Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

I wanna be mad at him, but how can I when he does shit like this?

“Cos, for real—I’m serious.” I smile so he knows I’m not mad, but I change how I’m standing—legs spread nearly shoulder width apart, my arms crossed solidly over my chest to make clear my feelings on being distracted with any more affectionate ambushes.

Cosmo twists the top off of his cherry soda and gives us all a wounded look.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m happy to have an adult conversation but there’s no need to look like the hangman, the undertaker, and the grave digger!” he protests before taking a big swig of dark red fizz.

“You’re being so dramatic right now, Cosmatos,” Magnus sighs, and it’s as if I can see it raise Cosmo’s hackles.

“Magnus, I don’t know if that’s helpful right now,” Julian purrs, already trying to mitigate this pending disaster.

“Oh am I being dramatic? Isn’t that what you like about me, Herr Wagner?” Cosmo taunts.

You can tell we’re all wound tight as a spring, because Magnus stamps his blunt out purposefully, as if he’s about to expend the energy of getting up out of his lounge chair to remind him who the packmaster is—when I blurt out, “Cosmo, all of us—including you, like Daphne. Like—really like her. As in, I think it’s safe to say that we all absolutely want to begin courting her if she’s interested in our pack.”

Cosmo teeters on the edge of what may have been an attempt at a witty retort before collapsing back onto an outdoor sofa, somehow managing not to spill a drop of his cherry soda, though he has melted, boneless, onto the cushions.

“Yeah, and?” he grumbles, laying there like a sullen teenager trapped in the body of a Greek god.

I wanna throttle him, but that little strip of rippling abdominal muscle that’s showing where his t-shirt has ridden up, has me thinking of far more amorous things I’d like to do to him as soon as I lose my laser focus of control.

I shake off the momentary rush of hormones, and make my riposte.

“Well, first of all, you gotta cut this self-sabotaging bullshit. Stop trying to find something wrong with her or doing that whole ‘can’t hurt me if I don’t let you inside my shell’ slash ‘can’t leave me if I leave you first’ crap.”

He opens his mouth, but even Cosmo knows that he can’t meaningfully protest. Instead he remains silent, slugging down cherry soda—allowing me to continue.

“Second of all, we wanna announce our intention to court her like… ASAP. We’ve heard about some of the other pack’s she’s been getting introduced to, and even though rumor has it that we’re the obvious front runners-”

“We are?” Cosmo perks up, handily interrupting me.

I give him the death glare until he begins chugging cherry soda again.

“Even though we are the rumored front runners,” I repeat myself for emphasis, taking a step closer to him. “Magnus, Julian, and I have all agreed that we don’t much like the idea of gambling on this matter. We’d like to announce our intention to court Miss Daphne Dale straight away.”

Cosmo’s nostrils flare. Suddenly he snaps out of his tantrum and sits bolt upright. His expression, previously cartoonishly grim, is now stony and sober.

“Magnus, Julian—do you mind if I speak with Sol… Privately?”

“Please, do whatever you deem necessary,” Magnus dismisses us with a benevolent wave of his hand, kicking back in his chair and knocking back a good portion of his beer.

“Go, please. I can get out all my nervous energy with all of this.” Julian gestures to the grill and the waiting meat.

“When you’re done, we can eat—and if it’s still this fucking hot after dinner I am going to advocate for a post-meal skinny dip in the pool,” Julian sighs, fanning himself as he opens the lid to the grill.

I’m not in the mood for Cosmo’s histrionics tonight, but if a little extra support—a little more stroking of his ego is necessary to get him on board with beginning to court Daphne? It’s a price I’m willing to pay.

I follow him into the living room, across the house, all the way into to my—frequently our, bedroom.

I’ve barely closed the door behind me before he’s on me—pinning me against the heavy wood door—his face already nestled into the side of my neck, inhaling deeply.

“You saw her today,” he growls. It isn’t a question, it’s almost leveled as an accusation—his knee sliding between my legs, his hands already snaking their way through my hair.

“Pretty and sweet as ever,” I confirm with a happy sigh, goading him on.

“Fuck, Sol—the two of you together, that juicy honey sweet…” he trails off, the tip of his tongue tracing the pulse point in my neck ever so slightly.

“It’s like I can taste the two of you together already,” he rasps, his hands gripping the collar of my threadbare Hawaiian shirt with desperation.