella too – are all being pampered in another section of the house. Which doesn’t mean I can’t smell my fake-girlfriend. Her scent seems to curl through the house aiming straight for my nose and setting every nerve alight in my body.
A pair of knuckles rap against the door and it swings open before I can answer. I watch in the mirror as all three of my bandmates come barreling in and slump down on the bed.
They’re already dressed, their hair styled.
“You wanna be late?” Ash asks, eyeing up my untouched clothes hanging on the back of the wardrobe door.
Late. Late sounds great. So late I don’t have to do the whole ridiculous red carpet thing. The red carpet thing with my fake-girlfriend. A fake-girlfriend I haven’t stopped thinking about all fucking week. I can’t get her scent out of my nose or the sound of her sexy little giggle out of my ears.
I’m pretty sure this is fucked up. This is a business arrangement and lusting after this girl is the kind of thing dirty old men do.
But late isn’t going to be an option. Not with this lot on my case. I pull my t-shirt over my head and shake the clean shirt off its hanger.
“For someone who’s supposedly loved up, you look fucking miserable,” West observes.
I scowl at him in the mirror. Are we doing this again? Now? They’ve already grilled me as a group, and individually, about the whole Isabella thing.
By the end of their interrogations, I’m surprised I could remember my own name, let alone that of my fake-girlfriend’s. However, despite the mental gymnastics involved, they don’t seem to suspect the truth, although they find the whole situation hilarious.
Why my love life is so Goddamn amusing to my bandmates, to the entire world, is beyond me.
“It’s Isabella’s first time in the spotlight. I’m worried about how she’ll cope,” I mumble.
“Then why did you invite her?” West asks.
I yank down my blue jeans and step into the black pair, working out my next lie as I do.
“It would be shitty not to, wouldn’t it? Especially as you’re taking your women.”
“Romantic, man.” West laughs. “Remind me how you convinced this one to date you again?”
“I didn’t have to convince her,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “I asked her out.”
“Don’t worry,” Trey tells me, passing over the leather bracelets the stylist has paired with my outfit, “we’ll look out for her. She’ll be fine. Besides, this woman actually seems like she has more spunk than your usual type.”
“I don’t have a type,” I say, although I think that if I did, it would be exactly like Isabella: small and curvy with those big brown eyes and a round ass. “How do you know she has spunk?” I ask Trey, kicking my feet into the heavy boots sitting by the bed.
“I talked to her a few times. She’s funny, man.”
I'm not surprised, Trey’s the type who will talk to anyone and will have their whole life story down in a matter of minutes. I’m going to have to avoid him for the next month in case he has information about my fake-girlfriend that could trip me up.
