“Yes. Yonis and I have been partners for a while now and feel like we have the time and lifestyle now to take care of an Omega,” Greg says.
I’m pretty sure I’m not controlling my face well as I watch his cheeks heat and he takes an awkward sip of water. The way hejust spoke about Omegas like we’re fucking pets and not human beings, who are fully capable of living our daily lives without assistance, pisses me off.
“Gotcha,” I say, and I’m more than relieved when the server pours the wine and gives me a glass. When the server turns away, I snag it before Greg can and nearly down half of it before he can take the glass from me.
“I didn’t mean that Omegas can’t take care of themselves. Just… you know what I mean?” he asks.
“No, I don’t. Please tell me, help me understand, Greg,” I taunt.
Greg looks over at Yonis, who looks like he would rather die than sit in this restaurant for another minute.
We’re quiet as the server takes our order, and we wait.
“What is it like living with the Dead Palms?” Yonis asks, really speaking up for the first time all night. When I look back at him to see if he’s being snarky, I can tell he’s genuinely curious.
“I actually really love it. I love riding bikes, the sense of family, and all the people there,” I explain, giving him a soft smile.
“A sense of community and belonging is invaluable,” Yonis agrees, and I nod my head. Some of the animosity I felt toward Greg slips away.
“It really is. Do y’all have a group of friends you regularly hang out with?” I ask. Greg looks slightly repulsed, but Yonis smiles and answers.
“We have some friends we’ve been close to for a few years, but nothing like what you have with the Dead Palms.”
Yonis and I mostly hold the conversation the rest of the night. Greg will chime in from time to time, but he seems out of his depths when it comes to speaking with me. While I’m still not attracted to either of them, I enjoyed speaking with Yonis, but only as a friend.
I’m nervous when the date ends and Yonis opens the backseat for me. I slide in, staying alert the entire time Greg drives to the compound. I have to put in the code at the entry gate and Greg drives through, pulling up in front of the body shop.
“This is where I should be dropping you off?” he asked with some concern on his face.
“Yeah, this is perfect. Thank you for dinner,” I say.
“You’re welcome. We’ll let Kurt know we appreciated your time, but that we won’t be going on another date,” Greg states almost snidely. Yonis pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales dramatically.
“Right, can’t start a pack if the spark isn’t there,” I agree, knowing that I full well didn’t want another date with them. So then why does my little Omega heart want to fucking throw a fit over not measuring up to their standards?
“Exactly! When there’s no scent or physical attraction, it won’t work,” Greg continues to over-explain, even though I have already agreed with him. I step out of the car and slam the door harder than I should.
“Lily–” Yonis says softly.
“Goodnight,” I cut him off petulantly as I walk into the body shop. Maybe Axel is working, he could make this all better.
Realization hits me before I can even put my finger on the feeling.
Rejection.
I’ve never really dealt with rejection before. It’s even more confusing to me because I very clearly wanted nothing to do with Greg or Yonis in a relationship sense. So why does Greg telling me I’m not pretty and that my scent sucks have me crying right now?
I should not be crying over mediocre Alphas in their forties not thinking I’m pretty. It’s pathetic, and all I want to do isscream and punch Greg in the face. I’m wiping away my tears with the back of my hand when I walk into a wall of a man.
A man that smells like vetiver and lavender. It’s the sexiest combination of a masculine, earthy scent mixed with a touch of sweetness. His hands are gentle as they wrap around my upper arms. The warmth of his skin makes my body hum in approval, and I can’t help but lean into his touch.
My eyes travel along his broad chest, which is covered in a tight black t-shirt, leaving little to the imagination when it comes to his physique. When I finally reach his face, my lips part. I’ve seen him from afar, and I know his name thanks to a major rundown of all the guys by my girlfriends, but seeing him up close? They were totally right; he is the hottest possible new patch in. His skin is a rich brown, and he has a short trimmed beard that frames his face nicely. His eyes are hooded and framed with amber-hued irises while his head is adorned with black and gray tattoos instead of hair.
He should be terrifying, both because of his size and all the tattoos that cover his body. When I look at the arm that is still outstretched and holding onto me, all I find is more tattoos.
Cash.
I’m not sure how he got that name or how it fits with the larger-than-life man in front of me, but his scent and his looks have me wanting to find out.
