This trailer I’m sitting in, with its lavish modern interior, two bedrooms, and a bathroom like I’ve never seen before, is mine. For now.
Either I’ll get lucky and eventually move in with Adley and my would-be brothers, or, more likely, they’ll come to find out what I’ve done, and I’ll get kicked out.
Jasper and Adam are so at ease around Adley. I don’t even know if they realize how they hover protectively whenever they’re near her. All the little touches and smiles, the praise and affirmations they give her.
I want that. I want it so badly my chest hurts when I think about it.
But I’m living a lie. On multiple fronts. And I’m not ready to tell the truth. Not yet. Not when everything is just fine the way it is right now.
I need this. Need the peace, the animals, the love that’s just out of reach. A love I can dream about someday having, and boy, have I dreamed about it.
Back in Texas, no woman ever called to me the way Adley does, so effortlessly and without trying even a little bit. But I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be.
I grew up in a small town, sort of like Crescent Lake, where we didn’t need to take suppressants by law, only if we wanted to.
Of course, I’m different. My suppressants were mandated from the time I hit puberty.
I wonder what Adley would think if I told her about that. It’s the least troublesome secret I’m holding tight to, but it still risks her looking at me differently. Maybe even sending me away.
I grumble to myself as I look around the empty space of the trailer before heading to the spare bedroom and gathering some of my supplies. I’d just showered after feeding Pie and Gator, exercising them, then cleaning up manure. The two are lazing in the sun now, and I’m ready to try and do the same.
Outside in the grass, I set up my easel and set my acrylic paints and my brushes on the small folding table I placed beside it.
Mixing paints to create just the right colors, the perfect shade to represent reality, is just as much of an art form as the painting itself. At least, I always thought so.
I start with the sky, wet paint in shades of blue to match the gradient beyond the barn, and fill the top three-quarters of the canvas with it. By the time I’ve moved on to the base color of the grass, something sniffs my ankle, and I jerk with surprise.
When I look down, I spot a little dog looking up at me with quizzical brown eyes, one surrounded mostly with white, theother with black. The little Boston Terrier, Remy, sits beside my foot, eyes trained on my face, head tilting to the side.
“Hey, little one. You out here all on your own?”
I look around toward the house, and I don’t find anyone outside, so I look back at her. “You going to keep my company? I think I’d like that.”
As if this little dog can read my mind, she moves away just a bit, outside of the shadow of my setup, and lies down on her belly in the grass, legs outstretched in front and behind her. Like a little Superman—er, girl—pose. I don’t even realize I’m smiling at first, but I don’t even mind it when I do.
It must be about an hour later, well after I give up on standing and sit in my folding chair, and after Remy has rolled onto her side and then her other side, like she’s baking her fur, when the scent of orange blossoms wraps itself around my body, making me stiffen in every way.
I’ve never been one to love the smell of flowers. I never hated them or anything, but they never really meant anything to me beyond a passing, “That’s nice.” But Adley’s scent has me all sorts of twisted out of shape. Makes me want to do things I’ve never thought of to this Omega.
“Ezra! I had no idea you painted. That’s absolutely beautiful.”
Adley’s small frame stands beside me as she examines my work before giving me a huge grin. “You made Remy a star.”
I feel my neck and face heat. I’d made Remy the central focus of the scene, painting her sitting almost at the center of the canvas, memorizing the pose when she’d move into position at some point.
“She was kind enough to keep me company. She deserved a reward of some kind.”
Adley hums at this. “Your realism is amazing. Truly. Did you take classes or are you self-taught?”
This makes me still. How do I answer that? I can’t tell her the truth, not the entire truth. I can’t tell her where I learned I could paint. Not now.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “I’m… self-taught.”
“Well, you’re outstanding.”
When I feel her soft lips press against my cheek, the world tilts on its axis. My skin tingles, my entire body hums with pleasure. But guilt sets in right after.
I’ve lied to my Omega by omitting the whole truth.
