“Sorry, I just saw someone I wasn’t expecting,” Peter told her.
“Someone dangerous?” Betty asked, looking down the hallway with a worried stare.
“Not violent,” Peter assured her. “Just a really big dick.”
“Oh, bad breakup?” Betty guessed, the tone of her voice saying that she could relate.
“Fucked up family,” Peter said, not wanting to elaborate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
Betty shook her head. “You didn’t. You want to stay here for a second? Our shift is almost over…”
“No, I’m fine,” Peter said, taking a deep breath. He forced his expression into a cheerful mask. “You were going to show me how to refill the whipped cream canister?”
“Yeah, sure,” Betty said, not looking convinced by Peter’s act.
Going back into the coffee shop, Peter couldn’t see his uncle anywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“He’s gone?” Betty asked, crouching down and getting the whipping cream from the fridge under the counter.
“He is,” Peter said, relaxing. Betty showed him how to use the pressurized whipped cream canister, which wasn’t difficult at all, after which their shift was over. They put their aprons away and Betty patted him on the shoulder.
“That was a good first day,” she said, the validation lifting Peter’s spirits.
“Yeah?” Peter asked. Betty smiled and nodded.
“Are you taking the bus home,” she asked, putting on her coat.
“No, my alpha, Carver, is picking me up,” he said, zipping up his own jacket.
Betty grinned. “I almost want to hang around to get a look. If he’s anything like that cop of yours, it might be worth it.”
“He’s a lawyer,” Peter said, smiling but not quite sure how to deal with other people thinking his alphas were hot.
“Mr. Moneybags, huh?” Betty teased, pulling her purse up over her shoulder. Peter shrugged, and Betty grinned. “Well, much as I’d love to get a look at alpha number two, I have a bus to catch. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“See you tomorrow,” Peter said, waving goodbye as she walked out the door. Peter checked his phone, a text from Carver letting him know that he was on his way.
Carver had offered to drive Peter home, even though it was hours before Carver usually left work to go home.
It made Peter feel all squishy and happy that his alphas wanted to be a part of his first day at work, so he wasn’t complaining, and he knew that it wouldn’t be a regular thing.
Walking outside, going to the curb where Carver would pick him up, Peter leaned against the brick façade of the bookstore next to the coffee shop and waited.
“I thought it was you,” a familiar voice said, coming from his left. Peter turned, his stomach sinking hard at the sight of his uncle.
Up close, Peter could tell that life was treating his uncle well. He was dressed in an expensive suit, blood-red tie neatly knotted at his throat, his hair perfectly coiffed and styled. He had a smug, smarmy expression that Peter had once thought was roguishly charming, but that he now knew was just a sign that his uncle was a dick.
“Go away,” Peter said, turning his face and refusing to acknowledge his uncle.
“Nice bond mark,” his uncle commented, ignoring Peter’s words, reaching out and touching his neck. Recoiling, Peter slapped his uncle’s hand away with a growl.
“I didn’t figure you for the kind to go for the delinquency program,” his uncle commented, putting his offending hand in his overcoat pocket. “Is he nice?”
“I was pardoned by the governor,” Peter growled, taking a step back and glaring at his uncle. “And then, since I hadnothing, I enrolled in the matching program. And yes, myalphas arenice.”
The lie came easily. His uncle was the last person he wanted to know that he’d sold himself to get away from prison.
“Pardoned?” his uncle asked, disbelieving. “I don’t believe you.”
