"How's Chicago?"

Marcus glanced out the big picture window and sighed. "Rainy. Apparently the award banquet was scheduled for the same day as April showers. All of them." Lightning cracked across the sky in the distance, too far away for the thunder to penetrate the soundproofing. "How's Germany?"

"Good food," Cody said. The connection was military grade, which meant it crackled like frying bacon but never actually failed. "The guys brought back schnitzel and pretzels since I'm not going to make it off base before the next run."

"You sound tired." Resting his shoulder against the chill of the window frame, Marcus frowned at his reflection. "Tell me you're getting leave soon. It's been almost a year, and even Special Forces can't go on back-to-back missions forever." He could feel his frat brother roll his eyes, and he shook his finger at the phone. "The two-and-a-half days you snuck away to see the twins doesn't count."

Out of all the brothers, Marcus worried about Cody the most. Not just because he was the only omega. The military wasn't known for its fair treatment of anyone, but especially not women and omegas.

Cody groaned. "I know, I know. We're slated for a week off next month, and then a couple weeks in August. At least I don't have a husband waiting for me at home. Some of the team haven't seen their families since Christmas." In the background, shouting echoed, the thump of booted feet growing louder and fading away in rhythm.

"Speaking of husbands," Marcus said, smiling mischievously, "how's Nikolai?"

"Dancing with the Paris ballet for the next four months, and I hope to God they keep him busy," Cody said fervently. "And he's not my husband. How was the ceremony?"

Laughing under his breath, Marcus shrugged. "It was an award banquet. A bunch of blow-hards and speeches. Kind of like when you made team lead, but without any military schedule-keeping to drag them off stage on time."

Cody hissed. "That sounds fucking awful."

"Does your CO know that you use that language?"

"Fuck off."

Marcus shook his head. "If you think the banquet was bad, you should see the award," he said, his lips twisting as he glanced across the room. He'd tossed the hideous paperweight carelessly into his suitcase. He would have thought the prize for uncovering a multi-million dollar embezzlement operation would be classier.

Glittering malevolently in the dim light of the suite, it was half crystal, half brass, all ugly. It was engraved with what he assumed was his name, but the font was so over the top that he couldn’t, for the life of him, read a word of it.

"Bad?" Cody asked.

"It's... interesting."

"That's Marcus-ese for 'Holy shit, this is the worst.'" Cody gave a rusty sounding laugh. "One thing about the military, at least. All my awards fit into a shoe box. What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know yet." Strolling the few steps across the room, he ran a finger down the surface, leaving a smudge.

"I'm sure it'll look lovely on display in your big, new corner office at Bridgestone and Peters."

"Bainbridge and Parker, jerk," Marcus said, his cheeks aching from all the smiling he was doing.

"That's what I said. When do you start?"

Outside, the lightning flashed closer, lighting the room up white for a split second and burning the outline of the ugly award into his vision. Fiddling with his jacket, Marcus looked back at the window and sighed. "Monday, or I'd fly back to New York to pick Teddy and Carlos up from the airport. Teddy really should have been here to receive it. He's the one who almost died."

The rain was showing no signs of letting up, and his dinner reservation was six blocks from the hotel. He could always get a cab, but he'd probably still be drenched before he made it through the door. He was going to be in Chicago for a while, and the 5-star restaurant wasn't going anywhere.

"Two things," Cody said, dragging him away from his thoughts. "Teddy hates public speaking, and Carlos would have killed him with whatever disgusting paperweight they gave him for skipping out on their honeymoon."

Laughing, Marcus tried to imagine their socially inept frat brother getting up on stage and making a sincere thank you speech over the ugly brass award. He couldn't picture it, but he could easily see his husband threatening him with that god-awful lump. "I wish I could go visit them." The words slipped out without his approval, and he rolled his eyes at himself. "The twins are adorable," he added.

