Page 17 of The Boss Omega
My omega is annoyingly good at pointing out all the things I don't want to admit.
Stupid username. Stupider opinions about black coffee. Quick wit, though. No weird innuendos. No performative alpha energy. When he talks it feels like he's actually there.
Easy,my omega hums.Plus, you have so much in common.
I snort. “We have one thing in common,” I remind her.
Two,she sniffs.You forgot that you both like coffee.
I almost laugh at that. He doesn’t even consider my lattes coffee.
He’s easy to talk to.
I press my palms against the table. “He’s easy totext,”I quietly chide her.
Texting is edited. Anyone with a keyboard and thirty seconds to check AI can write a decent response.
This is business. Just business. Heat business.
He’ll walk in. He’ll be tall-ish, because they’re all tall-ish. He won’t rock my world, but he won’t disgust me. Safely beige. Like the five alphas before him. Pleasant smelling but forgettable.
I’ll say yes. He’ll say yes. We’ll coordinate schedules. And then we’ll never see one another again.
My omega shifts restlessly.He noticed your smiley face.
“Stop it,” I mutter.
You laughed so hard at the fish-down-the-pants story that you had to put your phone down.
“That’s because he’s funny.”
But you LIKE him.
“Enough,” I say with a little more force. “This isn’t real. We’re just looking for someone compatible. There’s a difference.”
She gives me a look that says she knows exactly what the difference is and finds it deeply unconvincing.
Then she pauses. Voices in the hall. Alice's soft soprano followed by a deeper baritone.
The door opens. Alice steps in first. He follows.
He’s wearing a dark blue V-neck tee shirt that perfectly emphasizes the width of his shoulders and the muscles on his arms. His body fills the doorway. Tall but not towering. Strong without being bulky.
Deep umber skin. Jet black hair cut short at the sides and longer on top. And amber eyes that look like there’s a fire glowing inside him.
His left arm is in a sling, but it does nothing to diminish his perfect beauty. Every inch of him looks intentional. Sculpted. The kind of beauty that makes you briefly furious at everyone who ever used the word handsome as if it was sufficient.
I take a deep breath to steady myself.
Oooh.
His scent. Ginger first, sharp then warm. Then clove. Molasses, but not much. Something darker underneath it all. Not gingerbread-sweet, but close enough to make my mouth water and my stomach drop.
Mate.
Recognition rips through me.
His amber eyes lock onto mine. He feels it.
