Will and Gabriel were meeting at the courthouse so Will could be introduced to the lawyer who’d be spearheading most of the criminal defense work for the AAF going forward. Will had asked around about him already. He was a relatively recent hire, some top gun who’d graduated from Yale Law. He’d come from a huge white shoe firm in Manhattan where he’d made a shit ton of money before leaving to join the revolution. 

Weird origin story for a nonprofit lawyer, but okay. The more the merrier in the movement. 

 He was running early, so he waited in the coffee shop until he saw Gabriel coming down the hallway. For a second, he thought Bruno Gallo was back on duty, because Gabriel had a big-as-hell shadow following behind him. Then he looked closer and saw what was up. 

Holy shit. It’s fucking Brent.

He winced. Brent had been at the AAF Fundraiser, which now made total sense. Brent was the big deal criminal defense guy? The do-gooder? An Alpha?

Will stood as they approached the table, as he had always been instructed to do by his very Southern mom. He took a deep breath and faced Brent with a smile. 

They were all professionals here. Surely Brent wouldn’t hold a grudge over a minor interpersonal issue? If he was a grudge holder, Will hoped he wouldn't let on about the reason for the friction in front of Gabriel, who’d never let Will hear the end of it.

Gabriel, immune to the tension that swirled in ripples and eddies around him, cheerfully introduced his colleague to Will. “Brent, this is Detective Will Adams from SVU. He’s working on the Suarez case. Will, this is Brent James, who is now handling the bulk of our criminal defense work. I’ve got a hearing in ten minutes, so I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” He turned and vanished down the corridor at speed, but neither Will nor Brent noticed. They were both too busy trying to figure out how to proceed. 

Will jumped in first to poke a little fun at himself, hoping bygones could be bygones. “Ah, if it isn’t Brent. This is nice and awkward. You must be thrilled to run into me again.” He held out a hand.

It hadn’t exactly been personal the other night, he really didn’t date Alphas. He wished he hadn’t made it seem so personal with the name thing. He didn’t know why he’d been so irritable. He got hit on with some regularity, often enough by Alphas. It hadn’t been a rude or annoying example of a pickup attempt by anyone’s standards. Just an offer of a drink. 

He’d aimed for a friendly, self-mocking, how-much-of-a-jerk-was-I? tone. To his relief, Brent grinned good-naturedly and shook the offered hand. “Actually, I am, Will. Watch out, West Baltimore, here comes Detective Will.” 

“Bruh,” said Will, and looked away, blushing. He grinned back sheepishly. He and his own basic-ass white-bread name had been owned, and fairly.

Brent observed this slight warming up, looking encouraged. For a moment, Will thought he was going to let it go at that, but no, Brent wasn’t quite done messing with him, even if he wasn’t holding a grudge.

 “Oooh, I’ve found a sore subject!” Brent observed. “Did you grow up yearning to be named something cool, intimidating, and manly like Rod or Dick or Shaft? Wait, Shaft was a cop, too! It was Shaft, wasn’t it? ‘Shut your mouth! I'm talking ‘bout Will!’ doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it?”

Will shook his head and rolled his eyes dismissively, but Brent had more on tap. “You’re all torn up inside because you have such a nice, unthreatening name. Is this childhood trauma I smell?” Brent bent and took a deep whiff for theatrical purposes. Suddenly Brent jerked upright, face going pink, then pale, then pink again as a strange expression passed over it. 

Will just kept himself from lifting his arm and smelling his armpit to see what in the hell had inspired the face.

Do I stink? What the fuck?

There was an awkward pause before Brent cleared his throat and continued speaking in a taut voice, “Me too on the childhood trauma, actually,” Brent said, soldiering past his own interruption of his bit, “I wasn’t that thrilled about Brent growing up. You can call me something else if you like. Something epic and manly. We could workshop it. What about…B-dog?” 

“That sounds like something an Animal Crossing neighbor would decide to call you.”

“No, they called me B-Beans and Rutabaga, thanks. But sadly, I haven’t had time to play in a while. Jamestown is probably overrun with weeds and I’m sure my house is crawling with cockroaches. I imagine that was historically accurate for the Jamestown settlement.”

“You did not seriously call your island Jamestown. I would not have pegged you for an Animal Crossing devotee.”

“I did. You got me dead to rights. Brent James of the Jamestown Jameses. Imagine how many other things you could mock about me if you got to know me better, Rutabaga,” Brent said, smiling his winningest smile.

Will gave him a look.

“Is that what a sardonic brow is? Oh my God, I totally get it now. It is hot,” said Brent, covering his mouth with his fingers in a simulation of dawning comprehension.

Will gave him a darker look, but the corner of his lip quirked suspiciously. 

“You talk a lot of shit, you know that?” Will informed him without heat.

“Oh, I assure you, that was the god’s honest.”

“I still don’t date Alphas.”

“Not even very nice, respectful, woke, friendly, Omegan Rights Attorneys Alphas with whom you have mutual friends and a fun little ‘will they, won’t they’ thing going?” Brent asked innocently.

“Not even then.” Will tried to sound serious, because he was serious. He just didn’t do it very convincingly, even to his own ears.

“Well, then, let me buy you a cup of coffee for which I will clearly get nothing in return but the satisfaction of knowing that I dared to dream.”

“Jesus,” said Will, shaking his head in bemusement. “Do you have an off switch?”

Brent shrugged. “If I do, my mother couldn’t find it.”

“That poor woman, whoever she is, deserves angel’s wings when she gets to heaven.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears. So that’s a ‘yes’ on the coffee? A ‘yes’ just so you can put me in my place and make me throw away my money?”

Will looked at his roguish, persistent suitor. Even to a critical eye, Brent was a magnificent specimen. Absolute unit. Unreal. Had to be at least six-six, rock solid build, burnished gold hair trimmed on the sides and in back and parted with mussed waves on top. On his chiseled face, in a slightly darker shade of blonde, a managed—but not manicured—scruff of hair that skated right down the line between stubble and beard. Even though it was mid-October, he was lightly tanned and his eyes… 

What color is that? 

Will would have had to lean in for a close look to pin down the color, and he was not going to attempt it.

This guy wasn’t just an Alpha, he was an action figure. An Avenger. He was ridiculous, honestly. Like he was ripped from the overheated fantasies of some lonely romance novelist. Will would have laid good money down that Brent had been fucking a wide swath through the town’s yuppie singles scene since his arrival. Maybe he’d run through all the readily available Omegas, gotten bored, and now wanted something a little risqué before resuming the hunt for his “mate.” 

Will was of two minds on this dilemma. He could easily stand his ground and teach Brent that not everyone was buying what he was selling. On the other hand, the quickest, and probably the most entertaining way to make Brent lose interest was to just go ahead and fuck him. He reeked of one-and-dones. 

Not the toxic kind, no, not affable superhero guy. It would be friendly and agreed-upon-in-advance as a one-off. 

The fuck option would clear the sexual tension and maybe Will would get a great lay into the bargain. It had been a while. A good while. How long had it been? Months, plural, that he preferred not to count.

Damn. 

A no-strings fuck might do him some serious good. They’d log each other on their workplace romance sticker charts and that would be that. Hooking up with an Alpha, once, would not count as dating an Alpha in anyone’s book. 

He was so absorbed in justifying the fuck plan that he had already forgotten what the other option was. Something about teaching Brent a valuable life lesson? Whatever. The zipless fuck plan was better. Hadn’t Erica Jong called it “the purest thing there is?” He’d made up his mind. Or… Erica had made it up for him.

Thanks, Erica.