11. Lady & The Tramp

ELEVEN

LADY & THE TRAMP

By some miracle, Oliver avoided interviewing any more children the following day. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or just a dodgy lasagne, but the foster placement called at eight o’clock on the dot to inform him that both Hattie and Amil had stomach bugs. No horrible ex-boyfriend reunions today, thanks very much.

Although, he’d have almost taken the horrible ex-boyfriend if it meant getting out of his current predicament. Almost . Because as it turned out, ‘Aunty Joanne’ was not actually Alfie’s aunt at all. She was a well-known drug dealer with a hotline that ran out of a semi-detached bungalow in the middle of a retirement village. She introduced herself to the custody sergeant as ‘Mary Joanna Cocana,’ which Oliver thought was fucking hilarious, given that her main products were marijuana and coke.

“Pass the shears, love,” Nancy said, her heavily booted feet balancing precariously on his shoulders.

“Nance, I can’t hold you up and reach across the room for the shears. You’ll have to rip the plants out with your hands and drop them through the loft hatch.”

Nancy tutted. “I’m not ripping them out with my hands. I’ll get a rash.”

“I told you to double-fucking-glove, love, ” he replied, gripping her ankles. “Get down and I’ll do it.”

Other officers worked around them, tearing down the metal fans, foil pipes and makeshift plastic canopy that contained just one tiny portion of the cultivation. Oliver had to admit that the set-up was fairly impressive, with its homemade hydroponic system and carefully timed lighting rig. It was almost a shame they had to tear it all down. Almost .

By the time they’d finished for the day, Oliver’s back and shoulders ached so badly he was thinking about cancelling his not-date with Lucas—because not even the call of carbonara and a booster dose of paracetamol could take away the discomfort. Plus, his face and arms were banged up from crawling through vents and being elbow deep in plant-matter all day.

Oh shit , what if the restaurant staff thought he was a beaten spouse? What if they called the police? Then he thought about the conversation where he’d have to explain ‘ no lady, we are the police. ’

Jesus, why was he such an over-thinker?

He showered, hoping the water would improve his condition. It didn’t, but at least he smelled like peach and vanilla, instead of a cannabis factory .

Then his phone rang. It was Matteus. He scowled at the phone, because he really did have a massive bone to pick with his brother. But then he remembered he was pregnant so would probably cry, and man , he did not have the mental fortitude to cope with that.

“Hi,” he said, tone flat.

“Ollie. Hi. How’s it going? Doing anything nice tonight?” And Oliver could just imagine the smug grin on his face.

“I think you know, Matty.”

“Know? Know what? What do I know?”

Oliver lay on the bed, nestling his head in Roger’s lap. Give me strength, my cuddly friend.

“Matty, please. I’m not in the mood for your antics.”

There was rustling down the phone, as it was put onto loudspeaker. “What time are you going?” Julian asked.

“The table’s booked for eight.”

The alpha hummed. “And are you driving or getting a taxi?”

“I’m driving.”

“Have you taken another round of suppressants?”

“Yes.”

“You call us if something happens. Or he makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Okay, dad.”

“I mean it, Oll?—”

“And wear that blue shirt with the little white birds on it,” Matteus cut across him. “Oh, oh, and those black jeans that I got you last year. Oh, and your brown ankle boots, yeah? And maybe a silver chain or something.”

Oliver groaned. He could practically hear the cogs working in Matteus’ brain. “Nah, I was thinking of just wearing a tracksuit and sliders.”

Matteus gasped. “You can’t! Oh my God, please Ollie, please don’t. Right, I’m coming over.”

Now Oliver was laughing. “I was joking, you idiot. Yes, I’ll wear the shirt.”

“And the jeans and the boots, got it?”

Sighing, Oliver dragged himself over to his extremely messy wardrobe. He pulled out the shirt and jeans, but instead extracted a pair of black Docs that were hidden under a pile of clothes. “Yes, I’ve got everything. Can I go now?”

“Oh, one more thing! Make your hair all fluffy on the top, like you’ve just got out of bed. You look so cute like that.”

