Why did I say that? Mentioning you’re a recovering alcoholic with clinical depression is not first date material. I haven’t even found out anything about her family, or if she has pets, or her favorite color, or…anything normal!
For some odd reason, my answer makes her laugh. “But getting an overpriced salad is pretty fucking depressing, isn’t it?” She snorts at her own joke, eyes widening. “Sorry, that’s not funny.”
I grin back at her, feeling some of the tension ease out of my shoulders. “Yes, it is. And yeah, you’re right, but I panicked because I hadn’t looked at the menu and I didn’t want to copy you.”
“Why not? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Besides, you’re paying, Mr. ‘I’m not cheap’.”
My heart leaps as she leans forward to touch my arm playfully. I fail to avoid looking at her chest as she does, the neckline of her dress falling enough so that I can see that, yes, it is totally a tattoo peeking out of her cleavage.
An oddly familiar tattoo of a gray-scale dagger hilt.
Weird. Where do I recognize that from?
“Well, I’ll just have to get something less depressing the next time we have dinner.” It’s my pathetic attempt at flirting, butthings could be going a lot worse, so it feels silly not to show her I’m interested.
“Definitely.”
Wait, really?
Ruby giggles and I realize I didn’t keep my surprise off my face at her easy acceptance of another date.
“Though to be honest, I don’t think there’s a chance I’ll be able to put away even half of what I ordered, so if you’re not opposed to sharing…”
I chuckle. “Not at all.”
“Do youlikesharing?” She arches a brow at me, the innuendo clear.
I sputter. Not because of the flirtation. Well, yes, partially because of it, but also because hearing her speak in that intimate tone reminds me exactly why her tattoo is familiar.
A dagger-pierced heart resting between two full teardrop breasts that sway in time with her thrusts as she fills the moaning omega beneath her, the camera angle cutting off to conceal her face.
Holy shit. There’s no fucking way.
Ruby’s flirty demeanor fades a bit.
“Was that too forward?”
I shake my head, struggling to unstick my tongue and say something coherent. “No, uh, I don’t mind.”
“Forward omegas? Or sharing?”
“B-both.” If she only knew how much I don’t mind both, she’d probably bail on this date. Sweat beads on my brow as I struggle to act casual.
What the fuck do I do?
My date isNestConfessions. Myscent matchis the omega I’ve been jerking off to and trying not to become obsessed with for years.
chapter 5
. . .
ARCHER
My hands shakea little as I sit back up, tucking the napkin back in my lap with a nervous chuckle. I try to catch my breath, and calm the heck down in those brief moments of having an excuse to pull my focus away, but the anxiety slams back into me the second I look back up at the alpha across from me.
Oscar.
God, it’s like they tore him directly from a made-for-TV movie about Valentine’s Day blind dates and plopped him right in front of me. Tall, dressed in a suit that fits his muscular body, a perfectly, chiseled jaw with a curated amount of five-o’clock shadow, dark brown hair coiffed so not a lock is out of place, and bright green eyes that watch me with keen interest. His fawn skin is glowing in the restaurant light, for fuck’s sake.
