Page 113 of Citius

“Being your pheromone interpreter,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and polished off the rest of the crab cake.

Laughter, pure, unguarded laughter, the likes of which I hadn’t experienced in ages, poured out of me, earning the most endearing smile from Cal as he studied my face, undeniable yearning in his hazel eyes.

For a few precious seconds, I felt attractive—not broken.

A momentary lapse of control allowed the truth to slip out on a sigh.

“You’re wearing me down.”

“Then I guess I’d better keep going.” Cal wiped his mouth with a cocktail napkin and scanned the partygoers. “Owen’s in a better mood than I anticipated. Very mellow tonight, with only the occasional hint of acidity. Tabitha being here helps. Her pack always keeps him busy. And they are in rare form tonight.” He nudged my side with his elbow. “What do you think the coven of aunties smells like?”

“I don’t know. Something expensive but not too feminine?”

“Like a greasy spoon. Waffles, fried chicken, grits, biscuits and gravy. Tabitha smells like hollandaise sauce.”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s true—I swear!”

“Nope, I don’t believe you.”

Cal shifted closer, brushing our shoulders together. “Would you believe me if I said the lovebirds are happy? Especially Alijah.”

A surprising amount of relief warmed my chest. “He is?”

“Yeah. Very bright and citrusy. Joaquin’s a bit spicier, but that’s par for the course.” He paused for a moment to consider the other alpha. “Playful might be the better term. And a little proud?”

“You can tell all that?”

“Mhm.” He tapped the jagged edge of his nasal septum with a smug little grin. “My nose knows.”

I shook my head, partly in amusement but also to mask my curiosity about the one notable exception to his pheromone report.

Cal washed down a deviled egg with a sip of beer. “Don’t worry. Got him on the appropriate dosage.”

“Good.”

That meant there was zero chance of a boxwood-scented disaster tonight. I knew Cal would get Wyatt sorted out.

He raised an expectant brow. “That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Violations of patient privacy make for shitty party favors. Setting the water beside my plate, I turned, resting my hip against the railing, and loosely crossed my arms. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, great and powerful pheromone guru. What’s your vibe tonight?”

“Hm.” Thick fingertips drummed against the side of his beer bottle. “A little tipsy, kind of flirty.”

His gaze trailed from my shimmery, kohl-rimmed eyes to the faint traces of lipstick on my mouth, down the length of my neck, to the pendant resting just above my cleavage.

“More than a little hopeful.”

“About what?” I asked softly.

“Walking you home.”

Another laugh escaped. I couldn’t help it. “Relax, good sir. The hallway can’t hurt me.”

---