Two Weeks Later

Alex Anderson watched as a very tall, blonde, tuxedo-clad Alpha entered the ballroom, looking like Captain America making a quick stop-over in Monte Carlo. “Look at this guy. Of course he looks great in a tux. I really want to not like him. Why does he have to be so damned decent and smart and good at his job?”

Gabriel, Alex’s husband, elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, be nice to our token Alpha. Do you know how much crap he has to take off of everyone in the office? Do you know much heavy shit we make him carry even though it’s kind of a waste of a Yale Law degree? It would be your dream job, but even though he’s nice about it, I don’t think he shares your undying passion for being a beast of burden. Also, and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, I’m not his type. He likes the manly males. Caught him eyeing the UPS guy just the other day.”

The big blonde looked over, saw Gabriel and Alex, waved, and started walking towards them.

“I see. And is that because you were eyeing the UPS guy the other day?” Alex asked knowingly.

“I’m married and mated, Alex, not dead.”

“Let’s see if the UPS guy can say the same if I catch him eyeing you back.”

Gabriel grinned at this atypical display of Alphan aggression from his good-natured husband. “Now, now. I’m allowed to look. And you’d feel so bad about doing a murder. Afterwards.”

“You’re right, damn it. I still can’t look Nurse Dan in the eye. I’d totally get hives if I killed a UPS guy.”

“The UPS guy doesn’t look at me, period. His flirtatious way of unloading a dolly seems to be for everyone’s benefit, not mine specifically.”

“That’s what you think. Let’s ask Brent.”

“Ask Brent what?” inquired tux guy as he approached and handed Gabriel a glass of sparkling cider with a smile. “This is for you, boss. Unleaded, for the abstemious nursing Maddy.”

Gabriel accepted the flute with a smile. “Thanks. Very thoughtful.”

“Brent, does the office UPS guy ogle my husband?” Alex demanded without preamble.

Brent chuckled. “Everyone but me ogles your husband. I’m too busy ogling the UPS guy.”

Alex pursed his lips skeptically. “The Life You Save May Be Your Own, eh, Brent?” 

Brent raised a glass containing two fingers of bourbon in a toast: “To having very particular tastes.”

“I’d toast, but I note that you did not bring me a drink.”

“I understand you like to fetch and carry. I, on the other hand, do not find it thrilling. Unless it is for my boss and beloved colleagues, obviously,” he added with an affable smile that belied the needling he was doing.

Alex scowled at him. “You are disinvited to Poker Night.”

“Poker Night is at my apartment this month, the Face,” Brent reminded him helpfully.

“Damn it. Gabriel, this the Face business is getting out of control. Bisi picked it up from Brent, and now half the hospital is calling me that.”

Gabriel stretched up to give his husband a kiss on the cheek. “Aww, love. Poor the Face. Come on, Alex. Help me find Ahmad. I was going to introduce him to my friend Will. They’d be the cutest couple ever. Then we can schmooze a little more and head out. See you Monday, Brent.”

Brent raised his remaining finger of bourbon to this and surveyed the room, bored without Gabriel and Alex to entertain him. His last name wasn’t part of the title of the place where he worked, so he couldn’t sneak out of work functions early. He’d be stuck there schmoozing and sipping for the duration. 

He sipped and scanned the room, looking for someone else interesting to talk to, maybe even someone to take home, although he actually hadn’t been planning on hooking up that evening. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t had much interest in hooking up at all for the past couple of months. The Baltimore dating scene was already starting to feel ran-through and stale. 

Or maybe he was.

He saw a few people he was relatively confident would be willing to be the role of party favor, but none had as much appeal for him as a hot shower and the extra hours of sleep. He finished off his drink, and spotted a tray for empty glasses on a stand across the room. 

He walked over and put the glass down next to the other empties and turned, bumping squarely into another man.

Instinctively, he grabbed the smaller man’s arm to keep from knocking him over. At somewhere north of six feet and six inches tall, Brent was, as his mother had repeatedly told him, too big to be real. He tried hard to be careful, but his size occasionally had negative consequences for people in his immediate physical environment.  

“Oh, hey, sorry, man. I should watch where I’m going,” Brent apologized.

