I snag my own piece of toast, nibbling on the edges of it after slathering it with the strawberry jelly he has on the table. I might have issues with food that I’ll likely fight in some form or another for the rest of my life, but I’m still an omega. We adore sweets.
I glance at his cup of coffee and realize I’m fairly thirsty. “Is it okay if I get something to drink?”
“Shit, sorry. I meant to tell you that before you sat down. There are some energy drinks in the fridge.” He starts to stand, and I put a hand up to stop him. He’s already done enough; I don’t think I can handle much more.
I walk to the fridge and pull the door open. Neatly lined up along one side are several cans of my favorite peach-melon energy drink. My pulse speeds up. Surely it’s a coincidence, right? Maybe he also just happens to like them.
Except I’ve never seen Mark with anything but coffee, water, or whiskey.
My cheeks burn, and I snag one before returning to my chair. I can’t bring myself to look at him. I feel exposed at the same time as my omega is practically preening that he’s paid enough attention to know what we like. Like we matter to him outside the bedroom.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the clink of silverware against the plates loud in the small space. Sunlight streams through the windows, catching the dancing dust motes in the air. It feels blissfully comfortable. Like I could see myself doing this for the rest of my life.
I have to dig my nails into my thigh with the hand not holding my fork to try and drown out my omega’s screams.
Just. Tell. Him.
I clear my throat. “Thank you for being so kind. It was… unexpected.”
“I’m actually a pretty nice guy, Ava,” he says quietly. “You’d know that if you’d actually talk to me every now and again. We could be friends.”
I can practically feel the tension rolling off his frame. His scent has gone slightly bitter at the edges. I know he’s trying very hard not to spook me.
I hate that he recognizes how easily that could be done. If only he understood why.
“Friends usually like each other,” I say. It could be taken as me trying to start a fight, but my voice is smaller than I had intended, and I just sound sad. I dare to sneak a glance at his face from beneath my lashes.
He pauses, obviously chewing on my words as he sips his coffee. “I think there’s a chance we could like each other a lot if we’d try.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling as if the air is being sucked from the room. “Mark, don’t. Please,” I practically beg. Because if he keeps pushing it, I’m going to break. I’m going to crawl across this table and press my face into his throat and beg him to take care of me.
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Okay. It’s far enough for now. But we need to have this conversation eventually, Ava. We’ve put it off for too long.”
I nod. “Okay. I promise.” I know he’s right. He’s been letting me take the lead this whole time, no matter how I’ve buried my head in the sand. I can’t keep doing that. Even if the talk is just me telling him that I can’t be the woman he wants me to be. That I can’tdothis. No matter how badly I want to.
Not now, though. I’m hungover, off-kilter, and on his turf. Everything feels raw and exposed, not at all helped by my earlier panic attack.
He seems content with my agreement, and we finish breakfast.
I help him clean up silently. I should be getting out of here as quickly as possible, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do so. If this is the last time we’ll be around each other before we have our big situationship-ending discussion, I want to enjoy it while I can.
“Can Ikeep the shirt?” I ask suddenly, surprising myself. “I mean… just to wear out of here. I don’t really want to do the walk of shame in a designer gown,” I clarify quickly. Though, if I’m honest, I’m going to conveniently forget to return it. It’s definitely going into my nest.
“Of course. You looked stunning in that dress, by the way,” he says. His scent shifts to how it is when he’s feeling jealous—something I’m quite familiar with, since it’s my favorite way to annoy him. It’s occasionally backfired on me quite spectacularly, like the time he interrupted one of my dates after I’d pushed a little too far.
I catch my bottom lip with my teeth, my pussy suddenly aching as I remember it, gluttonous traitor that she is. He’d made up some bullshit excuse about needing to speak with me about a time-sensitive plea deal, and once I’d stepped away from my date, he’d tugged me into the alley and fucked me hard and fast against the brick wall. “Enjoy the rest of your date,” he’d growled. Then he’d just left me there… panting and shocked after he’d pulled my panties back up, his release still dripping out of me.
Mark’s head snaps up, pupils blown, and I am reminded that I do not have suppressants or my scent neutralizer. Shit. My scent must be intensifying. If I’m not careful, I’m going to start producing slick.
Stupid. I am a stupid, stupid omega. I need to get out of here.
“I know that look, but I have to go soon,” I tease lightly, moving to put distance between us. “Tony is probably going to murder me for not having him drive me here last night.”
“He’s already downstairs,” Mark says, his voice huskier than normal. “He buzzed up earlier to tell me he’d be ready whenever you are. So it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a rush.” He prowls toward me, a predator stalking his prey.
I take another step back. If he touches me, I’m done for. I’ll climb him like a fucking tree, consequences be damned.
“Even more reason I should go. He doesn’t need to be sitting out there in the daytime. Someone could recognize him as my driver, and we don’t need the press catching wind that I’m in your apartment,” I say with my hands up. It’s a flimsy, bullshit excuse, and I’m perfectly aware that he knows it as well as I do.