Cody hummed thoughtfully, and Marcus could hear the wheels of his psychology degree turning. Lightning shot through the clouds, thunder close enough to rattle the tiny bottles of wine in the mini bar.

Pacing across the room, Marcus pulled off his jacket and loosened his tie to give his hands something to do. He'd call and reschedule his reservation.

"How are your parents?"

"Still trying to get me to join Stern Associates like the rest," Marcus said slowly. He knew better than to take the change of topic as Cody dropping the subject. "Mom keeps calling me Steven even with the mustache, and Dad is convinced that I'm going to get shot."

"To be fair," Cody said, amusement filtering across the crackling line, "you do have twenty siblings to keep straight. I can see how it would be a problem."

"Eleven. I only have eleven siblings." Toeing off his dress shoes, Marcus grabbed the room service menu off the mini-fridge.

"Only, he says," Cody muttered. "How's the homesickness?"

Throwing himself on the bed with a grunt, Marcus stared at the ceiling. "I didn't say I was homesick." It was hard to suppress the urge to whine or curse, but his mother had raised a gentleman, and at least some of her lessons had stuck.

"I sent you a housewarming present, but it won't get there for a few weeks." A high pitched alarm went off in the distance, and the noise on the other end got overwhelming enough that they couldn't talk for a few minutes. "Sorry," Cody shouted. "Shift change."

Marcus flipped listlessly through the menu, tempted to make coffee just to have something to do with his hands. Burgers, salmon, cake... Nothing sounded good despite the vibrant pictures and glowing descriptions. Mostly, he wanted to go to sleep.

The noise faded, but Cody didn't speak. It wasn't a judgmental silence, which made it harder to ignore. It was the kind of loaded quiet that he'd used to squeeze information out people for as long as Marcus had known him.

"Okay, fine," Marcus snapped. "It's a little lonely. Everyone is busy lately, I'm stuck in a hotel. Hell, your present will probably get into the damned condo before I do." Sucking in a deep breath, he counted to ten, tossing the room service menu onto the nightstand. "It's selfish, I know."

"Is it?" Cody asked. He was using his gentle voice, the one that sounded completely unlike him.

"Don't analyze me, please. I don't need pity." Throwing himself back to his feet, he stalked to the other side of the room. "The company is putting me up in a very nice hotel suite until I find a place."

He'd been excited when he'd landed the perfect condo just days after accepting the offer to become the Regional Financial Director for the investment mega-firm's midwest operations. It had seemed like a sign. A month later, and the seller was dragging their feet on getting the papers signed.

"The realtor has guaranteed me that I'll get the keys next week, but if they delay it again, I'm just going to pull my offer and go back to square one," he said, biting off the words. It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. He hadn't made it through his undergrad and graduate years as president of Sigma Alpha Omega without being stubborn as hell.

Cody didn't even comment. "You should go out. You always feel better after being around people. Who knows, you might meet someone."

"It's pouring rain." The excuse sounded weak when he said it. "It's like a hellscape outside, and at least a quarter of downtown is out of power." That wasn't any better. "Chicago is supposed to get four inches overnight."

His inner voice giggled childishly at the innuendo. It sounded a lot like Kurt, their Miami-based playboy brother, and it cropped up at the worst times. Suppressing it ruthlessly, he gritted his teeth. "I had reservations, but I'm canceling them. I don't want to ruin my suit before I even know where a good dry cleaner is."

"So go to a coffee shop nearby. It's not healthy to go from a life where your mother and sisters stick their head in your business every five minutes to one where you barely get a handshake every other day," Cody said firmly. "There has to be a bar or something in the hotel. You're the guy who knows all the hole-in-the-wall diners on the east coast. You have to be able to find somewhere to go sit and have dinner."

The loaded silence stretched, but Marcus couldn't think of anything that wouldn't dig him deeper. "It's been a long day. I'll just order room service and go to bed."

