What A Croc

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Robert

My bed looked like my closet had exploded on it. I was pretty sure I had tried on every article of clothing I owned, in various different combinations, and rejected every single one of them.

“Pops!” Wyatt’s voice called from the front of the cabin, and I poked my head out of my bedroom doorway.

“In here,” I sighed rather dramatically, staring at the piles of clothes tossed haphazardly over my duvet. A wave of queasiness hit me from out of the blue, and I gulped, swallowing hard. Heat flashed through me, then was gone so fast, it left me slightly chilled.

Goddess, I hoped I wasn’t catching one of the endless bugs that one of the daycare kids always seemed to have. Honestly, whenever you put a bunch of children together, there always was bound to be someone with a snotty nose, or a cough, or a stomach bug. It was a miracle more of us didn’t get sick, honestly.

Maybe I should just cancel tonight.

Jackson and I had been flirting all week with each other, and I enjoyed it–a lot–but now that Friday night was here, all the reasons why this was a bad idea swarmed around my brain like angry bees.

“I came to see if you needed any help,” Wyatt stood in the doorway, peering at the mess with wide eyes, “Or a pep talk. I don’t know, I’m just trying to be supportive here. I don’t know what you need, but I’m here for you.”

Waving a hand at the mess, I slumped down on the edge of my bed in defeat. “Right now, I need a shirt that hides my too round belly, and a pair of pants that don’t make my ass look gigantic. Probably a stiff drink, and I should just call the whole thing off. Put on my comfortable sweats, make some popcorn, and watch a movie. Alone.”

Wyatt stared at me for a full minute, letting me feel sorry for myself, before he shook his head. “Nope. None of that is happening. Let’s see what we have to work with here.”

He began picking through the clothes, before he held up a light pink button down with thin white stripes that was one of my favorites. A minute later he handed me a pair of designer jeans I hadn’t worn in I couldn’t remember how long. Jane had snickered at me the first time I had worn them, feeling good in them because the salesperson had told me how great they looked on me. My ex-wife had promptly told me I looked like a twenty-year-old and that the designer bling on the back pockets drew attention to my ample ass. And it really didn’t need to have any extra attention brought to it since it was big enough.

My joy in the jeans, and how good they had made me feel, had deflated like a balloon with a pin stuck in it. I was pretty sure I had never worn them again. Just tossed them into the back of my closet, never to see the light of day. I wasn’t even sure why I still had the things.

“They make my ass look huge,” I grumbled, shoving them back at him.

Wyatt huffed, “Just put them on and let me be the judge. If they don’t look good, we’ll try a different pair. But that shirt looks great on you.”

“Fine.” Grumbling, I took the wad of clothes into the small master bath. Wiggling my way into the almost too tight jeans, I had to admit they did feel good. Tucking in the shirt, I sucked in my stomach, trying to make it flatter. Turning this way and that, I gazed critically at my reflection in the floor length mirror attached to the back of the door.

I was carrying about twenty pounds or so more than I probably should have been. And ever since I had given birth to Wyatt my stomach had been soft and squishy. No amount of sit ups or time at the gym helped, and since I honestly hated most forms of exercise–my stationary bike being the one exception–my stomach was what it was.

My legs though, were shapely and nicely muscled, thanks to said bike, and my ass was decent. Looking at it in the mirror, I had to admit it wasn’t a bad ass at all for someone my age. If only my front looked as good as my backside.

Finally I just pulled my shirt out of my jeans a bit to help hide my belly bulge. I didn’t even know why I was worrying about a little extra weight, or my soft stomach, or even what outfit to wear.

This wasn’t a date. Okay, it was a date. But I was only going so I could explain to Jackson all the ways we weren’t suitable as mates–fated or otherwise.

So what if I had started looking forward to his good morning texts? Didn’t mean a thing. I was just a bit lonely for friends, having lost most of my friends in the divorce. Sadly realizing they weren’t as good of friends as I had thought, when they had sided with Jane. I didn’t really have any friends here, outside of Wyatt and Becks, and well, they were family. I wasn’t sure they really counted.

