The Alpha’s Pen Pal (Crescent Lake Book 1)
The Alpha’s Pen Pal: Chapter 32

WESLEY

True to my word, I went to see the ballet every night of Haven’s performance run. Some nights I went alone; other nights I came with one of the guys, or Jack and Shirley, or whoever happened to be interested in attending with me.

I leaned against my truck outside the theater Sunday afternoon waiting for her to come outside, kicking rocks with the toe of my boot while I tried to be patient. All the dancers had to clear out their dressing rooms so everything could be cleaned and readied for the next ballet. Maya had offered to take all of Haven’s bouquets back to their apartment so I could take her out for a late breakfast. Or “brunch,” as they liked to call it.

And Haven had a lot of bouquets. Because, one, I had bought her a bouquet of roses for every performance, a different color each night, and two, she had flowers from every single person who knew her and came to see her, as well as some from other admirers of her performance.

Was I jealous that people who didn’t really know her gave her flowers? No.

Okay, yes.

But I knew she treasured mine above all the rest. Maya sent me a picture of her dressing room, showing me how only my roses sat on her makeup counter while she had already taken the rest back to their apartment. But mine all stayed in the place of honor for the entire run of the ballet. With Barry the dancing wolf right in the middle of them all.

The hint of jasmine fluttered towards me, and I lifted my eyes to replace my girl strolling to me, her hair down and flowing around her shoulders, wearing the same denim shorts I’d seen her in at the lake, a black T-shirt, the sweater she’d thrown on over her dance clothes when I’d ambushed her at her apartment, and a little crossbody purse.

In her hands she held an envelope, and I tried to peek at it, but she hid it behind her back as she skipped on her last few steps, landing in front of me with a little puff of air and a smile, her curls bouncing with her movement.

“Hey!” she chirped.

“You all done?” I asked, smiling down at her and resisting the urge to pull her into my arms and devour her right there in the theater parking lot.

“All done!” she repeated, a grin on her face.

“Good,” I muttered. “Now I get you all to myself,” I added, almost too quiet for her to hear.

She stepped in closer to me, and I moved my legs, making room for her body to press up against mine. She’d been so busy the last week that, aside from the gala, we hadn’t spent much actual time together. We’d had a few brief moments after her performances, a quick lunch the other day between her rehearsals, and ice cream with my parents, but other than that, nothing.

She needed her rest to be in top condition for each of her performances, and I respected that, even though I wanted to be selfish and take her out every night and show her off. Or take her back to Crescent Lake, bring her to my house, and show her all the ways I could make her little body respond to me, then fall asleep with her in my arms and wake up with her by my side.

Obviously, I had done none of that during the two weekends of her performances and the days in between. But now that she had a bit of time off before rehearsals for the next ballet began, I intended to make the most of it and take steps to deepen our relationship and move things further. Slowly, of course.

And not just because I wanted to be with her physically, even though I did. It was because I wanted to be with her. With Haven. My pen pal. My Sugar Plum.

Keeping her hands behind her back, she tilted her face up to me. I lowered mine to hers, but instead of kissing her, I murmured, “What’s in the envelope?”

“A letter,” she replied, her warm breath fanning my lips and making my dick twitch in my jeans.

“To whom?”

“My pen pal,” she teased.

“He must be a special guy,” I chuckled, my lycan preening as her body gave a little shudder at the deep sound.

“He’s all right,” she said breathlessly.

Her eyes fluttered down to my lips, and I decided to put both of us out of our misery and closed the last bit of distance between us.

The sweet taste of her mouth sent my lycan into a frenzy, urging me to put my hands on her and turn her so her back was up against my truck.

Throwing caution to the wind, I did just that, using the distraction to slip that envelope out of her hands. A gasp left her mouth as her back hit the truck, and I caged her in with my arms, my body covering hers and blocking her from the view of any passers-by.

My lips pressed to hers one more time, then I pulled the envelope between us, opening it and reading it while still keeping her trapped between my body and my truck.

To My Pal,

Eleven and a half years have passed since our last letters to each other, and yet, somehow, at times, it feels like no time has passed at all. I can still remember how I would feel checking my mailbox for an envelope with your handwriting, how my heart would leap inside my chest when I would see my name scrawled across the front and the return address from California. I can still remember the excitement of dropping my purple envelopes off at the post office or in our mailbox, knowing that in a few days you would be opening it, reading it, and writing back to me.

Who’d have thought that all these years later we’d be more than just pen pals?

Well, apparently Jack did, but we’ll pretend for the sake of this moment that he didn’t.

When I read the letters you wrote to me while Jack was in the hospital and you didn’t know if I was okay or mad at you, I think a part of me already knew that you were not the one to blame for our abrupt halt in communication. And then, after talking to Melissa, I knew something fishy was going on, and I should give you a chance.

