I furrow my brow at the folded piece of paper as I take it from him. I figure it’s the grocery list he’s giving back to me, though Idon’t know why he wouldn’t just throw it away. However, when I unfold it, I realize I’m very wrong.
It’s their numbers.
All three of them.
“Now, I know you’re an independent Omega,” Walker says, “so, we aren’t going to step where you don’t want us.”
“But,” Eli adds, “if you need something, please call us.”
Knox nods. “You’re supposed to be staying away from anything that stresses you out. So, if there’s something you need help with, call.”
“We mean it,” Walker says.
I clear my throat and fold the piece of paper back up, slipping it into the small pocket of my cardigan. “Thank you. I will.”
“Promise,” Walker says.
“What?” I ask.
He stares me down with that stoic look on his face. “Promise me you’ll call one of us if you need something.”
With the three of them staring at me, I wouldn’t be able to lie if I put my all into it.
“I promise,” I say.
“Good girl,” Walker says with a nod of his head. “Then we’ll leave you to it.”
The hair on the nape of my neck stands up at his words. Pickles comes rushing back into the apartment, but the instant the door closes behind them, a whine bubbles up the back of my throat.
Alone. I’m now alone in a new place that isn’t mine, that doesn’t smell like mine, that doesn’t look like mine, with a kitchen a quarter of the size of what I need, with no furniture in sight.
Maybe you should have taken Eli up on his offer.
I shake my head and shove the thought away. I have calls to make. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts,passing the number for my bank, my heat suppressant dealer, my clients, and my health insurance company before coming to the number for the people who handle my renter’s insurance.
But instead of pressing down on the “call” button, I press the button to add a new contact.
Lia
Miserable.
That’s how I feel.
I stand there in one of my cooling T-shirts, feeling a bead of sweat dribbling down my spine. Ugh. Two days. I’ve been in this apartment for two days, and already it’s an inconvenience.
I catch my reflection in the microwave and sigh as I lift the prescribed tea and vitamins to my mouth. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work. I mean, is hot tea going to take the sweat away? Nope.
My heat suppressants would have, though.
I swallow the vitamins and take a gulp of the tea, grimacing at how hot the liquid is. Anything to distract me from the fact that my shirt is tucked up beneath my boobs.
My skin feels moist. I want to crawl out of it. I hate the sensation of dripping sweat.
Back sweat.
Thigh sweat.
Boob sweat.
