Sugar Coated

4

Delaney Linwood

The Sinclair pack really did a ringer on this jukebox. I genuinely didn't know how it was that an ice cream parlor could get rowdy enough to constantly have this thing breaking so often, but I'd imagine it had something to do with the First Friday rumors floating around about Sugar Coated.

It was just about three months ago that I'd ended up here in the first place after responding to a craigslist ad because I apparently had no good sense to stop me from tempting serial killers. Like clockwork I'd kept getting called back for small things: surround speakers no longer working, lights stopped turning on, LED display took a crap, this time the jukebox wouldn't turn on at all.

I pulled the back panel off, dropping the screws into a small metal tin to hold them so they didn't end up rolling out of sight. I settled myself on my butt, sitting behind the jukebox, wedged between it and the wall, using it as a shield from prying eyes. I was just in time too, the handle of the office door clicked. I could hear dulcet tones of conversation but no words.

It had to be Jackson and Emil since Andres had retreated to the upper level of their pack territory and I couldn't catch any scents of outsiders in their spaces. Except for me. I couldn't muster the courage to lean out from my space behind the music player to confirm, though.

Not that I need to, because in seconds the thickened scent of both of them surrounded me. Emil's head popped over the top of the jukebox, his face split in a smile that you couldn't help but return, "Delaney!"

"Hello, Emil," I laughed a little at his bubbly nature even as I was drowning in pheromones.

He sidestepped the jukebox entirely, crowding into my space behind it and dropping to the floor to sit beside me. In an exaggerated motion, he'd leaned into me and pressed his face to my cheek in greeting. It was still something that took me by surprise even though the pecks had been his way of welcoming me for the last month or so that I'd been called here on business.

When he pulled away the scents lingered on my cheek, which I was sure was pinkened what with the flush I could feel burning its way up my throat and itching at the collar of my shirt and along the edge of the choker I was wearing. I fiddled with it nervously, running my finger under the worn edges to loosen it enough to stop the nervous reaction.

Jackson greeted me next, filling in the space above the jukebox that Emil had vacated, "Delaney, doll, always a pleasure to see you." Those cherub curls of his were pulled back into a tight bun on his head. It made his face sharper, more predatory even with the wispy curls that still stuck out around his temples. He looked every inch the alpha that he was when he wasn't in his work uniform. Those remnant traces of ideas of angels turned into something sinful when he looked like that.

"Nice to see you too, Jackson." My fingers traced along the inner edge of the jukebox, dodging past any circuit boards or wiring, merely finding something to occupy their time while I waded through the onslaught of being surrounded by the scent of sex. "You mentioned the power wouldn't turn on at all?"

His honeyed eyes crinkled at the sides. "Just stopped working entirely."

"A great excuse to call our favorite mechanic," Emil quipped from beside me, inching closer and closer to just resting his chin on my shoulder entirely while I worked.

"At this rate, I'd recommend better taste in mechanics. How many times have I been called back to fix this thing in the last three months?" I traced the sleeving on the power cable where it rested against the metal edge of the jukebox's chassis. Shredded. I don't know how I didn't notice it the last time I was digging around in this thing's metaphorical guts. Could have been chewed out by a rat or a mouse. Though with that kind of damage I'd have expected to see a dead rat in this thing at the very least, fried from chewing down to the metal wiring entirely.