Page 9 of Scheme
He frowned. “You’re always in a chatty mood.”
“Did you get your friend from the airport okay?” I asked, hoping he’d let me change the subject.
“I did.” Nico glanced out at the back garden, to the small studio they had at the back of the property, a meagre amount of light shining through the front windows. “Kit doesn’t much like… these things, but he’ll pop in at some point.”
“He doesn’t much like parties? How are you two friends?” I teased. Nico was quiet and gruff, but he liked being quiet and gruff in the middle of a crowded room.
Nico snorted. “There are a lot of young, unmated omegas here. It can get overwhelming for him, being so popular.”
“Ah.” No further explanation necessary. Nico and Kit were friends from school, so presumably the same age. Since most alphas and omegas didn’t make it past twenty without bonding, the older, established, and successful alphas were a hot commodity. Violet’s younger sister and her friends were exactly in the right age range to be interested.
It worked in reverse for omegas. My best breeding years were already behind me, and I was fine with that. Like a bottle of expensive wine being saved for a special occasion that never arrived, I was decidedly on the shelf.
Nico gave me a long look. “You’re usually much chattier.”
“Long day, nothing to worry about.” I waved him off. “Go, socialise. Host. I’ll be fine here, I promise.” I all but shooed him out of his own kitchen before turning all of my attention to topping up the stacks of napkins that Violet had set out on all the surfaces downstairs, noting which hors d’oeuvres needed replenishing.
It wasn’t until my third trip into the living room, carrying a fresh platter of cheese puffs, that I was greeted by a wave of L’Eau d’Unmated Omega strong enough to choke on. There were seven unmated omegas here—myself included—and all six of the others were clustered in one square metre of space in the corner of Nico and Violet’s living room, pheromoning away.
I didn’t need to see the armchair they were blocking to know why.
Kit Iyer.
If this was a normal response to Kit walking into a room, then Nico really hadn’t been exaggerating about it getting overwhelming. I almost felt sorry for Kit for a moment before I remembered literally every alpha I’d ever met. He probably loved the attention.
Not quite able to stifle my curiosity, I shuffled a little closer, peering through the omega blockade for a glimpse of the bulky, muscular example of alpha virility who was undoubtedly preening under their admiration.
I wasn’t entirely wrong.
Kit certainly had the typical alpha bulk—tall, broad, definitely virile—but with the added appeal of hot nerd to go with it. Brown skin, black hair that curled up at the ends, fitted dark shirt and jeans, glasses with practical-yet-sexy black frames… Tick, tick,tick. No wonder the omegas were rushing for him like he was an end-of-season sale at a designer nest supply store.
There was no preening happening, though.
Despite Kit’s impressive size, he seemed to be making himself as small as possible in the armchair, leaning as far to one side as he could. His responses to whatever his crowd of admirers was saying were polite, if not a little clipped, and he wasn’t making eye contact with any of them.
I’ve never met a shy alpha before, I mused, watching as he politely rebuffed a particularly pushy omega. We may not be friends yet, but I hoped we would be through Nico and Violet, and friends didn’t let friends stew in discomfort in the corner.
“Kit?” I asked, leaning around a couple of giggling omegas to speak to him. “Could you give me a hand?”
He blinked at me in surprise, and I noticed what a spectacular colour his eyes were. I had brown eyes too, but his were a melting pot of every shade of brown, and mine were dried mud. Another one of life’s winners of the genetic jackpot.
“Unless you’d rather stay,” I added, giving him an out in case he was secretly enjoying all the attention and just had a really weird way of showing it. “I need to bring in some of the beer boxes from outside.”
“No, no, of course. I’m coming.” He jumped up, inching around his crowd of admirers, careful not to scentmark any of them with his touch. I hadn’t been able to pick up much of his scent over the cloying bouquet of unmated omega before—very much the reason why I doused myself in Om-Guard multiple times a day—but as soon as he broke away from the group, the hints of smoked coffee and whiskey were clear anddelicious.
After he was so careful not to touch the others, I nearly jumped out of my skin when his large, warm hand landed in the centre of my back for no discernible reason since I was the one ushering him, not the other way around.
“The good ones are always taken,” one of the omegas behind us lamented loudly as Kit followed behind me, not correcting the omega’s assumption as we headed into the kitchen.
Oh. Perhaps that was his reason. I supposed if he wanted to use me as an omega shield to hide behind, I was fine with that.
Kit dropped his hand the moment we were out of view, and I yanked open the back door, immediately met by a rush of cold air that my slinky top did nothing to protect me from. The dark, still garden and cool night air were refreshing after being in a crowded room filled with scents—those six omegas alone were pumping out enough pheromones to fill a stadium.
“Just here,” I said, gesturing at the stack of boxes we’d piled next to the house earlier when we’d run out of fridge space before wrapping my arms around my waist to preserve body heat and hide my nipple beacons.
“Oh.” Kit looked briefly surprised before grabbing a box with ease. “There are actually boxes here.”
I stared at him for a moment, only a little sidetracked by how put together he looked. Hadn’t he just got off a plane?
