Page 14 of Scheme
Me: Let me message Mum and Dad and see if I can take you and Chels out today. I wish I could do more.
I switched to the chat with my mum, always optimistically messaging her first even though she always let Dad handle replies.
Dad: Not today. We’re going to the Nicholson’s house for lunch. Their alpha son is Chelsea’s age.
I rolled my eyes hard enough to pull a pupil. They were so ridiculous. I couldn’t recall the Nicholsons at all, but all of the kids in that community went to the same school. If there was something between Chelsea and their son, they would have undoubtedly discovered before an awkwardly forced family lunch date.
Me: Sorry, kiddo. Apparently, you guys are off playing matchmaker for Chelsea at lunch today.
Asher: Gross. Justin Nicholson smells like feet.
He may not have smelled like feet to Chelsea—what appealed to one omega didn’t appeal to another, thankfully, or we’d all be fighting over the same handful of alphas.
I turned off the street up the path to my house, and was so absorbed in my phone, I nearly crashed nose-first into a very solid chest. Only Kit’s quick steps saved me from being covered in whatever was in the two cherry blossom-print reusable coffee cups I recognised from Violet’s kitchen that he was carrying.
Kit’s t-shirt and jeans were rumpled, and his dark hair was damp and curling at the ends. He looked more relaxed, and a little messier, than he had last night, andoof. There was no denying that Kit Iyer was Prime Beef Alpha. It was no wonder he had omegas throwing their slick-coated panties at him whenever they were in his presence.
“You’ve already been to the shops? Violet said you were an early riser, but I didn’t know the supermarket was even open at seven in the morning.”
He had a really nice morning voice too. All raspy, like he’d just spent the night hoarsely whispering filthy things in his lover’s ear while impaling them on his knot.
I blinked, trying to shove that intrusive thought back into the horny box it had come from.Bad Margot. Stop objectifying your future friend.
It was probably just my upcoming heat making me view all unmated alphas through slick-tinted glasses.
“It’s open twenty-four hours, and I don’t like wasting daylight,” I replied, eyeing the coffee as I caught a hint of the scent. Itsmelledlike one of Violet’s Margot Coffees. “You’re up early yourself. And hanging around my front door.”
Between Kit now and Jimmy last night, my front door had never seen so much alpha attention.
“Jet lag.” Kit awkwardly thrust a coffee cup at me. “This is for you.”
“That was very sweet and unnecessary of Violet, but thank you.” I took a sip of the white chocolate oat milk mocha, savouring the perfect balance of flavours, grateful for the caffeine, and increasingly confused about why Kit was here. “Did you just come by to drop off coffee?”
“No.”
Well, alright then. I gave him a few extra seconds to see if any kind of explanation was forthcoming, but apparently not.
“…Do you want to come upstairs?”
“Yes.”
I went to pick up the rolling bag of groceries, but Kit beat me to it with a vaguely insulted look. If only scientists could figure out how to bottle alpha pride—there was nothing quite like it.
He hung back as I unlocked the downstairs door that led to a landing, the Clarksons’ door to our right and the stairs in front of us that led up to my place.
“Hold on,” I instructed, pulling the small cloth bag of items I’d picked up for the elderly beta couple and setting it down in front of their door with a knock so they knew I’d delivered it. I closed the rolling bag, happily letting Kit haul it up the stairs behind me, unlocking the door and holding it for him to follow. If I thought it was small before, the whole place looked like a dollhouse with Kit standing in it.
The kitchen and living area were one open space, and I gestured at the small two-seater cafe table by the window that overlooked the courtyard below since the only other option was the small loveseat.
I loved my teeny flat, though. The bare bones of the place—the paint, the kitchen bench and cupboards that ran along one wall—were all the same shade of inoffensive eggshell, though the polished wood floors warmed it up a little. I’d gone to town on decorating though, favouring bold shades of dark teal, golden mustard and blush pink. Big, statement colours paired with vintage wooden furniture to create the antithesis of the beige and white mansion I’d grown up in.
“Nice place,” Kit said, his gaze pausing on the stylised painting of Princess Matilda that hung pride of place over the couch. Asher had eschewed the more stylised version of Princess Matilda that seemed to have gained popularity in recent years, painting her closer to how firsthand sources had described her—a ‘plain bluestocking’. Basically, a not particularly beautiful woman of intellectual pursuits.
She was my idol.
She was the idol of unbeautiful omegas the world over.
Kit took a seat, clutching his coffee like a lifeline, and I threw open the window next to the dining table for both of our comforts. Between the air purifiers and the amount of scentshield lotion I used, only my nest really smelled like me, but one could never be too careful.
