Page 73 of Not Looking
He was still nestled in my arms, but something inside told me that he’d want a few minutes to compose himself when he awoke. Nobody felt like themselves when they woke up with a hangover, and one like this had to be even worse.
He was so beautiful—so perfect. I already wished that my mark decorated his neck.
My eyes fell on a freckle on the back of his left shoulder. He probably didn’t know it was there, but now I did. I kissed it softly, then carefully extricated myself from where I’d held him.
I was as quiet as possible as I pulled on my briefs and jeans, then I silently left the bedroom.
Russy lifted his head from his bed near the woodstove as I stood at the top of the stairs.
“Shh,” I said to the dog, hoping he’d understand that his owner was still asleep.
He cocked his head to one side, but didn’t bark.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I went downstairs.
I hadn’t had a good chance to study Randy’s cabin the night before—too focused on making sure my omega… my future omega… got what he needed—but I took the opportunity as I made my way to his kitchen.
It was quaint, probably out of a catalog in the seventies. It was on the larger end of A-frames, with the primary bedroom taking up most of the loft, and two bedrooms downstairs.
Despite its age, it had been well-maintained.
And Randy’s touches were everywhere. A turned bowl sat on the coffee table; a bookshelf made of live-edge slabs and branches was against the wall between the bedroom doors. A plaid blue blanket on the couch—covered in fur—signified Russy’s place on the furniture.
I looked around as I reached the kitchen. A basic coffeemaker sat on the counter, and I decided to start with that.
I lucked out and found the filters and a can of ground coffee in the cabinet above the machine. I filled the pot up and started it brewing.
I spied a basket of eggs in the corner, far from the heat of the stove.
I nodded to myself and walked over to inspect the contents of Randy’s fridge. Inside, I found half a package of bacon and a small tube of biscuits.
It would do, so I turned on the oven to preheat.
Randy’s kitchen was well-organized, and it only took me a few minutes to find everything I needed.
I could cook the bacon and biscuits, then use the leftover heat from the oven to keep them warm until Randy awoke. After that, it would only take a few minutes to fry some eggs.
Russy padded over as soon as the kitchen started to smell like bacon and sat near the stove, waiting for a piece.
“Sorry, Spud,” I said. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to have any.”
He cocked his head again, trying to understand what I was saying.
“No bacon unless your papa says it’s ok.”
If nothing else, he seemed to understand the word ‘no.’ He padded back and laid down where the end of the counter symbolized the transition to the living room.
“Good boy,” I praised, then resumed frying the bacon.
I was pulling the last piece from the pan when Russy let out an excited bark. I turned to shush him, only to see Randy standing at the end of the counter.
My sweet omega was already trying to wall himself off again, with one arm across his chest, the hand holding the opposite elbow.
I set the plate of bacon down and turned off the stove, then I strode to him.
“Good morning,” I murmured. I set my hands on his upper arms and allowed them to drift down until he relaxed slightly. But I didn’t dare push my luck and attempt to kiss him without permission.
“You…” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re still here.”
