11. Jordan
Chapter eleven
"He is tasty ," Lanie hisses at me as she watches Vick's retreating form. "Like, shit, Jay. And he's a doctor? Only you would pass out in a milk fridge and wake up with the city's most eligible Alpha."
I withhold a snort as I take a sip of my bellini, eyes darting to the empty mug of Earl Grey tea my Alpha had before he left. "It was a comedy of errors, that's for sure."
"And now you're living together?"
"Staying together on a trial basis. But like," I lean back in my chair, my striped shirt creeping up and showing off a hint of my soft stomach, "we're biological soul mates. Throwing the word trial on it feels like a formality."
Vick left after a drink, wanting to give Lanie and I girl time to catch up. He said he was going to run a few errands and would meet me back at my place. The cafe, Eggciting, is a block away from my condo, and Lanie and I meet up at least twice a month for brunch here. You'd think we'd get enough of each other in the office, but we don't.
Lanie is my PA. Which means personal assistant, but it makes me feel weird to call her my assistant, so we keep it to the acronym. It feels braggy to say, but I'm the senior executive of our print division. Every bit of it rolls up to me. So, I needed someone I could trust to help coordinate my schedule, field calls, and, in general, keep me sane. Lanie does a great job, and I'm lucky to call her my friend as well.
The server drops off our plates—eggs Benedict for Lanie and bananas foster french toast for me—and we order another round of drinks.
After a few bites, Lanie casually says, "That looks really sweet, Jay."
My eyes fall to my plate. A while ago, I learned that if you ignore a craving and try to placate it with something else, you won't be satisfied and will try to plug that hole. My therapist told me that I need to listen to my body when it comes to food and not be afraid to indulge.
"A slice of cake won't keep you from presenting as an Omega, Jordan."
I'm not sure if she ever believed I would or if she was humoring me.
When all of those doctors told me that losing weight may help me come into my designation, I listened to them. My curvy, plump physique eventually gave way to something sick and skeletal, and then I was told that I wouldn't present as an Omega because I was too sick.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't, I guess.
Now that I've been in recovery for years, I can see just how toxic all of that was and how warped it made my view of my body and food. Food became an enemy that kept me from what I wanted most.
But when someone comments on my food choices like Lanie just did, it makes me uncomfortable. I've never been explicit about my past or how I view food, but there's no way she hasn't picked up on my quirks during mealtime.
Unfortunately, comments like that pack a more significant punch than intended.
"Yeah, it does," I say, my face heating. "I was just planning on having a couple of bites and then taking the rest home for Vick."
So that's what I do.
I eat about half as much as I wanted and then ask for a box.
"Aren't you hungrier than that?" Lanie asks as she finishes her plate. "You ate so little."
"Oh, I'm fine. Totally full. I wasn't that hungry."
I was.
I am still hungry.
But I don't know if I could handle the judgment in Lanie's gaze like she had when they placed the plate in front of me.
My third bellini goes down easy.
"Alright, I better get going," I say, heaving myself to my feet after we discuss my schedule for tomorrow. "I'll see you in the morning." My best friend hugs me and walks away.
The takeout container of the rest of my french toast hangs heavy in my hands.
Three brunch cocktails on a nearly empty stomach make my head feel light as I walk back to the condo. I'm so in my head, spiraling about that interaction, that I don't notice Henrik leaning against my kitchen island.
He looks as attractive as ever, with his long, white blonde hair and bright blue eyes. We met at work, where he was modeling for a cologne ad that we were in charge of designing. He's a Beta, with the slimmer shoulders and hips that Alphas don't usually have, giving him a lean, androgynous look.
"Jordan, love," he says in his soft Swedish accent. He was raised in the States, but his parent's accents were so thick that he picked up a slight lilt.
That's what he says, at least. But I don't think that's true. I think he hams it up a bit.
"What are you doing here?" I say stiffly. "And how did you get in?"
He holds up his keychain, obnoxiously jingling it. "I still have my key."
"Give it here and get out."
Henrik isn't a terrible guy in the sense that he didn't smack me around or sleep around or anything. But he expected a lot of control over my life. He wanted to know where I was, with who, when I'd be back, what I was doing, what I was wearing. It started so quiet that I barely noticed it until one day, I had to ask myself what the fuck was I doing staying with him.
I respect myself too much to be around someone who treats me like that.