Sure, I had met all their friends, been invited along to cook outs, and holidays, but I always felt like “the dad”. Just Wyatt’s dad, who was there, but wasn’t really someone to gossip with, or do things with on a friend level.

My co-workers were all super nice, and we got along great, but most of them were young and had their own lives and family to go home to. They didn’t want to hang out with me outside of work.

So, yes, I had found myself enjoying, even looking forward to, Jackson’s texts. He didn’t just text in the morning either. He would shoot me a little note whenever he had a free moment. Sometimes it was just a quick ‘ Hope you’re having a good day ’, but it never failed to warm my insides and make me smile.

Jackson was funny, thoughtful and caring. He had even brought me something from the bakery every morning this week. The second morning he had shown up with the white bag, this time with a decadent brownie nestled in its folds, I had told him that while I appreciated it, I certainly didn’t need the extra calories.

The look the man had given me, his murky greenish brown eyes hot and hooded as they had trailed down the length of my body, had made me shiver. As well as his rumbled words, said low enough that only I could hear, “Robert, you look good enough to eat. Now enjoy that brownie. It’s called the-better-than-sex brownie, so I expect a full report on if it lives up to its name.”

The brownie had been amazing, dark and rich, filled with some kind of fresh raspberry jam. And while it had been better than any sex I had had in the last decade, I wasn’t about to tell Jackson that.

No, I was going to tell him that I was too old for him–again–and that babies were not an option for me. Fanning my hand in front of me, I tried to move the air around my heated face. Either I was getting sick or the dreaded hot flashes that I’d been warned would accompany the omega change were starting to hit. I’d really been hoping since I was in the very early stages of the change that I wouldn’t have to suffer all the effects for another year or so.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door and stepped back into my bedroom. Wyatt was slowly folding the mess I had made into neat stacks. Looking me over, he stood to his full height, and let out a low whistle.

“Okay, Pops, you look good,” he told me, smiling. “Like really good.” He waved his finger in a circle. “Turn, let me see.”

Turning so he could see how the back of me looked, he snorted. “I don’t know who told you those jeans don’t look good, but they were wrong. Honestly, I wish I had gotten your ass, instead of mother’s.”

Blushing to my roots, I turned to face him, tugging at my shirt sleeves. “I really look okay?”

Wyatt nodded, “You look amazing. What time is Jackson going to be here? He’s picking you up, right? Because I’m not okay with an alpha who isn’t going to treat you like a gentleman.”

Raising a brow at him, I ran my fingers through my brown hair, frowning at all the white and gray strands I knew were there. Running a hand over my face, I asked, “Should I shave?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Personally, I like the just past a five-o’clock shadow look. It looks good on you. And, don’t think I missed you not answering my question about Jackson picking you up.”

Laughing at him, I informed him primly, “He’s picking me up at seven. Though I really should have just met him at the restaurant. The ride home is going to be awkward.”

Wyatt gave me a funny look. “Why?”

Shrugging, I made sure I had my wallet and house keys. “Because I’m going to tell him all the ways we aren’t suitable, regardless of what some Goddess, or Fate, or whatever someone wants to believe in, has deemed as destiny.”

“Fate doesn’t get it wrong, Pops,” Wyatt told me, following me out of the bedroom. “I told you that. Look at Becks and me. Believe me, that was anything but love at first sight. Lust, yes. I mean, have you seen the man’s abs? They are just ridiculous.”

Yes, I had seen Becks’ abs. Yes, they were ridiculous. Especially at his age. And no, I did not want to have this discussion with my child. Even if he was a grown adult, with a child. Just…no.

“And look at all my friends,” he continued on, despite me not answering him, “all with their fated mates. All happy as can be. Even the ones who tried to fight it. Can’t fight Fate. ”

I was saved from answering by the crunching of tires next to my cabin, and the muffled sound of a car door opening and closing. My eyes were wide as I stared at Wyatt with what felt like a mild case of panic. Or butterflies. Excitement? All three.