"I have to go," Cody said after a moment. Marcus winced at the disappointment in his voice. "I’m due in a briefing in ten minutes. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"That's my line," Marcus said, swallowing hard. "Remember to pack your umbrella and don't get shot."

"Yes, Mom," Cody said softly before the line went dead.

"Fuck." Tossing the phone onto the comforter, he sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples.

It wasn't that he didn't want to go out, but was it too much to ask that he be able to stay in for once? To sit at home in front of a fireplace, watch cheesy movies, and cuddle? Apparently, if you asked his last six dates. Or that lifestyle magazine with the article about the "Smothering Oppression of a Clingy Alpha" that his ex had forwarded him.

Sex was great, and he wasn't terrible at it, but that was the only part of relationships he was any good at. Why was it that he couldn't nail a guy to the mattress and then hold them afterward?

Thunder rumbled across the sky, getting closer by the minute. Marcus sighed. Even room service seemed like too much effort right now. He'd call in the morning and order a late breakfast.

His phone buzzed and Marcus stared at it for a long time before he could convince himself to pick it up.

"What are you having for dinner? The guys want pictures. — Cody"

Groaning, he dragged himself to his feet. He should have known the smartass omega wouldn't let it go that easily. Fine. He wanted pictures, he'd get pictures. Didn't mean Marcus had to eat any of it. He snapped back a shot of the glossy full page ad for the restaurant's specialty pizza out of the room service menu, just to be an asshole.

He left his jacket draped over a chair, grabbing his wallet and stuffing it in his pocket. Jabbing his feet into tennis shoes stained with grease from working on his cars, he stormed out in a huff without bothering to tie them.

The air in the hallway was fresher, lighter somehow than the air in his room. By the time he'd made it to the elevator lobby, he felt like he was emerging from a fog. Sheepishly bending down to tie his shoes by one of the delicate armchairs, he had to admit that Cody might be right.

Down in the lobby, the busy opening and closing of the doors let in gusts of crisp, washed-clean air. Marcus paused to take a deep breath, and despite his attempt to suppress it, a smile curved his lips. He could fit three or four plates into the picture he sent Cody. It would be way too much food, but it would make the other man laugh.

He had to wait a few minutes for the waitress to appear bouncily at his table. She was a cheerful woman with her hair held on top of her head with a cluster of pens. When she took his order, she didn't bother to write anything down, flicking the pen in her hand idly. It made him wonder if she even realized the other pens were up there, or if she was so in the habit that she collected them unawares.

There was, thankfully, very little time before his side salad and a basket of bread appeared. The fresh air had woken up his appetite, and he was starving. He stuffed one of the rolls in his mouth and took a quick snap of the salad as a joke. Sending it off, he proceeded to demolish everything but the carrots, barely taking time to pick the disgusting things out.

It didn't take very long to scrape the last of the dressing-soaked croutons out of the bottom of the bowl. Not even enough time for Cody to send him a disapproving text.

Sated for the moment, he didn't mind waiting for his entrees, so he propped his chin on his fist and people-watched. The one thing he'd always enjoyed about traveling to new places was getting to see new people.

The table of women near the center of the room had clearly been dressed for an evening out before they went through the rain. None of them seemed to care as they shoved waterlogged hair out of their faces and smeared their lipstick on deep-dish pizza. They were laughing at the story one of them was telling, tomato sauce on her nose and a hefty engagement ring flashing as she gestured.

Two tables over, a pair of men in business suits were talking quietly to a teenager in an evening gown. She had dark hair bouncing around her head, natural and fluffy, weighed down only by the glittery birthday crown that perched precariously in the middle. She was smiling broadly and getting chocolate cake all over her braces.

The restaurant was filled with groups and families, only one other person was seated alone. Marcus didn't see him at first, sitting in the darkest corner with his head buried in a book. He was curled over the table with his nose practically in the pages, so engrossed that he didn't notice when his fork stabbed at the shiny wood surface rather than his plate. He turned the page quickly, his eyes flicking back to the top without blinking.

