Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
W yatt
“I still think that was a waste of time,” Daxton says on the drive back to our place.
“I disagree,” I tell him, scanning through all the notes I made as I sit in the back of his truck. “I think Owen was right to ask Harper if we could have another session before the event on Saturday.”
“Urgh,” Daxton says, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “That was the most awkward shit I’ve ever endured. And you’re a doctor, you know how much awkward stuff I’ve endured.”
“Unexplained bottles stuck up anuses, injured penis and all sorts shoved up nostrils,” Owen reminds us.
“Perhaps it was a little awkward,” I concede. “But it was also useful. We’ve been doing everything wrong.”
“A slight exaggeration,” Daxton mutters under his breath.
“Not really. We’ve dated one omega in six months. And been on first dates with precisely two others. We’re hardly smashing it out of the park, are we?” Daxton mutters something else I don’t hear and I tuck my notes back in my pocket. “It can’t hurt to try some of Harper’s suggestions. We can’t do any worse.”
Daxton groans and Owen mutters, “I really don’t want to go to this stupid barbecue.”
“How do you expect us to find an omega,” I say, shaking my head, “if we never actually cross paths with an omega.” Sometimes, my packmates’ lack of logic defies me.
“We just spent two hours crossing paths with an omega,” Owen mutters again.
I stare out of the window. “And doesn’t it make you even more determined to find an omega of our own?”
The others are both quiet. But I know my logic is right. Harper is beautiful, intelligent, sweet and has a scent that makes my mouth melt. When I’m with her, all I can think about is how good it would be to have an omega just like her.
Of course, I also think about how good it would be if she could be our omega. But that is a waste of time and energy. I’m a realist. Dax is correct. Harper is not a viable option, no matter how disappointing – how gut wrenching – that is.
Luckily, I’ve always been skilled at separating logic and emotion. It’s what makes me a successful surgeon – one who doesn’t wobble with every unfortunate diagnosis I have to deliver or crumbles in an emergency situation.
“I’m going to look up some YouTube videos on improving our listening skills when we get home. Would you like to watch them with me?”
“Nope,” Owen says.
“Why not? You heard what Harper said – or you would have if you had good listening skills. And you said yourself we need to practice.”
Owen doesn’t respond.
“You can give us the summary, Wyatt,” Dax says. “I need to go lie down in a dark room. My head is pounding after spending so long in Harper’s company – jeez her scent.”
“Are you sure it’s your head that’s pounding and not your dick?” Owen says. Daxton punches him on the arm. “Hey, driving!” Owen cries, rubbing his arm, then adjusting his hands on the steering wheel. “But shit, she does smell so damn good. I’d forgotten just how good.”
“I think she smells even better than she used to,” Dax adds.
“Like peaches,” I say, gazing out of the window at all the passing houses. “Plump, ripe, round peaches. Soft to sink your teeth into. Sweet juice running down your chin.”
Again the vehicle is quiet.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Wyatt,” Owen says, voice tightening. “Do you have to?”
I swing my gaze his way. He’s white knuckling the steering wheel.
“Have to what?” I ask.
“With the imagery. Now all I can think about–”
“Don’t!” Dax says, slamming his hand over Owen’s mouth. Owen mumbles against his palm as he swings his truck into our driveway. Before the vehicle comes to a stop, Dax swings open the door and bundles out, striding quickly towards the house.
Owen and I watch him go.
“Was it something I said?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Owen replies. “It was definitely something you said.”