“I always knew.” He put his hand on Wesley’s knee. “You look a little older and the beard’s new.” He twisted his body sideways and caressed Wesley’s cheek. “But you’re mostly the same.” He lowered his hand to Wesley’s neck, curled his fingers around it, and took in a deep breath. “Plus, I checked in on you every so often, so I knew what you looked like.”
“You checked in on me?” Wesley’s normally deep, strong voice cracked, telling Jobe how flustered his mate was by all the new information. “How did you even know where to find me?”
He kicked himself for assuming so much. Wesley hadn’t known anything about Red River. He hadn’t known Jobe was an Alpha. And it was now clear he hadn’t known who his mate was all those years ago. The realization pained Jobe, but he reminded himself that mates recognized each other by scent and that was exactly how he had initially recognized Wesley.
“I saw your car outside the bar and remembered the license plate number. It wasn’t too hard to track it to Purple Sky and it was even easier to figure out which of their shifters was a young Alpha.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t go as often as I wanted to, but whenever I could get away, I went to be closer to you.”
Wesley nodded slowly and blinked rapidly. Jobe could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. “Is that why Red River approached my uncle? You remembered me from back then so when you needed a mate, you picked me?”
“I didn’t pick you.” He had longed for him, searched for him, and craved him, but he hadn’t picked him.
“Then who did?” Wesley drew his eyebrows together. “Your parents?”
“Fate.” Jobe licked his lips and searched Wesley’s face for his reaction. “She chose you for me and me for you.”
Wesley didn’t say anything for several heartbeats, and Jobe held his breath, waiting for his reaction.
“We really are mates. Fated mates,” Wesley whispered in awe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew.”
“How could I know when…” Wesley’s words trailed off and he flinched.
“When I don’t have a scent?”
Wesley nodded.
Jobe dropped his arms at his sides, leaned against the couch cushions, and tipped his head back. The night before, there had been times he had felt as if they’d been speaking in circles, but he had chalked it up to being tired. Now, though, he thought back to the comments Wesley had made, and instead of once again brushing them off as carelessly chosen words, he admitted to himself that he hadn’t been listening to what his mate had been trying to tell him. And if he forced himself to be honest, he knew the reason was because he hadn’t wanted to hear it.
“I thought you knew because that’s what I wanted. I wanted you to recognize me.” After taking in a deep breath, Jobe lolled his head to the side and looked at Wesley. “My parents are seventy-six, old enough to be my grandparents. You’ve heard the comments from some pack members about how long it took them to find each other?”
“Yes.”
“I swore it’d be different for me. Ever since I was a kid, I told myself that my mate and I would find each other young and the scent wouldn’t matter. I had all these romantic notions of how we’d see each other from across a crowded room, share a passionate kiss, and fall madly in love.” Jobe chuckled to himself. “I’m pretty sure there was a soundtrack too. Something with violins.”
“That’s very…” Wesley smirked. “Romantic.”
“What can I say?” Jobe shrugged. “I was young and dramatic and I was sure I’d be able to do things better than my parents. No way was a little thing like no scent going to block me like it did them.”
“Your parents have scents.”
“They do now, but my mother’s a Root so she was born without a scent. That’s how it always is with us.”
“Your entire family doesn’t have a scent?”
“All the Root Alphas are born without a scent,” Jobe said, nodding. “Our scents come in after we find our mates. We think it has to do with balance.”
“Balance?”
“How do you feel about being a pillow?”
“Uh…”
“Because your lap looks comfortable and I want to have this conversation with my head on it.”
Wesley looked from Jobe to his thighs and back again. “You want to lie in my lap?”
“I want to be close to you.”
His expression softening, Wesley scooted to the edge of the sofa, wriggled a bit, and then patted his thighs. “Your pillow awaits.”
Jobe smiled, stretched across the sofa, and settled his head on Wesley’s lap. “Ahh,” he sighed contentedly.
“Comfy?”
“Mmm hmm.” And with his face closer to Wesley’s groin, he could smell his musk and traces of arousal. He may have just discovered his favorite resting spot in the house.