Marcus smiled, wondering what kind of book he was reading. There was a stack of bestsellers in his carry-on that he'd been working his way through, but none of them had been that interesting. Too impatient to stop reading even when his dark hair fell in his face, the other man tossed his head to try to resettle it. For a brief moment, a strong nose and stubborn chin were highlighted before something caught his attention, and he was lost to the pages.

Marcus should have stopped watching when his food came, laying his pizza slice on top of the fries piled around his burger to fit it all into the frame. He should have, but he couldn't. There was an unused place setting across the table from the stranger, pushed aside to make room for his book, but if he had been stood up, he didn't seem to care. He was curled over his book so far that his hair was practically in his plate, and it was the most intriguing thing Marcus had seen all day.

Picking up his pizza, Marcus ate, but his attention never wavered. He couldn't be sure because of the terrible lighting, but he was almost certain there was a blush climbing up the reader's neck. A blush that turned from gentle pink to fire engine red as the waitress came up to fill his coffee.

Slamming the book shut and covering it with his hands, the man seemed to fall back into reality with a bang. His eyes flitted around the room without landing anywhere, his lips as red as his ears as he dug his teeth into them. There was a gap between his two front teeth, wide enough to be visible across the room. It just completed the adorable picture.

Marcus chuckled around his next bite of pizza, dropping his eyes as that dark gaze swept over him. He couldn't resist stealing another peek as he chewed.

Cautiously, the other man reopened his book as the waitress bustled away, and Marcus had to swallow hard to avoid choking on a laugh. He didn't recognize the book, exactly, but he knew the type. The steroid-guzzling hero with an aversion to clothing had just rescued the dainty, delicate omega who suffered from a terminal case of poor quality tailoring.

There were dozens of similar books lining the shelves of every airport newsstand he'd ever been to. He'd read them once or twice to see what all the fuss was about. He wasn't sure some of the things he had read were anatomically possible, but even if they were, they were too adventurous for his tastes.

Back to his book, the other man was once again lost to the world.

Marcus traded his pizza for the burger, chewing thoughtfully as he stared across the restaurant. He hated the stereotype that only omegas read romance novels, but he was almost positive the other man was an omega. Even through the baggy clothes, he had a slight flare to his hips.

The book had the tattered, well-read look of a favorite, but he could have bought it second hand. As the enchanting flush crept back up that olive skin, the omega stabbed blindly at his plate, not noticing or perhaps not caring that the bit of food he did manage to pick up slid off his fork before it reached his mouth.

Chewing his burger with almost as much attention, Marcus watched him bite his lip and anxiously turn the page. Marcus gave up all pretense of eating when he realized that grease and sauce had dripped down his hand, soaking his cuff without him realizing it.

Just as Marcus had resigned himself to reheating his food upstairs, the omega heaved a massive sigh and shut the book. A tiny smile curved the corner of his mouth, softening the harsh lines of his aristocratic face.

Marcus couldn't help smiling with him. He was expecting the omega to still be lost in his story, so he didn't glance away fast enough when sharp eyes scanned the room.

The smile fell off the omega's face like it had never been there, his plush lips settling into a scowl as he shoved the book under the table. Grabbing up his fork, he turned pointedly away and stuffed the last of his food into his mouth. When he pushed the plate aside with a huff of disgust, he automatically reached for the book again. He glanced around again as he realized what he was doing, glaring when he found Marcus still staring, and shoving the book into a battered messenger bag that was slumped on the floor.

He didn’t mean to embarrass the man, so Marcus dragged his eyes away, picking at his fries. Maybe he should have brought a book to read. That might have worked if any of his books were more interesting than the grumpy omega.

"You got a problem?"

Marcus glanced up to find the omega doing his best to loom over him, his ratty bag hanging off one shoulder. His hands were clenched into fists around the strap, and the deep lines of his frown cast ominous shadows that almost masked the sweet curve of his cheek.