“Jesus Christ, Matty. Anything else?”

“Wear comfortable underwear.”

Oliver wrinkled his nose. “It’s not that kind of dinner, pervert.”

“Sure, sure. Anyhoo, have fun, and send us some food pics!”

With that, Oliver shook his head and hung up. He pulled on the jeans, shirt and boots combination—which he had to admit, looked damned good—and worked a comb through his messy hair. Nervous energy curled in his stomach as he looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t gotten dressed up, or been to dinner with someone that wasn’t Matteus or his parents in so long. But this wasn’t a date. Absolutely not a fucking date.

Keys in hand, he flicked on the lights to the underground garage. His eyes took a moment to adjust, but when they did, his gaze fell upon the sunset yellow Citroen C2 parked in the corner of the lot. The Yellow Peril.

“Evening princess,” he said, running his fingers over the slightly rusted wheel-arch and faded roof. She was old, but she was his, and the fact she’d passed her last emissions test was an actual miracle.

Pulling open the door, he plopped into the driver’s seat and ran his hands around the steering wheel. He glanced over at the passenger side, a grin curling his lips at the thought of Lucas squeezing himself into the horribly uncomfortable grey seat.

“Now, YP,” he said, tapping the dashboard. “We have a passenger tonight, so none of your usual nonsense, got it?” The car, of course, said nothing. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Turning the key in the ignition, he grimaced at how long it took the engine to turn over. However, after a few moments of revving and sputtering, the Yellow Peril shuddered into life.

“That-a-girl!” He said, patting the steering wheel.

It took exactly four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to drive to The Cherry Tree Hotel, and the sun was already beginning to set. It cast an amber glow across the horizon, and as Oliver’s eye followed it, he caught sight of Lucas leaning against the wall. He wore a pale pink shirt, dark brown chinos and tan loafers. His presence alone exuded class, making Oliver begin to feel a little self-conscious as he pulled up in his ancient yellow car.

He felt significantly less self-conscious when he noticed two very pretty omegas practically hanging off Lucas’ arms. The alpha looked mildly annoyed as they pressed themselves against him, their tight dresses and roaming hands making their intentions clear.

Oliver gave an impish grin as he pulled the car under the hotel awning, revving and beeping the horn as the concierge gave him a horrified look. Lucas glanced over, raising a hand, and Oh God , he was wearing his hair in the way Oliver liked. The alpha smiled as he waved the women and concierge away, assuring them that, yes , the raggamuffin-in-an-ancient-yellow-Citroen was there for him.

He leant down, braced a hand on the roof bar and hung over Oliver’s open window. “What a beauty,” he said, looking into the car.

“Thanks,” Oliver replied, “She’s almost considered vintage.”

Lucas grinned. “The car’s nice too.”

Oliver scowled and wound up the window. “Get in.”

He could hear Lucas chuckling all the way round to the passenger side, and the two women glared at Oliver as the alpha got into his car. Oliver had to seriously restrain himself from sticking out his tongue.

Lucas clipped his seatbelt into place. “Is this thing road legal, Reed?”

“Oh yes,” he replied, putting the car into gear. “The passenger side window doesn’t work, and she has a weird tapping noise coming from the boot, but I assure you, DS White, she is quite road legal.”

“She?” Lucas said, shifting in the seat.

“Yeah. Her name is Yolanda. Well, actually her full name is Yolanda the Yellow Peril mark two.”

“What happened to mark one?”

“Matteus crashed her into a lamppost outside the supermarket. Did I tell you it took him six attempts to pass his test?”

Lucas laughed. It was a lovely, warm sound that made Oliver feel a bit fuzzy inside. “You did. Right after lecturing me about broken biscuits.”

Oliver smiled, then blushed as he remembered what had occurred mere moments before. And holy shit, Lucas smelled good, like seriously, mouth-wateringly good. Oliver subtly licked his lip before cracking open the only working window.

“Yes, well… I hope you took my lesson to heart.”

“I did,” Lucas replied, casually propping his ankle on his knee. The alpha’s thigh brushed Oliver’s hand as it rested on the gear stick.