"Oh, come now, you've had your little tantrum. This has gone on long enough." Henrik is one of those guys that has never been told no. When you're the only child of an exceedingly wealthy couple, and you look like you were sculpted out of marble, a lot of doors open for you. He's never known a hard day of work in his life.
"I'm not having a tantrum. I told you, I'm done. Give me my key, and get out." I set the takeout container on the counter, and the delightful buzz I had going on is all but extinguished now. "Seriously, I don't want you here."
Dae comes meandering into the kitchen at that moment, his massive, hulking orange body swaying with every step. He yowls in loud bursts as he stands in front of his empty food bowl. "I fed you this morning!" I hiss at him.
"Mrowp."
He doesn't seem pleased with that answer.
"When did you get another cat?" Henrik snaps. "You know I barely tolerated the other one."
"It's not your fucking concern, Henrik. Give me my key." I reach, trying to grab the keys from his hand, when he snatches my wrist and squeezes it tight. I yelp at the pressure. "Let go, Henrik."
"Not until you hear me out."
"I told you we're done. Let me go and get out."
He pulls my arm up, stretching it above my head. "Not until you stop being a bitch and just listen to me for a moment."
"You have two seconds to take your fucking hands off of her," Icarus growls from behind me. My body slumps, his presence bringing a much-needed sense of safety.
"And who the fuck are you?" Henrik postures. Does he think he's at all threatening to an Alpha like Vick?
"I'm her Alpha. Who the fuck are you?" He takes three large steps and is upon us, easily breaking Henrik's hold on me.
"Alpha? She's a fucking Beta dude. I know she is always saying she's an Omega, and it's fun for, like, roleplay shit, but don't let her delusional bullshit fool you."
Apparently, this is very much the wrong thing for Henrik to say because the Alpha's growl deepens, and he grabs my ex by the shirt collar. "You don't get to talk shit about my Omega in my home. You do not get to touch what's mine. "
Wow, I didn't think I would like that macho Alphahole stuff, but woah, that really did it for me. My stomach feels all fluttery. He drags Henrik out of the apartment.
"Wait!" I shout, breaking the fog of arousal. "He has a key."
"Oh, hell no. Give it here, asshole," Vick says, shaking the Beta. Henrik tosses a key into the condo, and it lands at my feet. I double-check that it's the right one before Icarus literally tosses him out the door, closing and locking it behind him.
He's on me in a second, grabbing my arms gently and turning my wrist over, searching to see if I'm injured. A low growl is still rolling in his chest, like a summer thunderstorm, and his cool eucalyptus scent washes over me. "I'm okay, Alpha," I say quietly.
Slowly, his chest stops heaving as his breathing slows. "I'm sorry for how I acted, Omega," he says quietly. "I just saw red."
"It's okay. I'm glad you came and got rid of him. He wasn't going to go without a fight."
"Who was he?"
I walk into the kitchen and turn the kettle on. "My ex. We broke up a few weeks ago."
"Why was he here?" His questions don't feel like the ones Henrik used to lodge at me. Instead, they feel like safety and care.
"Unsure," I answer honestly. "I just got home from brunch, and he was here."
Icarus glances around the kitchen like he's checking for other intruders. "I don't like him."
"Me neither." Pulling down his pretty wooden box, I pick up one of the infusers I've seen him use and try to measure out the dried leaves carefully. When I hand him a cup of tea, the water still steaming, he grins at me like the cat who got the canary, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"What?"
"You made me a cup of tea."
"Well, yeah. You were stressed. I thought it'd help." I rub my hand on the back of my neck. "I'm sorry if I overstepped. I know we don't know each other very well. Well, at all. I just thought –"
"Omega." He interrupts. My head snaps up, eyes locking on his. "I sorely needed one. Thank you." His broad smile assures me he means what he says. He notices my leftover container on the island and opens it up. "Why didn't you eat more?"
I freeze in place on my way to the fridge to get some water. I make sure my back is to him when I say, "Oh, I just wasn't very hungry."
It's got to be the millionth time I've said that phrase.
He speaks slowly and quietly as if he can see through my excuses. "Well, you need to eat more. Grab a fork, and come finish this."
"No, no, I'm fine. I'll just grab an apple." I reach for one in the fruit basket, and he stops my hand.
