Page 42 of The Boss Omega
I try not to read too much into it, but I do add one more blue set to the cart.
“I think this should be everything for now,” I announce to Silas and Graham. “There’s a blanket at the warehouse that I want to add. It’s one that’s going in our next box. I can get that later.”
“We can go tonight,” Silas says.
Graham’s face lights up. “I’d like to see your warehouse. We can grab supper on the way. It’ll be fun.”
Silas kisses me before turning toward the register to pay. Graham tugs me toward the door. “Sit in the back with me.” he says it like it’s a statement. It’s really a question.
Saint is standing next to Silas at the register, so I won’t have to ask him to move to the front seat.
“Does that mean car kisses and heavy petting?”
“Only if you want it. I’m happy just sitting next to you.” He looks so sincere I have no choice but to believe him. My omega goes soft.
God, this man. My sweet, gentle giant.
“I think some heavy petting would be good.Verygood.”
His eyes go wide and a smile spans the entire width of his handsome face. “Let’s go, beautiful.” He scoops me up and carries me through the lot like I weigh nothing.
Saint
If the Rover had an ejection seat, I would punch the button. Fly right out the roof and never look back. That’s how much I hate being in this car right now.
Lark and Graham are in the back making out like a couple of horny teens. The sounds are destroying me.
Soft sighs. Breathless little laughs. The slow, unmistakable slide of mouths finding each other again and again. Over and over until I want to poke my fucking eardrums with a stick.
Her caramel and salt scent fills the entire vehicle. It’s heavier now. Richer. The salt sharpens when she’s worked up. I didn’t know that yesterday. I know it now. It coats the back of my throat, seeps into my lungs, settles low in my stomach and lower still.
Silas drives. Steady hands on the wheel. I sit in the passenger seat and stare straight ahead like that’s going to save me from this nightmare.
It doesn’t.
I turn the radio on. I tap my playlist and the angry tones of Slipknot’sPeople = Shitblast through the speakers. Guitars screaming, drums pounding. The kind of song that sounds like breaking glass and split knuckles. It used to feel like release. Now it just feels like the inside of my head.
For three blessed seconds, it works.
Silas reaches over and turns it off. The car drops back into heat-heavy silence. Except for them. I shoot him a look. He doesn’t look back. Just keeps his eyes on the road.
I know he’s as affected as I am. I saw him adjust himself no less than three times since we pulled out of the driveway. And yet, the bastard has the faintest smile on his face. He smells like whiskey and satisfaction.
He checks the rearview mirror. Not for traffic. For them. Like he’s proud. Like this is exactly what he wanted. His omega in the backseat, tangled up with his packmate. For him it's simple. She's ours. We take care of what's ours.
I used to think like that.
His gaze flicks sideways to me. Frustrated. He has no idea what to do with me. Neither do I. That’s the problem.
When he cornered me earlier, he reamed me out. He was quiet and precise about it because Silas doesn’t go in for that loud, barking alpha shit. But it was still jarring. He lectured about responsibility. About pack. About not walking away from something this rare because it’s inconvenient.
Inconvenient.
That’s not what this is.
Inconvenient is a bad parking spot. It’s a double shift when you’re tired. What I’m carrying isn’t inconvenient. It’s a weight I can’t figure out how to set down. It’s too much. Everything lately is too damn much.
Mom’s gone. Work feels pointless. I can’t hit the gym and burn it out of me like I used to. For months, the world’s been gray and heavy and exhausting.