“R-Right… well, this evening is more of a test than a lesson.” He moved his hand to the steering wheel.

Lucas’ brow flicked up. “A test?”

“Yeah. A test of friendship. If you can survive a ride in the Yellow Peril, then our friendship can survive anything.”

“And if we crash?”

“Then please don’t revive me, because Matty would not let me live it down.”

“I could give you the kiss of life.”

Oliver clenched his jaw and slowly turned to look at the alpha. “Do I need to turn this car around, Detective Sergeant White?”

Lucas’ nostrils flared as he dragged his hazel eyes over Oliver’s throat. “No. But you can say that again, DC Reed. Slower, and clench your teeth more.”

Oliver let out a sharp breath and found his gaze drifting up to the sky, because Mary Mother of Christ, it was going to be a long drive.

The Yellow Peril heaved into a parking space—her axels groaned and the gearbox made a suspicious chugging sound—but somehow they made it to Bella Italia without breaking down.

Sitting on the outskirts of town, the restaurant overlooked a grassy park which they had to walk through to reach its entrance. Lucas held open the door as they slipped inside, the smell of Italian food hitting Oliver’s nose and making his mouth water. Lucas’ fingers brushed his lower back as they waited at the front desk, and Oliver had to stop himself from leaning into the touch.

The waitress welcomed them with a bright smile. “Do you have a booking?”

“Yes. White. Eight o’clock,” Lucas said, their shoulders pressing together. The girl’s eyes softened as her gaze slipped to Oliver, then back up to Lucas, then back to Oliver. Her lip quivered slightly, and she had to cover her mouth to stifle a quiet gasp. Oliver narrowed his eyes and glared up at the alpha, who returned his suspicious expression with an overly sympathetic smile.

What the fuck?

The waitressed lead them towards a window table overlooking the park, which was possibly the best view in the entire place. Families played together on the green, children—both human and wolf jumped in and out of the massive fountain at its centre. Deep, achingly soulful notes thrummed from a cellist positioned just outside the window, and the air conditioning was set just right, so it blew a gentle breeze through both their hair. It was, in a word, romantic.

Scowling, Oliver plucked up the menu that was laid before him, reached across the table and grabbed the collar of Lucas’ shirt. He held the menu up, shielding their faces from view.

“What the hell did you tell them to get this table?” He hissed, their faces almost touching.

Lucas grinned and rubbed the tip of his nose against Oliver’s. “That’s confidential information,” he whispered, “But you should probably cough a few times, to make it look convincing.”

“Cough? Convincing? Fucking hell, did you tell them I’m dying or something?”

The alpha shrugged, pinching the menu between his fingers and pulling it closer to their faces. “I may… or may not… have implied that you have a terrible wasting condition, and this may be your one and only opportunity to sample their famous tiramisu.”

Oliver wrinkled his nose, “So now I have to pretend to be dying and have tiramisu for dessert? I’m honestly not sure which is worse.”

“You don’t like tiramisu?”

“No! Who the fuck likes tiramisu? I wanted the limoncello cheesecake.”

“I like tiramisu, actually. But, I suppose we could have both.”

Oliver scoffed and dropped the menu. “Christ on a bike, Lucas. Black tea, tiramisu…next you’re going to tell me you like Brussel sprouts.”

Lucas drew back, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “What’s wrong with them?”

Covering his mouth, Oliver looked out the window. “Someone call an exorcist.”

Lucas sucked his bottom lip and picked up the menu again. “Reed,” he said, pretending to study it. “Please don’t make me laugh. This is a very serious matter.”

“ You made it a serious matter when you told them I was dying,” he growled, stabbing his forefinger into the surface of the table. His scowl slowly fell away when he saw Lucas holding the menu over his mouth, eyes shining as he tried not to laugh. Their eyes met, and Oliver had to cover his own mouth to stop a smile forming.

“You’re terrible,” he whispered, tapping Lucas’ knee under the table. The alpha caught his hand, gently squeezing his fingers.

