Silas pulls a light purple puff quilt. It’s quite large despite its being a throw-size blanket, and yet he cancarry it in one hand with ease. Seeing his hand stretch around it, gripping it, my eyes follow him as he brings the blanket between us.
Thorne has a dark green gingham quilt in his hands. Perfectly matching the purple one in Silas’s hands.
“Perfect,” I say, sliding away from the warm, comforting alpha who is about to make me perfume so hard my customers could smell it over the five scent-blocking humidifiers I have on high in my store.
“Let’s get you checked out.” I won’t be able to focus on my work while they are here. I wait for them to set the blankets down, but they don’t. Silas just hits me with his smile as Thorne stares at me. I look around, seeing another customer come up with a blanket in their hands, so I glance back at Silas.
He turns to look back and sees the customer. He shakes his head, communicating something to them before he steps aside, and waves his hand forward.
“I have a few questions, so you can go first,” he says in his all-dazzling voice as the omega behind him blushes and slowly walks forward.
My breath catches as I stare at him in shock. Aren’t they on a break? How long are hockey players’ breaks? I quickly fix my face for the customer in front of me. I make small talk as I check her out, and bag her blanket with the wash instructions and detergent samples.
Once she leaves the counter, Silas and Thorne crowd my counter again, this time, setting theirblankets down. I ring them up. Watching the price jump into the hundreds, and they don’t even flinch. No matter how well I may be doing, half a thousand dollars for two blankets is a lot of money, but they… they don’t look hesitant at all.
“What gloves are those?” Silas asks, sliding a card over my card reader.
“Cloth, it just helps keep my scent off the blankets,” I explain, and that’s when he takes my hand. I let him, even though I shouldn’t. He slowly slides the glove off my left hand, and I become darn near feverish as he nods at me to continue bagging his purchase.
Between the sweat on my hands and my body’s reaction to them, I know my scent is soaking the blankets. My mind races, thinking of him using the blanket, sleeping with it… how it’ll smell of me, and I stop that thought right there in its tracks.
No need to get myself riled up at work. With my heat so close, I have to be more careful with my thoughts, especially around them. One heat flare-up and I’m done for; completely immersed into my omega instinct. I’ll be begging anyone on two legs for a release, and I can’t leave myself in that kind of position.
I need to prepare for the shop to be closed for a week. My heats last around 3 days. With a day of prep and a day of recovery, that’s an entire week off work at one time.
I pack Silas and Throne’s bags the same way as I doall my other customers, trying to be neutral, trying to be normal, but the omega in me wants to scent mark everything. From their blankets, to the bag I’m putting them in, to the receipt.
“Here you go,” I say, handing Silas the bag. He reaches for it. His fingers graze mine as he takes the bag. They both walk away with a handmade blanket bearing my scent.Mine.
Customers go in and out all day, and my thoughts race on what I’m going to do about the Fallon Pack potentially ruining my life. I can’t risk my scent matches, but I don’t want to lose them either.
I need to figure out a way for the Fallon Pack to forget me so I can keep my scent matches. Until then, I have to distance myself from them.
As the last customer leaves for the night, darkness sets in, and the nerves take over. Last night’s break-in makes its way to the front of my mind. There wasn’t any evidence of a break-in, that’s the only way I got Ollie to feel good about leaving me here alone, but someone was in here.
And it wasn’t just anyone; it was Jackson Fallon.
I should have known it like I know the back of my hand. Has being free made me forget all those years? His scent made my nose bleed for the two years I was with them.
On the outside, the Fallon Pack was the dream Pack of small-town Clairview, Ohio. They’re comprised ofthree red-pill content-swallowing alphas: Jackson, their lead; Derrick, the officer; and Mayfield, the ex-football star.
It’s almost like my brain was blocking them, the memories, and smelling Jackson’s scent was the trigger for all of it to come slamming back.
I haven’t been this scared in a long time.
I inspect the back lock again, looking for any sign it’s broken, and though I see nothing, I can’t trust it. Sighing, I pull the chair I usually keep at the cash counter and prop it under the handle.
Hopefully, this helps.
Making my way to the front of my store, I turn off the lights and head out. People are still moseying about the sidewalks, so I’m not completely alone. The fact eases my nerves as I stand outside the front door. Locking it, unlocking it, and then locking it again. I pull on the handle to make sure it won’t budge. Satisfied with it, I turn around, bags loaded on my shoulders.
My phone dings in my pocket; the screen lights up my face as I see the text from an unknown number.
Unknown
Noa, please give us, your parents, a call.
My mood drops as my face drains. When—how did they find my number? I gulp the building spit into my mouth as realization dawns on me.
