Ruby smiles at me and nods, making a burst of butterflies fill my stomach. “Me too.”
There’s a weighted pause.
Just do it. Just ask her.
“Can I see you again some?—”
“Do you want to go somewhere private?”
We speak at the same time, and my eyes bug out in surprise at her words.
Ruby snorts at my very unchill reaction. “Not like that, big guy. Well, maybe like that…depends on how we react to each other, I guess.” A flush rises on her cheeks. I’d think it was from the wine, but she only had one glass. “It might be good to check if we’re really scent matches,” she clarifies.
“Oh!” That makes more sense than her wanting to go somewhere and have sex. “That makes sense. Makesscents.”
I want to crawl under the table and die the second the horrible pun escapes my lips.
Ruby blinks at me for a second, then snort-giggles in a way that is so fucking charming I almost swoon. “Makesscentsindeed,” she says, grinning at me.
I hate to ruin the fun, but my rejection-sensitive brain has to check why she wants to verify our match. “Would it change things if we aren’t scent matches? Is that the only reason you’re willing…”
She sobers, shaking her head adamantly and reaching across the table to touch my arm. “No, not at all. I mean, I might be a little disappointed if we’re not magically fated to be together based on our particular brands of stink, but it wouldn’t change my interest.” She pauses. “Unless you smell terrible. Then we’d have to figure something out.”
I hadn’t even considered that possibility. There’s no universe in which this omega will smell bad to me. I know it intrinsically, and I think she does too, given how teasingly she brings it up.
“Alright. Good.”
“If you’re worried, we can go wash our scent glands off a bit in the bathroom and then meet outside? Hopefully, that won’t be enough for us to end up fucking in an alleyway if we are a match.” She doesn’t sound like she’s opposed to that at all, but it’s a good idea.
She’s so clever and funny and beautiful and…
She lets go of my arm. “Quit giving me those eyes and go wash up, stud. I’ll meet you outside in front of the restaurant.”
I resist the urge to joke that this is an unnecessarily elaborate way for her to ditch me here while I’m in the bathroom, because that would sound way too pathetic.
If she leaves, I’ll just…
Fuck, that intrusive thought sucks so much, and Beau of the past would’ve consoled himself with the promise of drowning his sorrow in whiskey. I don’t want a drink, not really. I can handle it, and I have my therapist only a text away if it starts to feel like I can’t. But sometimes it really sucks to know that you’re going to need to raw dog your emotions if things are bad.
Guess this is step one of trying to trust someone again. If anyone is worth trying for, it’s the captivating omega I’ve met tonight.
archer
“There you are. I was beginning to worry that you fell into the toilet.”
Damn. I lingered for so long in the bathroom, scrolling on my phone and fighting through another wave of stomach cramps, that I was half hoping he’d be gone by the time I emerged.
Oscar stands and pulls my chair out for me. It’s chivalrous, and maybe I’d find it sweet if I wasn’t feeling so weird, but all I can think is how he’s effectively forced me to rejoin him at the table.
It’s a lot harder to have the courage to tell him I need to go home when he’s pushing my chair back in for me. When he brushes the tips of his fingers against my waist as he moves away, it makes my stomach clench unpleasantly.
Please don’t let me get sick again.
Blessedly, the plate of oysters and assorted shellfish is gone, so at least I’m not having to fight away a gag reflex at the scent.
That’s nice of him to get rid of it. Maybe he’s fine and I’m overreacting to things. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’m programmed to be wary of alphas.
“Your color looks a little better,” Oscar says with a gentle smile. “I’m glad. I’m not ready for the night to end, are you?”