“So are you,” he replied, the corner of his mouth tipping into a teasing grin.

Hushed giggles caught Oliver’s attention, and as he turned towards the sound, he spotted two of the waitresses huddled together in the corner. They gazed at them with watery eyes and wistful sighs, and Oliver inadvertently coughed. Lucas chuckled and ran a thumb over his knuckles.

“Don’t overdo it,” he whispered.

“R-Right,” Oliver replied, mouthing to the waitresses that he would really like some wine, before casting his attention to the menu. Even the lettering oozed class, and he was slightly ashamed to admit that he didn’t recognise half the dishes on offer.

Heat crept up his neck as he felt Lucas’ fingers tracing circles across his knee. He wasn’t sure when they had become quite so touchy-feely, but as his eyes flicked up, he saw the alpha staring down at the menu with a frown.

Then, it was Oliver who smirked. “Well? What does the globe trotting Special Branch officer recommend?”

Lucas looked up, scrubbing a hand over his freshly shaven chin. “Can you understand this?” He replied, gesturing at the menu.

Oliver grinned and pointed to the two things he could actually read. “That says carbonara, and that says spaghetti bolognaise. That might say lasagna but they’ve added a few extra letters so I can’t be sure.”

“Yes, Reed. I could read that much.”

Oliver stuck out the tip of his tongue. “Well, seeing as you’re just as much of an uncultured swine as I am, I’d say there’s only one thing for it.”

“Oh?” Lucas lifted a brow.

Taking a sip of wine, Oliver leant back with a smug expression. “Tasting platter.”

Lucas glanced at the menu again, his mouth slowly forming a smile. “It’s twenty-seven courses, Reed. We’ll be here all night.”

Oliver nodded, tapping the tip of his toe against the chair leg. “You’ve seen how quickly I can put away a packet of Malted Milks. Do you doubt my capabilities?”

Humming, Lucas laid the menu on the table. “That’s true. In fact, I believe I witnessed a case study just this morning with chocolate chip cookies.”

Oliver scoffed. “Jesus, you make it sound like I’ve got a problem.”

The ‘small plates’ advertised on the tasting platter were, in fact, not all that small, and by the tenth course, Oliver had to take a break. He pressed a glass of water to his neck as he found himself growing very hot and very uncomfortable.

“Giving up so soon?” Lucas said, swirling red wine around his glass.

Fanning himself with a napkin, Oliver asked one of the waitresses to open a window. “Give me a minute. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Lucas chuckled, finishing the remnants of a Caprese salad. As he patted a napkin to his lips, his eyes flicked to the flush of pink that was slowly creeping across Oliver’s cheeks. Leaning across the table, he pressed the back of his hand to Oliver’s forehead, frowning as he brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“You’re quite warm, Reed. Are you sure the pork ragu didn’t finish you off?”

Waving the comment away, Oliver took a long gulp of cold water as his feet began to grow hot. Leaning back in his seat, he ran his tongue over his teeth. The stress of the last few days had sapped his energy more than he realised, and he found his eyes growing heavy.

“Reed,” Lucas said, gently tickling the back of his hand. Oliver’s gaze slid from the window to the alpha.

“Yes?” He replied, voice quiet.

“I said, thank you for coming.”

Oliver gave a small smile as he ran a finger around the rim of his wineglass. “Emotional blackmail aside, thank you for inviting me. If left to my own devices, I’d have just spent the whole evening feeling depressed about Alfie.”

Lucas sighed, taking another sip of wine. “It took its toll on you.” Oliver nodded. “You did an exceptional job with what you had. I hope you know that.”

Letting out a breath, Oliver looked down at his glass. “I-I’m not sure about that, Lucas. I feel like I made things worse. What if he never opens up to me?”

“No, Reed. It was clear to anyone watching that he felt safe with you. He wanted to talk, but it was too much. You were right. We should have taken our time.”

Oliver’s brows pinched together as he looked up at the alpha. “Thank you,” he whispered. “He’ll need a lot of counselling before he’s ready to talk again. I just hope social services do a better job of supporting him this time.”

