Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

“But I’m with Julian—I’d like to see you keep it green and figure out a work-life balance, especially if I’m ever planning on being in the life part of that balance.” She gives Magnus a wink, moving on to face Julian.

“I forget to do basic human things all the time. I can’t tell you how many instances of forgotten meals or overlooked bedtimes I could have probably avoided if there was a voice other than my own reminding me to do those things.” She laughs covering up a nervous sound.

“Not to mention, I’m already going to need details on this ‘pampering’ of which you speak.” She regains her confidence by making a joke.

Just like Sol. I realize. One of his most common deflections, humor.

“Nine times out of ten, I don’t eat my pizza crust. Not unless it’s from my favorite place back home,” Daphne explains plaintively to Sol.

“I won’t eat raw carrots, and cilantro tastes like soap to me,” she continues apologetically.Sol is already quietly laughing under his breath.

“As for the hair? If I end up with this pack? Y’all will have to invest in some of those heavy-duty stainless-steel drain protectors and a new fancy vacuum—because it sounds like Sol’s already pushing the limits of your current hair-collection and cleanup-capacity. I’m likely to double, if not triple, those numbers.” She nods gravely—Magnus and Julian join in with muffled laughter.

I notice the corners of my mouth twitching upward. Instead of stopping the smile, I let it start to spread slowly across my face.

“Besides the hair, my dietary picadillos, nearly crippling ADHD, executive function struggles, my penchant for the devil’s lettuce, my crybaby nature, and my complete inexperience as an omega at nearly thirty—there’s also the small matter of my red tabby, Rupert—who is a non-negotiable part of the deal. He must at least tolerate any of my potential suitors.”

“Easy, we all like cats—no one is allergic.” The words leave my lips automatically. I can see the other members of my pack sporting looks of surprise after I’ve spoken. Not because what I’ve said is untrue—but because I haven’t found a reason to shoot her down. Yet.

That’s when Daphne Dale turns her big saucer ocean eyes on me, doing her best to steady a trembling bottom lip.

“And of course, last but not least–” she actually winces before she says the next part aloud, “If you were to pull up to my shitty little apartment right now, you’d see all my movie posters hung with blue sticky tack in my hallway–most notably the 24”x36” glossy of you from, Gravitation.” She looks over her shoulder pointedly at Magnus. It was our first film together, after all.

“And yes, there are ugly greasy smudges on the face from where I’ve kissed it for luck nearly every morning for the past five years,” she blurts out, her face nearly plum with embarrassment as she finishes.

Julian has actually has to cover his mouth, a stifled snort escaping him despite his best efforts.

Magnus seems completely unphased.

Sol, if my eyes didn’t deceive me, looked more than a little jealous.

A giddy little rush runs through me, like the very first weightless moments of a big roller coaster drop.

I’d like to think I’m not Narcissus—gazing into his own reflection longingly, only to drown in the waters that bore the likeness of his own beautiful face. It’s hard to deny though, that I’ve gotten used to the fans, the magazines, all the trappings of being a famous movie star—a ‘sex symbol’.

So why does it make my heart speed up, and my stomach flip over like I’m riding the Cyclone when Daphne Dale says she’s been kissing my damn picture?

There are a few more moments of tense silence before her sparkling voice fills the room again.

“Please, someone say something–so I know for sure whether or not I’ve irrevocably fucked this up,” she laughs, unconvincingly.

I’m struggling for a way to regain control of the situation when Magnus, ever the director, pushes to the forefront and passes Daphne the half smoked spliff.

“Since we’ve gotten all that out in the open, and no one is running for the hills—yes?” Magnus gives me a wolfish grin and a wink—allowing me a moment to voice any potential concerns.

I hold my tongue.

“I propose a simple chemistry test.” He gives Daphne a wicked smirk before continuing his explanation.

“We’ve all been sniffing around one another, rattling some skeletons in the closet.” Magnus begins to circle us slowly, finding his way to the head of the brunch table.

“How about a little game, hm?” He lifts the nearly empty champagne bottle from the ice bucket and tips out the remainder of its contents into his and Daphne’s crystal flutes—brandishing the spent bottle knowingly before passing it to Daphne with a devilish grin.

“Aha, a little—spin the bottle?” she titters nervously, taking another generous slug of her champagne before anyone can reply.

“I mean, it’s very high school. It just screams, ‘boy girl party’,” Julian chortles.

“But I confess, I’m delighted by the prospect,” Julian adds conspiratorially, his eyes alight with mischief.