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 this guy. Why does he have to be so damned decent and smart and good at his job?”

Alex’s husband, Gabriel, elbowed him. "Hey, be nice to our token Alpha. Do you know how much crap he has to take off of everyone in our office? Do you know much heavy shit we make him carry even though that’s kind of a waste of a Yale Law degree? His job 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 or getting things off of high shelves. 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 to walk towards them.

“I see. And is that because you were eyeing the UPS guy the other day?” asked Alex 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 very good-natured husband. “Now, now. You’d feel so bad about it 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.

“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 three 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 heard you especially like to carry things. I, on the other hand, do not find it thrilling. Unless it is for my boss and beloved colleagues, obviously,” said Brent with an affable, innocent smile that belied the deliberate 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 gave his husband a consoling 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 on out. See you Monday, Brent.”

Brent raised his remaining two fingers of bourbon to this as well and then surveyed the room, bored without Gabriel and Alex to entertain him. When your last name wasn’t part of the title of the place where you worked, you couldn’t sneak out of work functions early, so he was stuck here schmoozing and sipping for the duration. Maybe he could find someone else interesting to talk to, or even someone to take home, although he actually hadn’t been planning on hooking up at this thing. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t had much interest in hooking up at all for the past couple of months. He hadn't been here that long, but the Baltimore dating scene was already feeling kind of ran-through and stale in general.

Brent took another drink and looked around and saw a few people he was relatively confident would have been willing to be his party favor for the evening, but none of the prospects had as much appeal for him as a hot shower and the extra three hours of sleep. Looking for a place to set down his empty glass, he saw a tray 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, Brent grabbed the smaller man’s arm so that he didn't knock 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, who was smaller but not especially small at just under six feet tall, took a quick step backwards, holding up a hand to indicate that no offense had been taken. He quickly said, "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, and 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 under low, slightly angled brows of a brown so dark it was, effectively, black. Who in the hell was this guy? He was 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 for sparing my shirt?”

Will Adams looked up at Brent 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 that he wore cropped short, with a little length on top, simple, but with just enough style--looked like hair that achieved perfection with no time spent on it, which probably meant he’d 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... that made sense because the curves of muscle in his shoulders and arms were making his tux hang so, so nicely. Yeah. This prospect was well worth the effort, and, God willing, the loss of sleep. 

Brent waited patiently for Will to accept his offer. An undecipherable expression appeared in the blue eyes and instead of flirtatious acquiescence, Will said in an arid voice, “Jesus. Brent. Of course your name is Brent. Brent James. 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 having a drink with you.”

Brent, who was fairly used to easy conquests, was caught off guard both by the fact of the rebuff and the vehemence of it. Had he read this guy wrong? Was Will straight? “Whoa, sorry. Did not mean to offend you. 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. “Look, sorry. If there were vibes, I just didn’t feel them. I am gay, you’re right about that, so no need to apologize. It's possible to be gay and still be uninterested, though. I've crunched the numbers on that one. In this case, it's because I just don’t date Alphas. Thanks, but no thanks on the drink.”

Well, damn! Guess that puts me in my place. 

Will Adams didn’t date Alphas? That was a new addition to the admittedly short list of reasons Brent had been rejected for a drink. 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 was it... Had to be...

“I see. Can I ask why you don't?” 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 Alphas go slumming in, among other reasons,” Will explained succinctly.

Will’s pocket vibrated and he extracted his phone. He read the screen and then stowed it in his pocket again. Looking up at Brent, 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...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, in the red blouse. I didn’t see a ring or a mark. Try him. Good luck.”

And off Will walked as Brent stared, totally uninterested in checking out the cute Omega over by the blue palm tree. The whole encounter had been unexpected and kind of fascinating, and so was Brent's physical reaction to it. Had it been necessary for Will Adams to keep saying "dick"? That seemed like an unnecessary provocation when Will was denying all access to dicks. Despite the brusque dismissal, or maybe a little bit because of it, Brent found that he needed to stand behind a nearby pink palm tree and take deep breaths while thinking about Euclidean proofs for a couple of minutes until he could successfully put down the rebellion in the Southlands.