Page 19 of Not Looking
“Oh…” I deflated.
“I’ll let you know if I think of anything in particular, though,” he stated. Then he patted his leg. “Come on, Russy.”
I stared as he walked into the building, dog at his side. I swallowed as soon as the door closed behind him.
Logging tended to be a boys club, and an alpha boys club at that. Therewerewomen and omegas on the mountain, but I was still getting used to interacting with them on a daily basis.
This, though… this was different.
Randy was probably the most beautiful omega I’d ever seen. And every instinct told me that he was the one for me.
But he’d come in to get wood… and not mine. Not to mention that trying to hop into bed with a regular customer probably wasn’t good for any job advancement opportunities.
I forced down the urge to trail behind him like a creep, then stepped into the building. I spotted him browsing the scrap bin, so I veered to the counter.
“You ok?” asked Harrison, the other floor salesman. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
I blinked. “No? What makes you think that?”
He chuckled. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. But I’ve been here long enough to know the place isn’t haunted. I figure the only thing left is you were a dumbass loading that guy’s truck and smashed your fingers between some boards.”
I held out my hands. “Try again.”
One of his eyebrows went up, but the sound of cascading wood pieces caught my attention. My head snapped to where Randy was still digging through the scraps.
My heart beat in my chest, even as he seemed oblivious to the fact that some of the pieces he’d moved aside had tumbled in the bin. He lifted another small block—not much larger than his hand—ran his thumb across it, then set it atop the pile.
“Craig?” asked a voice.
The rush of blood against my eardrums started to subside, even as the rest of my senses were focused on protecting my omega.
He picked up another piece of wood—cedar, if I had to guess—and turned it in his hands. He tapped it against the edge of the bin, then nodded at the clear pinging sound.
“Craig?” the voice repeated, then, “Ohhhhh.”
He dropped the piece of wood into a bucket on the flatbed cart, then turned his attention back to the scrap bin.
He’s safe… it was just scraps… he’s not hurt…
“Craig?”
I jumped as a hand landed on my shoulder. I spun to see Harrison studying me.
He leaned in, voice low. “Take a moment outside.”
“Wh-what?”
“Look man, I don’t know what’s happening in your head, but your scent is spiking. People are going to notice.”
I swallowed. “Ok.”
Harrison nodded. “I’ll let you know if I need you.”
“Yeah…” I replied. I glanced over to where Randy was still sorting through the bin, then headed toward the back door, rather than face potential customers up front.
Even as I left the counter, my ears were attuned to the clacks of scrap cuts as Randy continued to dig. My senses were primed to detect the signs of distressed omega.
It took every bit of willpower to walk away.