"You'll eat your brunch or let me cook for you. You need the calories. You burn more as an Omega." He's got a strange look on his face as if he's dissecting me. I feel stripped bare in front of him.
It's too soon to tell him about how strange I am when it comes to food. How I can speak in front of hundreds of people and not blink an eye, but ordering dinner or eating in front of others makes me want to panic. I can sometimes push past it, but I won't be able to today.
I'm too shaken up by the interaction with Henrik and Lanie's comments.
Today is a day for damage control, a message to my therapist to schedule an off-cycle session, and safe foods.
"No, really, I'm okay. An apple sounds like exactly what I need." He removes his hand from mine and I snag one of the sweet Honeycrisp apples from the basket. "I promise I'll eat a big dinner, okay?" Desperate to take the attention off food, I give him a dazzling smile. "Did you get all your errands done?"
Vick blinks slowly, still looking like he wants to address the takeout container in the room. He takes the hint, though, and follows me to the couch.
"I did, thank you. I got you something while I was out."
My eyes widen. "You got me a gift?" I feel selfish and materialistic, but I have zero desire to turn the gift down. Seriously, no part of me even considers telling him he shouldn't have or tries to play coy.
He chuckles, places his mug on a coaster that I'm pretty sure I didn't have on Friday, and heads to the pile of bags near the door that I'm just now noticing. "Did you buy out the department store?" I ask with a laugh.
Icarus shrugs nonchalantly but doesn't answer, setting two large bags in front of me. One is matte black, with ribbons for handles. I recognize the name on the bag in the gold script as a local boutique that caters to Omegas.
I have to hold myself back from moving too quickly so I don't rip the bag. Inside, I pull out a blanket so soft it's like lotion as it slips over my hands. It's blush pink with an iridescent sheen. I've never felt something so soft, and immediately, I pull it to my face and rub it against my cheek.
"Oh shit, Vick, this is so soft. You didn't have to do this!" I wonder if he can hear that I really don't mind that he did it in my tone.
"I wanted to." His voice is tinted with amusement. "It's a courting gift."
A courting gift is a massively old-fashioned concept that should come back in style. When an Alpha finds someone he is interested in bonding with, he gets her gifts to show her how well he can care for her. I'm not surprised Icarus is someone who participates. I imagine his father courted his mother, even though she's a Beta.
"Keep going," he says, tilting his head back at the bag. Inside, hidden under the blanket, is an oversized, fuzzy navy blue sweater and matching socks. I squeal, kicking off my sandals and pulling the socks onto my feet.
"You like them?" he asks shyly.
"Like? Love! These have got to be the best thing I've ever felt." I pull the sweater over my head and snuggle into it. Omegas are sensory seeking in general, preferring soft, fuzzy, or silky fabrics. These gifts are what Omega dreams are made of. "Seriously. These are the nicest gifts anyone has ever gotten me."
His face falls momentarily at my words, but he shakes it off so quickly I barely notice. "I have one more," he reminds me, hitting the brown bag with his toe. "But it's kind of a selfish gift if I'm being honest."
Oh fuck, it's probably lingerie or sex toys or something. Not that I'd mind, but that is kind of presumptuous. But he is my Alpha, so it's widely accepted that we're going to be fucking pretty soon.
At least the man knows how to grab what he wants.
Gingerly, I pick up the bag, finding it surprisingly heavy.
What the hell kind of dildo did he get?
But I pull out a beautiful cherry wood box that looks remarkably familiar, and clarity hits.
Opening it, I see my gut was correct. "Tea?"
He flushes. "Well, yes. But it's a crafting kit. It's teas, herbs, flavorings, fruits, enhancements… basically, I thought we could make our own blend. An homage to our little pack." The redness creeps down his neck, making the skin splotchy beneath the collar of his gray polo. He bounces his knee repeatedly, and I can feel the anxiety roll off of him.
All of it, from the sentiment to how he awaits my response, warms me to the cockles of my jagged heart. I place my hand on his jiggling kneecap.
"I love that idea, Icarus."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. This is incredibly thoughtful. Thank you for sharing your passion with me." The splotches of color fade from his neck as his body relaxes, and he leans forward and places a gentle, sweet kiss on my lips.
It's over way sooner than I want, leaving me craving more. But I don't push for it, and neither does he.
We have the rest of our lives. What rush is there right now?