So she wasn’t lying, but for some reason, that makes me even angrier. Or maybe what really pisses me off is how good she looks in that dress.
I stand and whirl toward her. “I don’t know what weird game you’re playing, but?—”
“Mylo.”
It’s a soft bark, but it’s a bark. My words freeze in my chest.
She continues quietly, “Who better to figure out why your suppressants aren’t working than the people who invented them?”
My tongue is mine again, and I draw a breath to resume my protest, then realize that what Christine’s saying does actually make sense.
She continues, “Morgan’s omega, Jamie, had some similar issues. I don’t know the details; I just know they were able to sort them out.”
I snarl. “Yeah, she claimed him. His life is over. Problem solved.”
Christine sighs, voice thinning with strained patience. “Jamie doesn’t see it that way. If you want to know why, you’d have to talk to him; I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of some permanent hormonal bond any more than you do, okay?”
“You seemed to like it fine when your teeth were in my neck.”
She growls. “I don’t mind you whining; it doesn’t bother me. Be as much of a brat as you want. But do you seriously think that after hiding your omega status, sneaking under my nose, and going into heat, you havezeroresponsibility here?”
“Typical alpha bullshit,” I hiss.
Christine stands, voice rising. “I don’t want to be stuck with you either! You’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of an elephant! Did you ever stop, for five seconds, and think that maybe I also don’t want this? That I’m just trying to make the best of a shitty situation, trying to not leave you to deal with this by yourself, and going pretty above and fucking beyond, I might add? I could’ve taken thirty seconds to tell the producer that you’re an omega, andmyproblem would be solved. Did it seriouslynevercross your mind that Ialsothink it’s bullshit that I’ve never seen an omega on set?!”
I stand there, stunned and frozen—not by the alpha command in her words, but by the truth in them.
Christine continues, “You think I want the responsibility of having an omega? Of being stuck making decisions for two for the rest of my life? Saying no to opportunities, throwing what’s left of my dreams in the trash because, actually, I’d rather do that than ruin someone else’s life? And having to do it all with a smile on my face? You’re not the only one who grins andbears it, Mylo. At least I have the decency to not take it out on someone trying to help you.” She turns and heads toward the bed, then pauses and says over her shoulder, “If you want me to keep helping you, Mylo, I suggest you watch your fucking mouth.”
My knees wobble, and I slide down into the closest chair—the one she was sitting in. Her lingering scent calms my trembling hands as I wrap them around my knees, pulling them up to my chest.
A couple minutes later, Christine crosses back through the kitchenette, now dressed.
Her almost-even tone betrays a remnant of tension when she asks, “You wanna show up to set like that?”
“I don’t have any clothes,” I say quietly.
My sharp ears catch the exhale that drains the rest of her tension. Her tone is soft as she says, “Mylo, I’m sorry, I?—”
“Don’t apologize.” I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against my knees. “Everything you said was true.”
Silence hangs between us for a long moment.
She speaks first, ever the alpha. “I don’t need you to like me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s better if you hate me. I don’t want this to be… permanent any more than you do. I just… maybe every second doesn’t have to bemiserable. That’s all.”
“Yeah.” I muster my remaining dignity and push to my feet. “If you want to dress me in pink today… I’d probably deserve it.”
There’s a spark in Christine’s electric blue eyes that makes my cock twitch.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” She returns to the bed area, pulling open the dresser. A moment later, she tosses me black running shorts and a black tank top.
I pad toward the bathroom.
“What, still shy?” she calls after me.
“Shut up.” A smile sneaks into my voice. Once closed in the bathroom, I drop my robe. Since I’m quite a bit smaller than Christine, the clothes almost fit me normally. The tank-top, which would be skin-tight on Christine, skims my chest, and the running shorts are… short, but they look intentional. I’ve worn shorter.
As I step out of the bathroom, Christine wolf-whistles. “You look good in my clothes, I’ll give you that.”