Footsteps on the porch, and then a solid knock at my door, and panic won. Turning left and right, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My brain couldn’t get my limbs to do anything but flap around frantically. Finally, Wyatt, after giving me a strong case of side-eye, sighed softly, walked past me and opened the door.

Jackson stood there, filling the threshold of my doorway with his height and wide shoulders. Looking stunning in a pair of black dress pants and a dark green button down shirt.

Suddenly I felt underdressed in my jeans, even if they were designer. Rubbing my hands down my thighs, I softly asked, “Should I change? I wasn’t sure where we were going? Should I wear something dressier?”

Jackson’s gaze ran over what I was wearing, in the same way he looked me over when he had handed me that sinful brownie, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look perfect.”

“Right answer,” Wyatt told him, standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Wyatt’s giraffe genes from his alpha mother gave him height that most omegas didn’t possess, and Jackson stood only an inch or so taller than him .

Taking in my son’s posture, I frowned, because it almost looked like he was about to give Jackson the third degree. The thought had a laugh bubbling up my chest, and when Wyatt asked sternly, “What are your intentions with my Pops?” I couldn’t hold the sound in.

“Wyatt!” I admonished, moving around him to stand in front of Jackson. Shooting Wyatt a glare over my shoulder, I told Jackson, “Please ignore him. Let’s go.”

“Have him home by midnight.” Wyatt called after us, as Jackson followed me down my porch steps.

“Lock my door behind you,” I called back, as Jackson opened my car door for me. His lips were pressed into a thin, quivering line and I realized he was trying hard not to laugh. When he was sure I was safely in, he shut the door.

“I’m so sorry,” I told him. “I honestly don’t know what got into him.”

Jackson smiled at me, taking my hand in his as he turned onto the highway and headed towards Sweet Alps. “I think it was sweet of him. He’s looking out for you.”

“Jackson–”

Before I could finish–or even start–pointing out the reasons we wouldn’t be a good match, he cut me off. He didn’t use words. Instead he brought my hand that he was holding up to his warm lips, and ever so gently placed the softest, sweetest kiss into the middle of my palm.

That was it.

That one tiny gesture rocked my entire world .

Desire swooped low in my stomach, startling me at its intensity. It had been so very long since I had felt it, it felt foreign and weird. Yet deliciously good. My hole grew damp with my slick, also a surprising development.

Taking his eyes off the road just long enough to give me an almost sad look, he quietly said, “Robert, I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me, again, all the silly reasons you think we aren’t a good fit. That despite the fact that we are fated, we just won’t work.”

My mouth flapped, closing and opening, while my brain swirled. That had been exactly what I was going to say, but how had he known? “I–”

He shook his head, his attention focused on the road, “No.”

Blinking, I repeated the word back to him, like I didn’t understand him. “No?”

Another head shake. “I’ve enjoyed texting you this week. A lot. But I want to have an actual conversation with you, over a nice meal. I want to ask you stupid, silly, get-to-know-you-first date questions. I want to sit across a table from a, frankly,” his eyes gave me a quick hot glance, that caused my entire body to shiver, “sexy, gorgeous omega, and I want to remember what it feels like to feel . Because I really haven’t for a few years now, but I do with you, Robert. You make me feel things. You make me want things. And afterwards, you can go down your list of bullet points and we can discuss them properly. ”

Nibbling nervously at my bottom lip, staring at the beautiful alpha, I wanted that too. Wanted one night to feel what it was like to be with someone who wanted me. Who wanted to listen to what I had to say. Who wanted to touch me, even nothing more than holding my hand gently in his. Wanted to feel what it was like to be treated like an omega should be treated by their alpha. Even if it was just one night, if this was all we had, all I allowed us to have, I wanted it.

Nodding my head, I swallowed hard, before whispering, “Okay.”