Lucas shrugged and took a forkful of Salsa Verde. “The same way you got into child protection. I had an interest, a job came up, and I applied.”
Talking was good. Talking took Oliver’s mind off the heat creeping up his spine. “Yeah, but jobs like that are rare. Surely you had tough competition?”
“Of course,” Lucas replied, tipping his head to the side. “But I was a firearms sergeant at the time, and let’s just say the current Chief Inspector really,reallylikes tall men with guns.”
Oliver’s mouth hung open as he gave the alpha an incredulous look. “You let the DCI touch your gun, didn’t you?”
Lucas grinned, gazing at Oliver over the rim of his wineglass. “No comment,” he said, taking a long drink
Oliver couldn’t help but watch the way his throat moved as he swallowed. The slow constriction of tendons and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Blinking, he snapped his attention back to the food. “You’re more of a dark horse than I realised.” He stuck his fork into a long strand of fettuccine.
“It’s taken you this long to notice?” Lucas slid his own fork onto the dish. “And here I thought you were a qualified detective.”
Oliver glanced down at their forks, at how they waged war over the same piece of pasta. “Oh dear,” he said, twisting it in the sauce. “Are we about to have a Lady and the Tramp moment?”
Lucas smirked, jabbing the teeth of their utensils together. “You be the lady. I’ll be the tramp.”
Oliver’s nostrils flared, and he allowed the fork to be yanked out of his clammy hand. Heat swept up his body like a tidal wave, starting at the soles of his feet to the top of his scalp. Lucas dropped the entangled forks, head snapping up as his pupils engulfed his hazel irises.
That didn’t happen in Lady and the Tramp.
Oliver tugged at his collar, which was a mistake because the alpha’s gaze went straight to his reddening throat. “Reed,” Lucas whispered, lip peeling back over his teeth.
“I-I…oh…I-I should…oh my God,” he stuttered.
Oliver’s eyes darted around the room, instinctually scanning it for threats. When his gaze dragged back to Lucas, a sudden jolt of panic made his spine go rigid.An alpha…oh fuck, there was an alpha sitting a meter away from him.
Before he had time to stand, another wave of heat washed over him, sending a painful bolt of pressure straight to his lowerback. Clenching his teeth, he gripped the edge of the table and tried to look at anything other than Lucas. He was vaguely aware of the waitress placing something on the table.Fucking Christ, please don’t let it be more pasta.The beep of the card machine bringing him momentarily back to his senses.
“I’ll just get your receipt,” the waitress said, glancing at Oliver with a concerned expression.
Fuck the fucking receipt.
A cramping sensation suddenly gripped his lower back, and he had to hunch over to stop himself from groaning. It passed quickly, but left his heart thundering in his chest. His eyes drifted to the jaguar tattoo on Lucas’ forearm, and how he rolled up his sleeves to expose the thick vein snaking its way to his bicep. He wanted to lick that vein, to feel the way it thrummed beneath his tongue. Another wave washed over him, but that time it felt like a fist pressing into his coccyx. He’d fucked up. Like, big-leagues levels of fuck-uppery.
His thoughts momentarily flitted to Pember and how defenceless he had been when his heat struck without warning. Except Oliver had warning. Plenty of fucking warning, in fact. His sensitivity to pheromones, the flu, the bad back, his piss poor mood, the constant ever-living need to touch his cock when he was around Lucas.Shit,he was an irresponsible twat.
“Reed,” Lucas said again, a low rumble pulsing through his chest.
Oliver’s eyes darted to his sternum, flitting over his exposed collar bones and to his impossibly full mouth. His eyelids felt heavy, his movements sluggish.
“Reed,” Lucas repeated, prying Oliver’s fingers out of their vice-like grip on the edge of the table. He held his wrist, the pads of his fingers pressing into the sensitive skin. It had been a mistake, because before Oliver knew what he was doing, his foothooked around Lucas’ calf and dragged a line all the way up to the top of his thigh. The alpha’s eyes darkened even further.
“Sorry,” Oliver whispered, his voice sounding pathetically weak. “I’m so sorry.”
“Tiramisu?” The waitress said, returning to their table.
Oliver pulled his eyes away from the alpha, vaguely able to comprehend the plastic container being pressed into his hand. “T-Thanks,” he said, a trickle of sweat rolling down his neck.
Before the girl had time to impart further pleasantries, Lucas hauled him to his feet and out of the restaurant. The alpha’s arm was around his waist, fingers pressing into the ticklish place just below his ribs. Squirming, Oliver tried to pull away, but the treacherous omega within pressed itself tighter into the alpha’s grip.
“I’m taking you home,” Lucas growled, shoving his hand into Oliver’s pocket to extract the keys to the Yellow Peril. Oliver wanted to make a joke about the last time Lucas pilfered his pockets, but found his jaw inexplicably slack.
“Y-Yes,” he stuttered, barely in control of his own tongue.
A large gathering had formed on the path ahead, and Oliver could just about make out a range of colourful balls being tossed into the air.Jugglers. What the hell was a troupe of jugglers doing in the park on a Tuesday evening? If there was a patron saint of street performers, Oliver cursed them in that moment.
“Go that way,” he said, weakly pointing towards a narrow path that ran around the edge of the grass. “I-It’ll still get us back to the car park.”
