Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

The garage full of his toys—cars and motorcycles—was just as large, if not slightly larger than the house. Though the boy may have had humble roots, it’s clear that he’s moved up in the world since joining Pack Silver.

An almost Cowboy Cinderella flavor. Maybe someday Magnus will make a movie about it.

“You take a shower and get comfortable, I’m going to make sure we have the best burgers, fries, and shakes that any Malt shop could offer. Then I figured we could watch some old movies with the projector on the side of the house from the backseat of the Caddy.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, passing me a thick terry cloth robe and extra towels.

“Just like a drive in.” He winks at me.

“Sol Cooper, are you gonna ask me to go steady?” I bat my lashes and squeal like a schoolgirl, winning another laugh from Sol.

“Well, I haven’t given you your gift yet.” He leans in through the door frame to the massive bathroom, and I contemplate asking him to join me in the spacious two-person shower just behind me—but remind myself that I only have one more “as needed” supplemental suppressant I can take today before I’ve maxed my dosage.

“If it’s not your varsity jacket or your class ring, I don’t want it.” I toss the towels down on a nearby teak bench and start the shower, eager to get out of my sandy bathing suit and coverup.

“Ha ha, very funny. Now—” Suddenly Sol ducks forward to playfully swat my ass.

“Git that ass in the shower, Sunshine—we’ve got a Malt shop and a sock hop to hit before we make out in the backseat,” he barks in his hasty retreat from the bathroom, and before I know it—I’m under the shower spray scrubbing the sand away.

Though the tiny smack on my ass hadn’t even been explicitly sexual, I had to make myself cum with the handheld showerhead at least twice before I could handle basic functions again. Even though I took a lukewarm shower, all of me feels warm and buzzy as if I’ve just stepped out of a blistering hot jacuzzi and my skin still feels a little tight.

Still, I decide to power through.

I slip into my favorite cotton sundress; faded raspberry, smocked bodice, cap sleeves, silk cotton blend, with a hem that falls just at the knee. Soft, flowy and begs to be touched.

I found Sol in the kitchen, looking like James Dean in a pair of tall skinny jeans, a crisp white t-shirt, and a pair of engineer boots.

The two of us giggle like teenagers over our malt-shop dinner, telling stories of growing up in tiny backwater towns—sharing some of the sordid details of our redneck pasts that some of the others in the pack would never fully understand.

As it turns out, while Julian and Magnus are by far the most accomplished chefs of the group—Sol is no slouch. He is also an excellent cook and milkshake maker for that matter.

I slurp down the very last of my chocolate malt with dreamy delight before we settle into the backseat of a fabulous pink Cadillac Fleetwood—just like Elvis. I think about teasing him—asking him how many damn cars he has, and if I’m going to have to compete with them for his attention, but then I see the popcorn. I see the candy and the blankets and the little tin of breath mints on the dashboard—all set to watch Maison Blanche projected on the side of Sol’s house, as if we were actually at the drive-in.

Our own personal lover’s lane.

Barely two minutes after the opening credits of the film has rolled, and Sol and I are already necking in the back seat like a pair of teenagers.

His strong, calloused hands caress my back as we kiss—my fingers woven through his hair.

After what feels like an eternity, Sol breaks the kiss—sweeping a cloud of my flaxen curls out of my face to lock eyes with me.

“Now, Daphne—I’m not suggesting we go all the way, but—” Sol begins, and I can’t help but laugh when he says ‘all the way’ like we’re teenagers in the 50’s.

“But I do propose that we christen your brand new Caddy with a little heavy petting.”

I’m so caught up on the idea of getting our hands and mouths on each other that I almost miss that he slipped the bit about ‘your brand new Caddy’ into the proposition.

I stiffen and push away from him, eyes suddenly darting around and taking in details of the pristine white leather interior, the chromed accents, the iconic rosy pink and creamy white of the paint job.

Without meaning to, my Tennessee comes out of my mouth, “Sol Cooper you better not be telling tall tales!” I shout, sounding more like my Meemaw than I’d care to admit.

“Unless the lady declines my generous gift!” Sol throws up his hands in surrender.

“Though I will say, I thought that I would be safe presenting you with a mere automobile after his directorship bestowed you with a multi-million dollar beachfront property,” Sol laughs through his own defense.

“Hush your mouth!” I snap, jokingly—pushing Sol back against the bench seat and straddling him.

“First of all, it’s an oceanside, fuck palace—you peasant,” I correct him, drawing a raucous peal of laughter from him before I crush his mouth with mine.

“And second, you better get to pleasin’ Mr. Cooper—or I’ll kick you out of my car.” I kiss him again, rolling my hips downward.