Page 34 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“Because you don’t pay me for this shit.”
“Tell me: what do we pay you for? I’m pretty sure it’s not yelling at us and hounding our asses twenty-four-seven.”
“You do pay me to do that actually. It’s pretty explicit in the job description. But organizing your love life? No.”
“This isn’t my love life. It’s fake, remember?”
“Yeah, but no one else knows that, do they, smartass? You’ve got to do another date and this time you can organize it.”
I groan. I hate dates and I hate dating. Endless amounts of small talk. Endless amounts of listening to crap I’m not interested in, or worse, endless questions from fans posing as would-be dates.
Although, I have to admit, the prospect of taking Isabella on a date isn’t as repellant. Hell, it even has unknown forces spinning in my stomach. Is that excitement?
I haven’t seen her since Saturday night and though that’s only a day ago, I’ve been thinking about her. I’ve been thinking about her a lot.
Her eyes. Her lips. Her laugh.
Her ass.
The way she danced. The way she flirted with me. The way she made me feel … lighter.
“Where do you think I should take her?”
“Like I told you, not my job.”
“Come on, Kim. Where do women like to go on dates?”
“Hunter, you think I’ve had time to date in the last five years?”
No, I don’t. But I doubt Kim is exactly celibate either. Frankly, I don’t want to know.
“When are we doing this date?”
“Again, Hunter, not my job. I’m not your go-between. Call the woman and arrange it yourself. Just make it this week and somewhere that someone with a phone will be so that your picture gets posted on the internet.”
I groan.
“It’s only for a month,” she reminds me.
Why does that feel far too long and far too short all at once?
* * *
I decideon a new restaurant in Hollywood. I've seen people raving about it online. I have to pull some strings and drop my name to get us a table for Thursday night, but I’m pretty confident she'll like it. It’s the kind of place people go to be seen. The food is expensive and gourmet, the decor dark and sophisticated, everything either black or dark gray, including the table, cutlery and napkins.
I rock up early and sit waiting for her at the table. The waiter knows who I am and makes several excuses to swing by, asking if I want a drink, water, an appetizer, asking if I want him to call my date.
I answer all these questions with a curt ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and a heavy scowl, but he either doesn’t take the hint or simply chooses to ignore it.
Finally, I spot the little omega racing along the sidewalk, eyes swinging about the place, clearly looking for the restaurant. She pauses outside the door and flattens her hands over her hair. It’s loose about her face and she’s wearing a dress with a sunset and palm tree design. She’s going to stand out against all the black in here.
Once she’s inside, a waiter leads her over to the table and I stand to greet her, a warm sensation blossoming through my chest when she smiles at me.
“Hey,” she says, reaching up on her tiptoes so I can kiss her soft cheek. As I do, I inhale, and her coconut scent sends my nervous system into chaos.
“No heels today,” I observe.
“No way. My feet are still in recovery. You’re lucky I made it here. I can barely walk.” She grins at me as she takes her seat on the opposite side of the table. I remember how close she’d been on Saturday night, locked to my side the entire evening. I have a desire to shove the table out of the way and drag her chair towards me.