Whether it was the product of his years as frat president or his years of friendship with a prickly omega, Marcus didn't take the anger personally. Ignoring the question entirely, he smiled. "I haven't read that one, but have you seen the movie adaptation of—"

"It's shit," the omega said flatly. He frowned harder, glancing across the restaurant, but the death grip that he had on his bag loosened slightly.

"Of course," Marcus said, swallowing the urge to laugh. "But is it more or less shit than the books?"

Up close, the omega was smaller than he was expecting, and Marcus had a feeling that even his moderate height would dwarf the other man. His hair and eyes were identical shades of dark, rich brown, the damp hair on the crown of his head tending toward black. When he put his hands on his hips and sucked in a deep breath, his arms showed an impressive amount of muscle tone through the layers of sweaters.

"The books were not shit," he said, glaring down at Marcus.

Marcus raised an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, so they weren't literary masterpieces," he admitted, gesturing wildly, "but there were more redeeming characteristics than people give them credit for." A waitress ducked out of the way skillfully as he swung his arm, and he apologized, scooting closer to Marcus's table. "At least they had a decent plot twist."

Shifting in his chair, Marcus picked up a few fries and chewed them slowly. The omega's eyes sparkled when he talked, and the tension bled out of his frame. His hands flitted about like the Italian he appeared to be, but there was a bit of a drawl to his words.

"By all means," Marcus said, taking a sip of his drink to moisten his dry throat, "enlighten me. I read the first twelve chapters of the first book before I had to give up. It was that or abandon the rest of my brain cells to their fate."

Scowling, the omega violently pulled out one of the chairs on the other side of the table and sat down. "There's your problem," he said, pointing at Marcus with one surprisingly blunt finger. "Chapter thirteen is where it really starts to get going. Do you remember that weird bit with the dead tree from the beginning?" Without waiting for Marcus to answer, he waved his hand toward what Marcus assumed was supposed to be the beginning of the book, almost knocking over an untouched glass of water. "There's a character introduced in thirteen that makes all that make sense."

Marcus hummed, feeling his lips twist as he considered the point. "So what you're telling me," he said, taking a sip of his soda, the acid bite washing away the salt and grease, "is that the editing team should be fired."

The other man stared across the table for a moment, his dark hair falling into his face as he glared ferociously. "Yes," he said, nodding firmly. The grin that stretched his lips made the perfect frame for the gap in his teeth. Leaning back in his chair, he stole a handful of fries off Marcus's plate.

Laughing, Marcus pushed the plate at him, trying not to be too obvious about admiring the lean sprawl of body laid out before him. His tongue tingled with the desire to taste that adorable gap.

Someone cleared their throat nearby, and Marcus bit back a curse as the omega sat up straight suddenly, his hand clutching at his bag strap.

The waitress smiled apologetically. "The lights are going out all over the city, so the manager is asking us to close out all the tickets in case we lose power."

"Of course," Marcus said, getting to his feet to fish out his credit card. The omega stood up as well, a delightful flush crawling up his cheek as he stared around the nearly empty restaurant. When it had cleared out, he had no idea. "Can I get a couple boxes?"

While she ran his card, he boxed up the remains of his food. It really was a ridiculous amount of food; he was going to have leftovers for days.

"Here," he said, offering one of the containers to the omega. "I hate cold fries."

"Maybe you shouldn't have ordered the whole fucking restaurant," the other man snapped. He didn't hesitate to stuff the container into his bag, though, so Marcus just smiled.

"It was nice meeting you. I'm Marcus."

The tension was back in the little omega's shoulders, and he didn't even glance at Marcus's outstretched hand, sniffing and stomping toward the entrance. Marcus laughed under his breath and earned himself a quick glare and the bird.

By the time the waitress came back, the omega was out of sight. Marcus refused to admit he was disappointed.