Behind it is a red barn, weathered but well-maintained, doors thrown open to reveal a warmly lit interior. And beyond that stretches the pine forest, dark green against the brightwhite snow, with trails winding between the trees where more customers are coming and going.
I make my way toward the barn, assuming that’s where I’ll find Oxford.
My hangover has receded to a dull ache, pushed aside by the combination of fresh air and exercise.
Maybe Oxford won’t recognize me.
Do llamas have good memories? Can they recognize intoxicated people they met only once?
These are questions they don’t cover in biology class.
As I approach the barn, a woman with a wild tangle of black hair emerges, wearing what are unmistakably pajama pants tucked into snow boots. She has a face that would be stunning if it weren’t set in a scowl that suggests the world has personally offended her in some sort of way.
“Hi,” I call out, raising a hand in what I hope is a friendly wave. “I’m looking for Oxford? I’m supposed to walk him.”
The scowl transforms into a grin so sudden it’s almost alarming.
“You must be Melody!” She strides toward me. “The twerking omega from last night.”
My face burns hot enough to melt the snow beneath my boots. “That would be me, yes.”
“Charlie Pine.” She extends a hand. “Everett’s sister. I missed the show last night, but I’ve heard all about it. You’re a legend already.”
I shake her hand, “Oh, no.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” She waves dismissively. “Own it. We need more dancing around here. This town is too uptight about everything.”
“I was pretty drunk,” I admit. “And I don’t usually… twerk in public.”
“Why not? It’s fun. Life’s too short for inhibitions.”
I blink at her bluntness. “You sound like you’ve given this some thought.”
Charlie shrugs. “When you’re a beta in a world that only pays attention to alphas and omegas, you learn to stop caring what people think.”
“Must be nice.” The words slip out before I can filter them.
“It is.” She studies me. “Let me guess. You’re a good little omega, aren’t you? One who follows all the rules?”
I bristle slightly. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“No? Do you apologize when someone bumps intoyou? Do you take on extra work because saying no feels impossible? Have you spent your life trying to be what everyone else wants you to be?”
Each word lands like a dart hitting a bullseye. I stare at her, startled by the accuracy.
“How did you—”
“I’ve met a lot of omegas.” She shrugs again. “Society puts you in a tighter box than the rest of us. Be sweet. Be accommodating. Be perfect. It’s all bullshit.”
“It’s not that simple,” I protest. “There are expectations—”
“Fuck that.”
I stare. This girl is sharp and unapologetic.
“I mean it,” she continues when I don’t respond. “Fuck. That. Why should you live your life according to someone else’s expectations?”
“Because that’s how the world works? Because I’d lose my job? Because my family would be disappointed?”