But I was being stubborn. I had blamed you for so long, had made you out to be this big, bad guy. The villain. And I didn’t want to let that go. I didn’t want to change the narrative.

I would have forgiven you, even without Sebastian doing what he did. But it would have taken longer. I won’t lie about that. So, I guess we should probably thank Sebastian someday. Eventually. Maybe in a few years, so his head doesn’t get TOO big.

What I wanted to do with this letter was answer your spring break letter as if I was still nine-year-old Haven. But I can’t. It’s too hard for me to go back to that time, that moment, those weeks when Jack was sick, and after, when they took me away and threw me into a new family just as I had finally accepted Jack and Shirley as my parents.

So, instead, I’m just going to answer them as now me. I figured you wouldn’t mind.

I don’t get a spring break anymore. However, we do have layoffs occasionally between runs. That’s when we have a week or two with no rehearsals or classes or anything. But we still have to do training on our own to stay in top condition and keep our technique.

Camping at the beach sounds amazing. I’ve never been camping, as Melissa and Matt didn’t really like to leave Salt Lake unless absolutely necessary, and I’ve also never been to the beach.

Your town’s spring festival sounds fun. Do you still do that? I hope you do because I would love to attend it with you.

Okay, this letter is getting way longer than I intended. I am going to wrap it up now because I know I’m going to be seeing or actually talking to you soon, anyway.

All my best,

Twinkle Toes

I had to fight back against the tightness in my chest as I finished the letter. The wave of nostalgia that hit me while reading was unexpected and overwhelming. I remembered the same anticipation of waiting for her letters, the same problem of remembering something important I needed to tell her and rushing to get it into my most recent letter before I sent it off.

But there was one thing in the letter that stuck out to me even more. “Wait, you’ve never been to the beach?” I asked, my brow wrinkling as I stepped back from her body in shock.

“Really? That whole letter and that’s what you take away from it?” she asked with a scoff, putting her hands on her hips.

“But have you really never been to the beach?” I repeated.

“No, never.” She shrugged, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her sweater and crossing her arms. “You forget I’m from Colorado, and then I lived in Salt Lake. Other than going to NYC for the Youth America Grand Prix, I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

I just stared at her, still. Of course, I knew there were people on this planet who had never seen the beach or the ocean, but I’d never met any of them.

“How long is your layoff again?” I asked.

“We have two weeks before rehearsals start,” she said.

“So you don’t have class or rehearsal or anything tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

Perfect.

“Get in the truck,” I ordered, opening the passenger door for her.

“Why?” She laughed, looking at me like I’d grown two heads.

“Get. In. The. Truck.” I paused after each word, my smirk growing every time I spoke.

“But why?”

“Just get in!” I exclaimed, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards me. “Be spontaneous, Twinkle Toes.”

She shook her head at me, but I pulled her purse off her, tossed it into the truck, then lifted her by her waist and set her in the passenger seat, buckling her in before she could protest.

I kept my hands on the seat on either side of her hips and leaned in close until my mouth was inches away from hers. Her soft pink lips parted, and she inhaled sharply.

“Trust me. You’ll like this,” I promised.

I waited for a beat, my eyes darting down to her lips, then I pulled away and shut the door so I could get in and get us on the road.

As I got in, I peeked in the backseat, checking that my camping supplies were still stored back there and that Seb or Reid hadn’t decided to borrow them without asking again.

I smiled as I started the truck, way too pleased with myself for this idea I had come up with. It was fun, slightly romantic, and it would get me to have Haven all to myself for twenty-four hours at least.

I first took us through a drive-thru to grab some coffee and food. Then we drove in relative silence for a while, the radio the only sound aside from Haven’s occasional light humming.

I stole a peek at her as I drove, trying to admire her without her knowing as she watched the trees and hills pass us by through her window.

Her red curls were wild, and the sun glinted off them, setting them aflame. She extended her long legs, her feet resting on my dashboard. Had it been anyone else, I would have gotten irritated and made them take them off, but because it was her, because of the view it gave me of her ivory skin, I let it slide.

I cut my perusal of her body short when she turned the volume down and said, “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, Wes?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, that’s why I said, ‘So are you going to tell me where we’re going, Wes?’”

I laughed, shaking my head at her, then grabbed her hand resting on the armrest between us.

“You don’t like surprises very much, do you?”

“I like good surprises.”

“This is a good surprise. I promise.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes but smiled at me. “All right then. Keep your secrets.”

“Just relax and rest a little, Frodo,” I teased her. “We still have a journey ahead of us, and I know you’re worn out from your performances.”

“Bossy,” she muttered, and I laughed again.

But she closed her eyes, and soon her deep, even breathing told me she was asleep, and I pulled my phone out to make the phone calls I needed in order to enact my surprise for her.