He leans in closer, invading my personal space completely, forcing me to pause mid-protest as we share an intense look that makes my breath catch in my throat.
The motor oil and leather scent of him is overwhelming this close. Mixed with winter air and something uniquely Nash that I'm starting to recognize instantly.
Then he whispers, his breath warm against my ear despite the November cold, his voice low and taunting and entirely too pleased with himself.
"There are only three of us in my pack, Sugarplum."
My whole face erupts in flames. Every single nerve ending catches fire.
Sugarplum. SUGARPLUM.
That nickname Theo gave me at the bar when we were provoked by Jasper to prove I was their Omega.He heard that. Oh my god, he heard Theo call me that. How much did he hear? Why is my brain completely offline right now?
Nash continues, clearly enjoying my complete mental breakdown.
"I heard Theo call you that at the bar when you were sitting on his lap. Guess you like being named after sweet festive fruits and holiday treats, huh? Should I start coming up with Christmas nicknames, too? Maybe Candy Cane? Gingerbread? Eggnog?"
I stutter—words completely failing me in spectacular fashion.
"I—that's—he was just—it wasn't?—"
He chuckles, the sound low and deeply pleased with himself for reducing me to stuttering nonsense.
"So by pure process of elimination, since you've ruled out Theo and you just said it's not Grayson either, I'm clearly the hottest Alpha in this pack. I'm the only one left. Thanks for yourhonesty and the ego boost, Sugarplum. Really appreciate the confirmation and validation."
I gawk at him—mouth hanging open, eyes wide, brain completely fried—as he releases me from his grip and turns around smoothly, starting to walk down the sidewalk like he didn't just completely demolish my ability to form coherent thoughts or sentences.
"Better hurry up," he calls over his shoulder without even looking back, his tone casual and infuriating. "Or I'm leaving you behind in Millbrook. I'm sure Millie the moose would appreciate the company. You two seemed to get along."
Shock gives way to indignation, which rapidly transforms into pure, unadulterated fury.
"YOU'RE NOT THE HOTTEST AT ALL!" I shout after him, completely forgetting where I am or who might be listening or the fact that I'm supposed to be a professional influencer. "You're at the bottom of the food chain! THE BOTTOM! The absolute lowest rung! I-I-I LIKE GRAYSON WAY BETTER! He's exponentially more attractive than you! Like, by a significant margin! Scientifically measurable amounts hotter!"
I'm completely breathless by the time I finish my rant, having made an absolute spectacle of myself in the middle of this quiet, peaceful small town.
My chest is heaving.
My face is probably redder than Santa's suit. Several people have stopped to stare at the crazy Omega shouting about Alpha attractiveness rankings. A woman with a baby carriage has frozen mid-step to watch the show. Two teenagers are definitely filming this on their phones, probably already uploading it to TikTok with captions like 'unhinged omega loses it on main street.' An elderly man walking his dog has his mouth hanging open.
Great. Just absolutely wonderful. Perfect. Now I'm the crazy Omega who has public meltdowns about Alpha hotness rankings. This is fine. Everything is completely fine. My influencer career is definitely not ruined. Nope. Not at all.
I huff and actually stomp my foot like a child having a full-blown tantrum, my boot making a satisfying thump against the pavement.
"I'm so going to get that asshole back for this! He can't just—just manipulate me into saying—ugh!"
Then I feel it—a gentle pat on my head. Like someone patting a puppy who's being particularly dramatic and needs to calm down.
I freeze completely. Every muscle locks up.
Wait. Hold on. Nash is in front of me. I can see him down the sidewalk. He's too far away to reach me. So who's behind me? Who just patted my head? Oh god what if it's a stranger? What if it's one of those teenagers filming? What if?—
I lift my phone with shaking hands, intending to use the front camera app as a mirror to see who's behind me without having to turn around and face more embarrassment, and realize something absolutely horrifying.
The little red LIVE indicator is still glowing brightly in the corner of my screen.
Still broadcasting.
Still streaming to thousands of people.