The other man, smaller but not especially small at around six feet, took a quick step backwards, holding up a hand to indicate that no offense had been taken.”No, my bad. I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention. Sorry. At least my drink was already empty, so you’re not wearing it. Who says my drinking is a problem? It saved your shirt.”

Brent grinned at the quip and looked down as the other man stepped back again and looked up. 

Fuck. 

Brent’s grin faded and his ears started ringing. He wasn’t bored any more. He was looking down into a pair of eyes that were a pale, wintery blue ringed in darker blue. They looked up at him from under low, slightly angled brows of a brown so dark it was, effectively, black. 

Who in the hell is this guy? He’s gorgeous. 

Brent put on his best boxer-dropping smile and held out a hand. “Can I get the name of my shirt’s savior?”

“Uhh, Will. Will Adams.” Will reached out without much enthusiasm and gave Brent's hand a perfunctory shake.

“Nice to meet you, Will. Brent James. We both have interchangeable name names. Any chance you’ll let me buy you a fresh free drink to show you my gratitude?”

Will Adams looked up at him and crooked his mouth into a faint smile rooted more in etiquette than actual amusement. Didn’t matter. Smiling or not, Brent’s eyes were glued to him. 

Dark hair, light eyes. No one can resist that combination. 

Really nice dark hair, too. Cropped short, with a little length on top, simple, but with just enough style—hair that achieved apparent perfection with no time spent on it. 

Probably means he spent a good amount of time on it. 

Will's chin and jaw had clearly been marked out with a speed square during construction to assure perfect angles. 

Mouth? Holy shit. 

No scent other than cologne, must be a Beta... 

The swell of muscle in his shoulders and arms were making his tux hang so, so nicely, too. Yeah, this prospect was well worth the effort, and, God willing, the loss of sleep. 

Brent waited patiently for Will to accept his offer. 

Instead, an undecipherable expression appeared in the blue eyes. In an arid voice, Will said, “Jesus. Brent. Of course your name is Brent. Brent James. Of the Jamestown Jameses, presumably. Next time you pop by the yacht club, Brent, tell Skip and Buffy I said hi and give my best to Chip, Tripp, Trace, and Chase. My name isn’t interchangeable, by the way. Adams with an ’s’ is not a first name. Well, maybe it is in your circles. Anyway. Apologies, Brent, but I’m not interested in a drink.”

Brent, used to easy conquests, was caught off guard both by the fact of the rebuff and the vehemence of it. Had he read the guy wrong? Was he straight? “Whoa, sorry. Did not mean to offend. I just thought there were some vibes. You’re not into guys, my bad.”

Will looked a little guilty, like he knew he had been unnecessarily rude. He grunted and looked away. “If there were vibes, I just didn’t feel them. Sorry. I am gay, you’re right about that, no need to apologize. It's possible to be gay and still be uninterested, though. I don’t date Alphas. Thanks but no thanks on the drink.”

Well, damn! Guess that puts me in my place. He doesn’t date Alphas? 

That was a new addition to the admittedly short list of reasons Brent had been rejected. It didn't even sound like a real reason. Usually if he got shot down it was just because the other guy was spoken for. 

Maybe that’s it... Has to be...

“I see. Can I ask why you don’t date Alphas?” Brent inquired, genuinely curious about what all Alphas had done to piss this guy off, and also genuinely eager to prolong their conversation.

“Because I don’t aspire to be the neighborhood they go slumming in. Among other reasons,” he responded succinctly.

Will’s pocket vibrated and he extracted his phone, read the screen, and stowed it in his pocket again. Clearly in a hurry to extricate himself from the conversation, he said, “Look, I gotta go. Sorry about the run-in and sorry for being a dick about your name. It was just because... Well, I’m kind of a dick. Have a good night. There’s a super cute Omega over in that corner, by the blue palm tree. Red halter top. Didn’t see a ring or a mark. Try him. Good luck.”

Off Will walked as Brent stared, totally uninterested in checking out the cute Omega by the blue palm tree. The whole encounter had been fast and fascinating, and so was Brent's physical reaction to it. Had it been necessary for Will Adams to keep saying dick? Seemed like an unnecessary provocation when someone was denying all access to dicks.

Despite the brusque dismissal, or maybe because of it, Brent found that he needed to stand behind a nearby pink palm tree and take deep breaths. He thought hard about Euclidean proofs until he had successfully put down the rebellion in the Southlands.