“We have better stamina and more leg muscle,” Dad smirks, walking toward his house. “See ya later!”
“Poor little omega,” Levon laughs, helping me up and lifting me over his shoulder. A loud crack across my ass as he spanks me makes me squeal.
Walking up the walkway, Miles sighs as he picks up a huge box of mail.
“Maybe you were right,” he says begrudgingly to Santo. “Several months of mail is rough.”
Santo chuckles under his breath as he unlocks the front door, and we walk inside. It’s nice and cool, and I can feel the sweat begin to freeze on my skin. It’s both helpful and uncomfortable at the same time.
“Let’s eat lunch before we all head up to shower,” Miles suggests, carrying the box of mail to the kitchen.
Levon carts me over while I struggle not to lose too many brain cells from the lack of blood flow.
“I’m getting dumber by the second,” I complain, making Levon laugh as he carefully sets me in a chair. “Ugh, the head rush is rough.”
“You’re perfect,” Levon says, giving me a sloppy and panty melting kiss. “What are we doing for lunch?”
“I’m thinking of a big salad and grilled chicken,” Santo muses, opening the fridge door.
I let them figure it out as I watch them, and Miles drops a fat packet in front of me a couple of minutes later. It’s from the Nashville Art Institute.
“Miles,” I hiss, staring at it.
It’s one thing to assume that my alphas are up to shit, and quite another to see the results.
“Don’t ‘Miles’ me,” he says, his finger pushing my chin up to gaze into his icy blue eyes. “We love you, and you deserve good things. Even when you’re scared to go for it.”
It hits me hard that he’s right as he walks back to the kitchen table where he’s sorting the mail. I didn’t think I’d get in. I create art for me, and now for the enjoyment of other people.
I’ve never believed that I was good enough to make this a full time gig. Blowing out a breath, I tear open the packet.
“Read the letter out loud,” Levon suggests as he cuts up vegetables for the salad.
“Shit,” I curse, chewing on my inner lip as I pull out the papers.
This is going to suck if I don’t get in.
“Miss Freedman, thank you for taking the time to apply,” I read. “There have been many applicants, but we were impressed with your work. We’d love to share that we are accepting you for this fall semester’s term…”
“Fuck yeah!” Levon cheers, while Santo grins.
“I knew it,” Miles says. “Congratulations, baby.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “I’m really going to art school?”
Miles gets up to whisk me off the bar stool, hugging me hard.
“Baby, it’s never been a matter of ‘if’, but rather when,” he murmurs against my hair. “You’re so talented.”
Santo bobs his head in a nod as he comes around to steal me away.
“I don’t care if you can’t see it yet,” he says, kissing me. “We’re here to make sure that you get everything you deserve.”
Levon grins as he joins the hug, making me grin as he squeezes us.
“Caelia, you deserve so many good fucking things,” he murmurs, making heat flood behind my eyes. Dammit, I don’t want to cry! “You deserve to heal, create art, and live a really good life, baby. Nothing else should get in the way of that.”
Sniffling, I hold onto my alphas tighter, giggling as I hear the sound of chopping as Miles takes over.
