“Right. Let’s get to lunch. Sloane, we’ll see you at home.”
“I have a thing this evening. I won’t be there for dinner.”
“Sloane,” he says more sternly.
“Sorry, I can’t change my plans. I wasn’t expecting her till tomorrow.”
My father huffs out a breath. I can feel the tension radiating out of him. It’s the effect she has every time she visits.
“This is much smaller than the other team’s facility,” she says as my father gives me one last pleading look. I shrink away, turning back to my computer.
I decide in that moment, I’ll just go to the diner early cause there’s no way in hell I’m coming home to that disaster.
There’s another knock at my cubicle, and I brace myself for another god-awful conversation. But I’m greeted by a delivery man holding a vase full of peonies instead.
“Sloane Applegate?” he asks, and I nod my head as he has me sign for the flowers.
When I open the card, my heart flutters.
Sloane,
Pretty flowers for a pretty Omega.
Missing you,
Bram
It’s short and sweet, just like him. I put them on display on my desk but pocket the card so no one sees. If my dad asks, I’ll tell him it’s one of the matchmaker suitors. I inhale the floral scent and swoon.
Bram fucking Nilsen is courting me.
Maybe I can pull this all off after all.
CHAPTER 8
It’s probably pathetic that I’m at the diner so early, but I had nothing else to do. I considered going to Owen’s house, I even put on more deodorizers, but when I got the text from Sloane and Ethan, I felt relieved that I didn’t have to invite myself over to his pack's home.
Our relationship has come a long way, but we’re definitely nowhere near sitting around a campfire and talking about our childhood trauma and all of our deep-seated feelings of resentment.
Hard fucking pass.
So instead of sitting in my stale apartment by myself, I’m going to pathetically sit at this diner for an hour and wait for Ethan to finish his shift and for Sloane to get here.
I smirk at myself, thinking about the Omega.
What in the hell is her dad thinking about, letting her work for the team? Don’t get me wrong, she’s clearly amazing at what she does. But good lord, it’s hard not to stare at the sweet, confident redhead.
The diner is a bit of a shithole, but the food is good, so at least that’s a plus. The bell overhead dings at my arrival, and Ethan is holding a tray of drinks and waving at me with a tattooed arm.
“Sloane’s at the last booth in the back,” he says, not able to stay and chat as he goes about his primary day job, which for some reason makes me feel guilty.
It’s clear Ethan is an athlete and cares about being the mascot for the Foxes, he shouldn’t have to work in a place like this too.
I head down the row of booths to the left and see the back of her head. A large man is leaning forward in the booth, invading her space, and I find I don’t like that one fucking bit.
“Aw, come on, sweetheart, you’re here all alone. Let me treat you to dinner,” the man says, and as I approach, it’s clear as day he’s an Alpha.
“No thank you,” Sloane responds, not even looking at the man, just browsing the menu.
