“I have an errand to run, and I didn’t want to bug any of you.” There, that sounds reasonably true.
“We’re all dying to spend time with you, Violet.Dying.”He stops to add extra emphasis to that last word. “Won’t you throw a drowning man a life preserver? Let me come with you on your errand. I promise I won’t get in the way.”
A very strange assertion from an alpha. Alphas don’t get in the way. They make the way, and all others are expected to scatter. But Ben? Something is different with him, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad one.
I wrap my hands around the steering wheel and stare straight ahead. “Fine.”
“Well, don’t look too happy about it,” he quips. “Seriously, I know it’s a lot. You barely know anything about us, but that’s because you haven’t asked.”
I turn and offer him a deadpan expression. I know I need to try harder, to do a better job playing my part as their perfect pack omega, but it’s so difficult to pretend.
They’re nice guys, and I’m using them. The fact that they’re being so kind only compounds my guilt.
I thought this would be easier, that I would do whatever it took to survive. At the end of the day though, I’m not some great seductress, and unlike my mother, I hate lying. Especially since if things were different, I could easily see myself being happy here with Pack Muldoon, really making a life and a family.
Ben smiles and rubs his palms on his jeans. “Tell you what. I’ll go into full tour guide mode. I have a speech prepared and everything.”
“Okay,” I say, meeting his smile. I’ve done nothing to endear myself to them, but the guys are trying so hard to make me comfortable around them.
The truck roars to life and I back out of the drive. Ben is quiet until we hit the main strip, then he jumps into a long and animated speech that he’s obviously given many times over.
“At almost 2,000 square miles and about 400,000 people, Anchorage is bigger than Rhode Island despite having less than half the population. Folks always say that everything is bigger in Texas, but in Alaska it feels like Texas is trying to overcompensate. After all, if you were to plop Dallas and Fort Worth onto Anchorage’s land, Anchorage wouldn’t even be cut in half. All that to say that Anchorage is big.
“Now Muldoon is one of the major neighborhoods in the Anchorage Bowl area. And it’s busy. A lot goes down on the East Side. After all, the joint base of Elmendorf and Fort Richardson, or JBER as it was officially named, is right there. And Jay Bear had a lot of service members venturing out into the Muldoon area.”
“Muldoon,” I repeat. “That’s your pack name.”
Ben winks at me. “And it’s not a coincidence. There’s a right side of Anchorage, and a wrong side. Guess which one the guys and I grew up on?”
My features pinch together in pity. “That bad?”
“Worse.” He points to a street sign, and sure enough, MULDOON is blazoned across in bold capital letters. “Hole in the wall restaurants, retail outlets, gun shops, pawn shops, tattoo parlors, everything you could need for whatever vice is right here on Muldoon.”
“What vices do you have?” I ask, feeling a bit more comfortable with him now that we’ve broken the ice with this little geo-tourism lesson.
“All of them,” he says simply in response to my question, and I can’t tell whether it’s another of his uncouth jokes or a confession. He sucks in a deep breath and then jumps back into tour guide mode. Good. This makes it easier to get close while also maintaining a firm distance. In this moment, I’m not his pack’s new omega, I’m simply a visitor from out of town.
“See those mountains there? That’s the Chugach range. On the other side is the Talkeetnas. For the first however long, being around so many mountains makes you feel like a fish in a bowl with large sides closing all around you. Sure, you’ve got more freedom than the typical goldfish, but it takes some getting used to. Once that sensation has passed and you get used to large rocky outcrops jutting up in your periphery, you almost start to personify them. Maybe it’s human nature or some weird version of pareidolia. Sure they’re rocks and they don’t move around, but from time to time as you travel around, it almost feels like they’re following you. It’s not until after the first time you get lost that a familiar mountain brings you joy and comfort. Of course then there’s the niggling doubt that maybe that mountain is moving just to mess with you.”
I snort. “Pareidolia? What does that even mean? Who wrote this speech? Because it doesn’t sound much like your other material.”
He flashes a toothy smile. “We hired some writer guy off the Internet. He already had a hard-on for Alaska, so we gave him a little money and he gave us a set of speeches that the tourists eat right up.” He pops the last P sound, drawing my eyes to his full lips. Not good.
I jerk my eyes away and point them down at the phone in my lap. Just a few more turns to the UPS store. If I can keep Ben talking the whole way, maybe he won’t ask about the package that was so important I couldn’t wait to go pick it up. “What else have you got? What other things did this guy write about?”
His eyes flash with amusement, or maybe mischief. With Ben, it’s hard to tell. “My favorite is his description of landing in Anchorage for the first time. We have it on our website and also recite it almost verbatim during phone consultations, especially if we’re looking to land a large group.”
“Well, go ahead with it,” I say with a small laugh, enjoying this far more than I’m ready to admit to myself.
He clears his throat and shakes out his hands, then jumps into the monologue with big sweeping gestures. It’s hard not to look at him as I drive. “Alaska conjures thoughts of frontier towns and gold panners. Rustic lumberjack country. Trees and bears and moose and lots of little planes going on hunting trips. But the moment the passenger jet breaks through the clouds on the approach to Anchorage, after hours of mountains and glaciers, there’s a surprising sprawl of urban civilization. Nothing like Los Angeles’s grandeur, nowhere near as big and bold, but still a surprising sight. Like a city struggling to expand into the wilderness on one side, while teetering on the edge of the ocean. Descending, you notice the little things. Like the fact the city seems to be broken. A whole chunk resting lower than the rest. The Big One of 1964 permanently etched into the landscape. But thoughts of massive earthquakes escape you as the plane sinks lower and lower towards the water, no land in sight. The pilot never said you were crashing, and you’re not in a little float plane. But as the water rushes up, the icy depths clawing for the metal wings, a sudden small cliff pops up and the wheels make contact with the asphalt of the tarmac.”
“You’re in the wrong profession,” I point out as I pull to a stop in the strip mall parking lot. “You should have been an actor.”
“If only.” Ben sighs wistfully but keeps a smile glued to his beautiful face. It’s then that I realize how perfectly his appearance suits him—long, silky hair, soft, full lips, sharp, angular features. He’s a study in contradictions, and yet they all work together to create the perfect countenance for this beautiful and mysterious man.
Best not to think about how gorgeous he is.
“Be right back,” I say, hopping down from the truck cab and making my way toward the swinging glass door.