One day, he came back from the rink without having a shower, and I thought I was going to dissolve and all that would be left was slick.
It’s the same vibe.
I know I shouldn’t, but the dumbass omega side of me wants him to notice me so badly that I rub my head and neck against his pillow, scent marking it as much as I can. I’ve already drooled on it, so marking the rest is basically the same thing.
As soon as I consider covering his whole mattress like a peanut butter and slick sandwich to see if he’ll notice, I hop out of the bed. Because there’s only so far I can go. No matter how horny I am and how much I need him to hold me, kiss me, love me, and how much shit I talk about him finding out the truth, I can’t risk it.
I check the clock, and I still have enough time to grab a shower and search for replacement sheets before he gets home.
Well, that’s what I thought. Until, fifteen minutes later, when I turn the shower off and I suddenly hear the loud beep of the security alarm, and the door to the garage opens below the bathroom.
Panic bursts inside me as I towel myself down as quickly as I can.
“Luke?” I hear Timber call from downstairs. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I didn’t exactly leave a trail in his bedroom, but there’s only so much I can get away with.
Though, really, considering Timber hasn’t connected how I showed up and the same week there’s slick in his oatmeal, I could be safe. The man might not be the brightest penny in the box… or maybe he’s sensible enough not to talk to his freaking nutritionist about scent matching with his sister.
I need to get rid of the evidence, but it would take NASA-level logistics to work around this little slice of idiocy.
Maybe if he goes for a shower, I can sneak back in for a quick switcheroo of the sheets? Or if he wants to work out before he goes to bed, then I can make my move. Or justsomethingthat means I can dash to his room and squirrel away the pillows I scent marked.
Why am I such a moron?
“Luke?” he calls again.
I poke my head out of the bathroom, but I’m far enough away from the landing that he can’t see me.
“I’ve just had a shower. I’ll be down soon!” I yell. “There’s food in the Tupperware in the fridge!”
Hopefully, he’ll be distracted so I can bolt to my room, slip on my chest binder, and put on some baggier clothes so I don’t feel like such a freaking omega.
Timber
I’m lying in bed, trying to sleep. We leave at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, and I need to be up at 4:30 a.m. to make sure I’m fully conscious to leave the house by 5:30 a.m. to get to the rink. So, I already know I’m going to suffer.
But now I’m stuck in a fugue state where I’m trying to deal with the fact that I saw Luke’s ass as he ran from the shower to his bedroom earlier.
I didn’t mean to do it. I was just at the bottom of the stairs at exactly the wrong moment.
He’d wrapped a towel around most of his body, but as he ran down the corridor, it flipped up as he slammed his door closed.
And it’s so dumb. It’s just an ass. I see guys’ asses every single day when I’m at the rink, and I don’t think anything of it. Well, apart from Kane, who walks around waving his like a flag.
I’ve learned to switch off whenever I see Kane naked, but I can’t get Luke out of my head.
This could be Luke’s scheme: use his ass to make me lose control. Omegas know how much their bodies are worth, and he could have timed it so he ran by the stairs precisely when I was looking up.
It’s been at least six hours since then. We had dinner, chatted about normal things, and acted like everything was fine.
I watched him closely through the whole meal, and he was acting strangely as well.
He was jumpy, his gaze darting up the stairs like he was hiding something. If he knows I know he’s an omega, maybe he’s preparing to run.
I have to know what his real motives are first. Maybe someone sent him to monitor me, or he’s put pinhole cameras in the house and is selling footage to people. What if it’s all part of a master plan to manipulate me?
I can’t trust him anymore, and I have to be on guard.