“Shirley’s left, hasn’t she? Isn’t there someone new taking over?”

Swallowing the dryness in his throat, Oliver nodded.

“Have you worked with him before?”

He hesitated before answering. “No.”

Thankfully, the waitresses chose that moment to bring another round of plates, which Oliver ate if only to avoid talking about Patrick. “So,” he said, steering the conversation well and truly away from contentious ex-boyfriends. “How did you end up in the Special Branch?”

Lucas shrugged and took a forkful of Salsa Verde. “The same way you got into child protection. I had an interest, a job came up, and I applied.”

Talking was good. Talking took Oliver’s mind off the heat creeping up his spine. “Yeah, but jobs like that are rare. Surely you had tough competition?”

“Of course,” Lucas replied, tipping his head to the side. “But I was a firearms sergeant at the time, and let’s just say the current Chief Inspector really, really likes tall men with guns.”

Oliver’s mouth hung open as he gave the alpha an incredulous look. “You let the DCI touch your gun, didn’t you?”

Lucas grinned, gazing at Oliver over the rim of his wineglass. “No comment,” he said, taking a long drink

Oliver couldn’t help but watch the way his throat moved as he swallowed. The slow constriction of tendons and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Blinking, he snapped his attention back to the food. “You’re more of a dark horse than I realised.” He stuck his fork into a long strand of fettuccine.

“It’s taken you this long to notice?” Lucas slid his own fork onto the dish. “And here I thought you were a qualified detective.”

Oliver glanced down at their forks, at how they waged war over the same piece of pasta. “Oh dear,” he said, twisting it in the sauce. “Are we about to have a Lady and the Tramp moment?”

Lucas smirked, jabbing the teeth of their utensils together. “You be the lady. I’ll be the tramp.”

Oliver’s nostrils flared, and he allowed the fork to be yanked out of his clammy hand. Heat swept up his body like a tidal wave, starting at the soles of his feet to the top of his scalp. Lucas dropped the entangled forks, head snapping up as his pupils engulfed his hazel irises.

That didn’t happen in Lady and the Tramp.

Oliver tugged at his collar, which was a mistake because the alpha’s gaze went straight to his reddening throat. “Reed,” Lucas whispered, lip peeling back over his teeth.

“I-I…oh…I-I should…oh my God,” he stuttered.

Oliver’s eyes darted around the room, instinctually scanning it for threats. When his gaze dragged back to Lucas, a sudden jolt of panic made his spine go rigid. An alpha… oh fuck, there was an alpha sitting a meter away from him.

Before he had time to stand, another wave of heat washed over him, sending a painful bolt of pressure straight to his lower back. Clenching his teeth, he gripped the edge of the table and tried to look at anything other than Lucas. He was vaguely aware of the waitress placing something on the table. Fucking Christ, please don’t let it be more pasta. The beep of the card machine bringing him momentarily back to his senses.

“I’ll just get your receipt,” the waitress said, glancing at Oliver with a concerned expression.

Fuck the fucking receipt.

A cramping sensation suddenly gripped his lower back, and he had to hunch over to stop himself from groaning. It passed quickly, but left his heart thundering in his chest. His eyes drifted to the jaguar tattoo on Lucas’ forearm, and how he rolled up his sleeves to expose the thick vein snaking its way to his bicep. He wanted to lick that vein, to feel the way it thrummed beneath his tongue. Another wave washed over him, but that time it felt like a fist pressing into his coccyx. He’d fucked up. Like, big-leagues levels of fuck-uppery.

His thoughts momentarily flitted to Pember and how defenceless he had been when his heat struck without warning. Except Oliver had warning. Plenty of fucking warning, in fact. His sensitivity to pheromones, the flu, the bad back, his piss poor mood, the constant ever-living need to touch his cock when he was around Lucas. Shit, he was an irresponsible twat.

“Reed,” Lucas said again, a low rumble pulsing through his chest.

Oliver’s eyes darted to his sternum, flitting over his exposed collar bones and to his impossibly full mouth. His eyelids felt heavy, his movements sluggish.

