I try to breathe through it.
I fail.
He feels me tense.
"Hey. I'm not going to spontaneously combust. You can relax."
"I'm trying."
Minutes stretch. He talks about work, something about a ridiculous patient, and I try to listen, but my brain keeps circling back to the scent clash.
Marie. Marie. Marie.
Finally, I can't do it anymore.
"I'm sorry," I blurt.
He stops mid-sentence. "For what?"
"This." I pull back enough to look at him, shame burning up my neck. "I can't settle. It's not you, it's just—"
"Wow, the classic break-up speech. Brutal."
"Drake." My voice cracks enough that his teasing expression drops.
"Okay. Tell me."
"It's her. Your scent. You smell like her nest. A lot. And my omega is being a jealous little bitch about it."
He blinks. "Oh."
"It's supposed to be comforting. Like, 'oh good, everyone's settling.' But in here, right now, with you on my blanket? It's hard. It feels like I'm rolling around in someone else's space."
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he lifts his arm and sniffs his own shirt like a cartoon character.
"Wow. Okay, yeah. That's a lot of vanilla."
Despite everything, I huff a laugh.
"It's not that it's bad. It's just not mine."
He grimaces. "You want me to what? Roll in dirt? Smell like the garden?"
"Honestly, that might help."
He stares at me, then sighs dramatically. "You want me to shower, don't you?"
Guilt crashes into me. "No. I mean—yes? I don't know. I feel stupid even asking. You're my alpha, you're allowed to smell like whoever you want, I'm just—"
"Vee. Do you want me to shower?"
I swallow. "Yes. Please."
His jaw flexes.
For a second, I think he's going to snap. Tell me I'm being impossible. That this is what sharing looks like.
Then he lets out a long breath.
