“If your mother asks, you know you’re to tell her we’re going to a conference this weekend,” Dad went on. He apparently thought I was moving too slowly, as he strode to the old-fashioned coat stand in the corner of my office to grab my coat for me.
“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled, my face heating all over again.
My computer played a chord to let me know it was shutting down, and I stood up, feeling gross and a little sick to mystomach. Not just because we were lying to Mom, but because ofwhyand where Dad and I were actually going.
We were heading out to Kincade Slopes to participate in their third omega auction event. It was basically a glorified munch where Dom alphas were paired up with subby omegas for kinky sex surrounding some sort of trafficking fantasy. Dad had been a member of the Dark Fantasies Club since it started, and he’d forced me to join last year as well.
Okay, so he didn’tforceme force me. I wasn’t a complete eunuch. I was an alpha. Enjoying sex and craving it, at least on some level, was part of the biological package. But just like with everything else in my life, when I’d asked for one thing—to be trained as an Emergency Support Alpha so I could volunteer with Bangers & Mash—I’d been handed something else, the Dark Fantasies Club.
“I hate that music you listen to,” Dad grumbled as the two of us left the office and headed down to the parking garage.
“I’m pretty sure most fathers hate the music their sons listen to,” I said with a wry smirk.
We stepped into the elevator, Dad mashed the button to take us down, and then he turned a sharp glare on me.
“It’s not a joke,” he said. “Musical theater is pedestrian. It’s unbecoming of an alpha, especially one of your pedigree. We’ve talked about this before.”
“Yes, Father,” I said. I was being subtly defiant by saying that, at least in my mind.
Dad seemed to like my acquiescence. He nodded once and said, “We won’t talk about this again.”
Which meant that if he ever heard me listening to musical theater again, there would be consequences. As if I were a disobedient teenager instead of a grown man fast approaching his thirtieth birthday.
We reached the parking garage, and unsurprisingly, the valet already had Dad’s luxury sedan idling just a few steps away from the elevator. I nodded and smiled at the valet—Dad did not—and slipped into the passenger seat while dad walked around to get in and drive.
Once we were out on the twilit streets of Barrington, heading for the highway that would take us out to Blue Knob Mountain, Dad picked up the conversation where he’d left off.
“If you want to listen to music, classical is acceptable,” he said. “I have season tickets for a prime box at the Barrington Philharmonic. Right now, I give those seats to supporters, but it would probably reflect well on the family if you wanted to use them several times a month.”
“Alright,” I said with a stiff nod. I didn’t love classical music the way I did musical theater, but they were friendly cousins as far as musical genres were concerned.
“I’ll come up with a list of suitable omegas you can ask to attend the concerts with you,” Dad said as he took the turn onto the highway.
“Okay,” I sighed.
Dad must have heard my lack of enthusiasm. He glanced quickly to me with a frown. “You’re nearly thirty, Junior, and you’re an alpha.”
I winced hard at the name he insisted on calling me. I would have reminded him that I preferred to be called Jack, but we’d been down that road twelve dozen times, and I was tired of the argument. Dad only saw me as a “Junior”, an extension of himself, anyhow.
“Okay,” I repeated, because there wasn’t really anything else to say.
“You should be married by the time you’re thirty-two, and a father by thirty-three,” Dad continued. “Your mother and I have been lenient in giving you the time to pick your own mate, but if Ididn’t know any better, I’d say you weren’t interested in omegas at all.”
“I’m interested in omegas,” I insisted, trying not to clench my jaw so hard my teeth would break.
Iwasinterested in omegas. Very much so. Just not the pale, stiff, aristocratic ones my parents approved of. Society omegas were always so…so washed out and depressing.
Dad huffed. “If you haven’t found a mate by Christmas, your mother and I will choose one for you.”
If that wasn’t motivation to find someone on my own, I didn’t know what was.
Not that my parents would approve of any omega I chose.
“You do know arranged marriages are frowned on these days, don’t you?” I asked deadpan. It was as close as I got to talking back to my dad.
Dad heard my rebellious intention. “Arranged marriages have been the norm with our sort for generations,” he said. “They’re strategic and successful.”
“As long as you don’t care about love,” I muttered.