“ Reed ,” Lucas repeated, prying Oliver’s fingers out of their vice-like grip on the edge of the table. He held his wrist, the pads of his fingers pressing into the sensitive skin. It had been a mistake, because before Oliver knew what he was doing, his foot hooked around Lucas’ calf and dragged a line all the way up to the top of his thigh. The alpha’s eyes darkened even further.

“Sorry,” Oliver whispered, his voice sounding pathetically weak. “I’m so sorry.”

“Tiramisu?” The waitress said, returning to their table.

Oliver pulled his eyes away from the alpha, vaguely able to comprehend the plastic container being pressed into his hand. “T-Thanks,” he said, a trickle of sweat rolling down his neck.

Before the girl had time to impart further pleasantries, Lucas hauled him to his feet and out of the restaurant. The alpha’s arm was around his waist, fingers pressing into the ticklish place just below his ribs. Squirming, Oliver tried to pull away, but the treacherous omega within pressed itself tighter into the alpha’s grip.

“I’m taking you home,” Lucas growled, shoving his hand into Oliver’s pocket to extract the keys to the Yellow Peril. Oliver wanted to make a joke about the last time Lucas pilfered his pockets, but found his jaw inexplicably slack.

“Y-Yes,” he stuttered, barely in control of his own tongue.

A large gathering had formed on the path ahead, and Oliver could just about make out a range of colourful balls being tossed into the air. Jugglers . What the hell was a troupe of jugglers doing in the park on a Tuesday evening? If there was a patron saint of street performers, Oliver cursed them in that moment.

“Go that way,” he said, weakly pointing towards a narrow path that ran around the edge of the grass. “I-It’ll still get us back to the car park.”

Lucas nodded, pulling their bodies apart to slip his hand around Oliver’s. Their fingers entwined, and Oliver knew it had been the death of what little self-restraint he had left.

“Lucas,” he whimpered, pressing the alpha’s forearm against his body. “A-Alpha.”

Lucas’ jaw clamped shut, his expression razor focused on the path ahead. “It’s not far. I can see Yolanda from here,” he said, not meeting Oliver’s desperate gaze. He looked composed, save for the way his breath came out in ragged bursts.

Rounding the corner, they came to the edge of a murky green pond. Oliver knew from experience that it was far deeper than it looked, having fallen into it on a night out with Julian and Matteus four or five years prior.

Oliver felt like a dead weight as they skirted around its edge, Lucas pulling him along. They were almost clear of the water when loud, slurred voices called out to them. Snapping his head up, Oliver saw three males standing on the path ahead. Alphas. Two of which had harassed Pember during that fateful night at The Cock and Bull.

Lucas tucked him into his body, his heady scent slamming into his nose and making Oliver’s mouth water at the blatant possessiveness. He couldn’t help but rub his face against Lucas’ chest.

“Found you!” One of the alphas called, a dark look in his eyes. It was the one that tried to smash a poorly placed haymaker into Oliver’s skull.

“Fuck off,” Lucas growled, causing a surge of territorial ferocity to spike in Oliver’s gut.

“We had no idea the white-haired bitch was an omega. Is the little shit your mate?” He said, taking a step towards them.

“Yes,” Lucas barked back.

The alpha hummed, “Well, that’s funny. I don’t see a mark on him.”

“Stand aside,” Lucas growled, heat spreading across his skin and prickling Oliver’s chest.

“Oh, come on, there’s plenty of him to go around.”

This time, it was Oliver who growled. “He said, fuck off .”

A confused expression washed over the male’s faces. “Reed,” Lucas hissed, fingers digging into his hip.

“That’s not an omega,” the first male said, cracking his knuckles. “Oh man, this is gonna be fun.”

Lucas took a step forward, shoving Oliver behind him. “Leave. Now. Before I end up doing something you’ll regret.”

Were it not for the heat making his senses fuzzy, Oliver might’ve seen the first punch coming, but realisation came too late as the other alphas started moving.

Then it was cold. So dreadfully cold as he lost his footing and fell straight into the pond.