Page 170 of Altius
But I answered the question like the goddamn professional I was—and left with my head held high.
***
Using the spare security fob Cal had given me, I pulled into the underground parking lot of his high-rise condo building and parked in the extra spot beside his silver pickup truck.
Grabbing my work bag, a tote full of weekend essentials, and the two large orders of pho I’d just picked up, I made my way to the elevator, using the fob to access his floor.
Wyatt was out of town with the gymnastics team for another away meet, and Alijah had picked Wednesdays as our standing weekly date night, meaning I had an entire weekend to catch up with my pheromone stud.
I got a thrill every time I let myself into my boyfriend’s place unannounced. It was like playing house in some respects—a preview for our shared life, which I hoped would start sometime this summer.
Cal was sitting at the kitchen island, frowning at his laptop and making notes on a legal pad when I opened the door. The sleeves of his sweater were bunched up to his elbows, tufts of sandy hair standing out at odd angles.
He jerked upright as I walked in, shutting the laptop before turning to me with a tight smile. “Hi. You’re early. Thought they’d grill you for ages.”
“Nope,” I said, setting my bags down on the island. “Barely lasted thirty minutes. They treated me like I was made of glass.”
Cal cursed under his breath and pulled off his glasses, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “You should ask Quinton to add another ten thousand to your settlement request.”
“I could,” I said, shifting a stack of papers away from the edge of the island—all of which had Wyatt’s name on them—and then hopped up on the counter, giving me a better vantage point from which to smooth out his hair. “Or you could tell me what’s bothering you.”
Cal glanced at me, the bags beneath his eyes even more obvious from above. “Can we eat first?”
“If you want,” I said, trailing my fingers through his hair, zeroing in on the tense spots at the base of his neck. “Unless you’re still upset about the Garvey recordings. I didn’t tell you because of what was going on with your grandfather. Plus, I kind of forgot about Joaquin’s video after my seizure.”
Cal leaned into my touch, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I know. Not going to lie, I was mad at first. Guess I liked thinking that I was your de facto problem solver, that my protection would be enough to keep you safe. But knowing the others were there for you when I couldn’t be… I’m relieved that you weren’t alone, but not without a sting of jealousy.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Maybe I’ve got more to learn about being a good packmate than I realized.”
“Should I make suitor boot camp one of my courting conditions?” I teased, leaning closer to gaze into his hazel eyes. “Send you off into the woods with my dads for a week, for lots of s’mores and talks about your manly feelings?”
He rubbed our noses together with a laugh. “While you stay behind, reading white papers and drinking tea with a cat on your lap?”
“Mhm.” After claiming a brief kiss, I sat back and crossed my arms, gloating with exaggerated pride. “I’m a master of multi-partner wrangling.”
Cal let out a mellow chuckle. “You’ve had three boyfriends for a week.”
“Eight days, to be exact. Zero complaints. A flawless record.”
Cal’s brows pressed together as he reached for his glasses, his expression somber by the time he resettled them on his crooked nose.
“About that…” His hand slid along my thigh, reaching for the top paper on the stack behind me. “Have you noticed anything off about Wyatt when you two are apart for more than a day?”
“He’s a bit clingy. You saw what he was like when I got back from San Diego.”
“Yes,” he said, mouth puckered in distaste as he handed me the report. “Not only did I watch him turn into a stage-fiveclinger, I had to smell it, up close and personal. His pheromones are still all over the place—and his hormones are, too.”
The page in my hand was a hormone tracking report. I recognized the formatting.
“You got him a Redwing tracking implant?”
“Yes. Along with the PheroPass sensor that you suggested. Should have done it a lot sooner, in retrospect.”
I studied the tracking report. His hormones increased each morning, peaking at an unsafe level around midday, then mellowed out in the evening, about the same time I got home from work. His overnight readings were normal.
But starting Thursday, after I dropped him at the airport, his readings abruptly rose and became erratic.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Shouldn’t he… I thought getting together, being together, would fix this?”
A large hand settled on my knee. “Intimate contact isn’t a magic cure, Morgan. Not for waning syndrome.”
