Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

“Hey, look who it is!” Amos chuckles warmly, extending a fist to me for a friendly bump as soon as they’re within arm’s length.

“Amos, you handsome devil! You better be taking good care of Miss Dale.” I smile warmly and offer both Amos and Daphne what I hope is a charming, roguish wink.

My heart skips a beat as Daphne’s face lights up, her soft, golden hands reaching out to grip my forearm affectionately.

“Oh my gosh, Sol!” she gushes, and in the blink of an eye, she’s nuzzling my shoulder.

“Thank god you’re here! I was just telling Amos that the only reason I didn’t look like a total rank amateur on the screentest in Vancouver was because of your vital tutelage,” she chimes happily.

It’s not lost on me that Amos’s genuinely delighted and warm expression has faded to the two-dimensional fake smile of a true film professional as he watches Daphne and I together.

Though I know it’s not gentlemanly of me, I am secretly not-so-secretly delighted to see him so disheartened. More likely than not, this means that Pack Silver is currently leading Pack Dubois in terms of Daphne’s interest.

“Well, I guess that’s awfully lucky then.” Amos gives his thin, perfunctory smile, already taking a step back from Daphne.

“Since Mr. Cooper here is all ready and rarin’ to go, I’ll leave you two to get ready for that screentest.” He gives a curt nod of his head, smile, all but evaporated.

“Benton will chew my ass out if I’m late to our business lunch with the investors, I’ve already dawdled too long.” He pantomimes a weak salute, to which Daphne and I respond with our own lukewarm dismissals and half-hearted waves.

I resist the urge to blurt out that neither I nor the rest of my packmates have been able to stop thinking about our brunch and the unexpectedly hot and heavy game of spin-the-bottle we shared the day before.

Instead, I offer Daphne my hand, and help her up into the saddle. Moose nickers with approval once she’s seated and gently stroking his dark mane.

I get it boy, she’s real pretty–not to mention the gal knows how to give a kiss. I think to myself, admiring how natural Daphne looks for her second time seating a horse ever.

It’s right then and there—with Daphne Dale’s mega-watt smile sparkling back at me, her ocean blue eyes softly focused on Moose, and golden hands moving gently over Moose’s chestnut red coat—that I am decided. I’m not going to lose this game. I’m not going to let Pack Silver miss out on our perfect match. We’re not gonna give up this perfect ray of sunshine omega to Amos and the boys of Pack Dubois—no matter how much I respect those handsome sons of bitches. We are certainly not going to lose to Johnny Angel and the rest of those sleaze balls in Lost Daze.

She’s going to be ours.

With Magnus, Cosmo, and Julian all busily preparing for pre-production on Magnus’ latest, it takes more than my usual convincing to get everyone to haul it out to The Ranch—the Mid Century Modern single-story pied-à-terre complete with rustic, cactus heavy landscaping and a pristine cement pond in the La Crescenta foothills that Cosmo purchased for me early into my courtship with Pack Silver.

It takes the dire pronouncement of an emergency pack meeting—along with the promise of barbeque and lots of cold alcoholic beverages to get everyone to agree to make the trek out on a ‘work night’.

Magnus and Julian are the first to arrive, having left the haberdashers with feather and fabric samples along with Julian’s voluminous costuming portfolio for Magnus’s upcoming contractually obligated commercial studio flick to sit in standstill traffic for nearly two hours.

Anticipating their understandably foul moods, I immediately ply the pair of them with a prickly pear martini for Julian and a sizable, hand-rolled sticky indica blunt for Magnus.

While neither of them are thrilled with being called to a roundtable at my place on a Monday night, both respect the fact that I never call a pack meeting unless it really is a necessity.

“I have a feeling I know what this is about.” Magnus arches a brow, the blunt already pinched between his lips as he pats down his pockets for a lighter.

“Hmm, me too,” Julian hums innocently, taking a sip of his frosty drink with a little sigh of pleasure.

“Well, I should hope so,” I laugh, already busying myself with tending the chunks of wood charcoal in the metal starter chimney I’ve been preparing for the grill.

Julian and Magnus seat themselves in a pair of retro metal frame, plastic weave patio chairs–eyes fixed cautiously on me.

“I mean, part of me wants to hold off and not have to repeat myself once Cosmo gets here…” I begin, dumping the glowing hunks of charcoal into the grill below.

“But,” Julian drawls, eyeing me meaningfully over the rim of his cocktail glass.

“But,” I sigh, picking up where Julian has left off: “I’m also a little worried that our favorite little black rain cloud is potentially gearing up for a little self-sabotage where Miss Dale is involved.”

Magnus blows a few smoke rings before nodding sagely.

“You’re not wrong there,” he agrees.

“Cos was standing there covered in her juices trying to play off how bad of an idea he thought it was to continue courting her, even though you could practically smell the desperation on him,” Magnus scoffs, taking another large puff.