Chapter Nine
Izzy
In the days that follow, the four of us are in an uncomfortable holding pattern. It’s like the guys are afraid to be around me, and I’m so nervous I can’t be calm around them.
They’ve separately reassured me they’ll keep my secret.
They’ve each promised I have a place to stay as long as I want it.
They’ve each confirmed they’ll support me no matter what happens next.
To add insult to injury, being around them all is making my body respond in the worst way possible. I’ve been cramping at inconvenient times. My stupid omega parts want their stupid male parts. That’s all. Purely a biological demand. This was an issue with Brad too.
Granted, never like this.
Now it happens daily, and usually when I’m trying to work through what’s happened and how to handle the three men sharing the space—which is often.
Crisp wind blows in the cracked kitchen windows. The air seemed overheated and stale when I first got home hours ago, but it leaves a chill.
Their promises are both calming and even more stressful. I’ve been living with them for three weeks, but for the first time, the gravity of being in a confined space with them carries weight.
Is Mason avoiding me? Afraid of me?
Vin’s being too nice. He’s sweet as a baseline, but it’s forced now—stomach-churningly so.
And Trick. Sigh. Oh, Trick. I just want the old Trick back. Not the one who treats me like delicate glass. I am anything but breakable.
I slam the windows shut.
And worst of all, I can’t even talk to Jolie about it.
“I can’t believe they sent you home,” my best friend says on the other end of the phone. The device rests on the countertop, speakerphone on, while I unpack the groceries.
“My TM said they didn’t need me for the shift. It’s making me paranoid as fuck. The call center is a shitty job, but it’s stable.”
“Are your stats down?”
“No, my call times are right on the average, my FCR is in the top 10, and my scores are above a 4.6.”
Do they know I’m an omega?
Am I being pushed out of a designation-unsuitable job?
Anxiety swirls while the possibilities lay bricks that confine rational thought.
What do I do if they fire me?
I don’t think the boys would tattle on me, but I never thought Brad would either.
Most of my spare time has been devoted to plans to survive the Admin. My burner is full of pages and pages of saved links for bus schedules, cash-only camping sites, and online data entry jobs that the pinboards say don’t ask for much info.
Being on the run is a false idea of freedom. I’ll never be able to put down roots once my name is in the Admin’s records. Losing Jolie and my family would be a heartbreak I’m not sure I’d recover from.
Alternatives circulate in my thoughts, and the gentle ease of the life I’d been imagining evaporates.
Or I could stay. Submit. Let the puck fall where it’s dropped.
Sounds like torture.
I’ve been saving every penny I can, and not having much overhead has been a dream for my rainy day fund, but I won’t last more than a few months on my own. That’s doubly true when I’m setting aside as much as I can to repay Trick for painting my car.
“Do you think they figured it out, Jolie?”
She’s silent for an interminable half-minute.
“No. If they did, it’d be a lot more invasive than cutting a shift. Someone would be at your door.”
“Then it’s a regular termination and not a discriminatory one.”
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions yet, but it would be a good idea to plan alternatives.”
There are no other options. The more I think it through, the more I realize I have to maintain my course. Panic does not lead to solid decision-making.
“I don’t have any other options,” I tell her. “I need a job that’s flexible.”
“Right, for the puck boys you’re definitely not involved with.”
“Correct.”
Another hard pause blots out the hum of the fridge and the last songs of the blue jays through the window panes before they disappear for the winter.
She can give me shit all she wants, but we both know an unformed pack isn’t good enough. I need star power. I need unquestionable financial means.
And, yes, I want those things too. But that’s a bonus.
Vinson, Wyatt, and LaMille are amazing guys. A dream, really. Any omega would be lucky to have them. Hell, I’d be lucky to have them. But I’m not changing horses midstream, and they aren’t ready for an omega regardless.
“Well, you need to figure it out ASAP. What comes to mind first?” she finally asks.
With the groceries successfully stored away, I close the fridge door too forcefully and it slaps shut.
“I thought I’d be at the call center until Brad came to his senses. I guess I should be planning it out.”
“Better now than after they fire you.”
“Yeah. Hey, I gotta go.”
“Wait—you know you can come here?”
“I know.”
“We have sp—”
“I know, Jolie.”
Oop, not so harsh.Jolie’s only looking out. I know this. She’s worried. Instead of snapping at her again, I thank her for the offer.
“You’ll get through it,” she replies.
“Yup. Love you.”
“Love you, Iz.”
Life has certainly taken a turn for shit. A few weeks ago, I was living with my best friend and marching steadily toward my wife card while gainfully employed. Now I’m probably out of a job, totally off track with Brad, and living at the discretion of a group of guys still figuring shit out themselves.
Brilliant moves, every one.
Sighing, I set out my mise en place for the cookies. My phone’s camera is pathetic, but I snap off a few pics of the carefully placed bowls. When I’m done, I’ll take shots of the messy aftereffects and final result, juxtapose the images, then post them with a snarky recipe to my Cl!ck and Ch@er pages.
I’ve managed a small social media following, but it’s mostly the circle of remaindered friends I’ve collected between school and jobs. I’ve no delusions of grandeur and don’t want them while avoiding too much attention.
Besides, most of my feed is anti-lifestyle posts. It’s really only funny to people who know me.
The boys should be home soon. I was hoping to have the cookies baked before they arrived but spent too long shopping.
I suppose that’s what I get for yet more failure to plan out my time and actions accordingly.
As if Vin knows this is the worst possible moment, the garage door rolls open. I haven’t mixed a single ingredient when the Wyatt Pack beta comes in the house. His equipment bag thumps on the tile in the mud-slash-laundry room.
“Izzy?” he hollers.
Oop.I can’t read whether that’s a good thing or bad. I suppose any strong emotion is better than the last week.
“I’m in the kitchen.”
“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you home at all. Don’t you work until three?”
“They sent me home.”
Vin tosses his hair out of his face and runs his eyes over me in my apron and leggings. I’m not dressed sexy in the least, I never even changed after work, but his attention still sends a thrill through me.
Maybe I’ll never get used to this. No matter how many times he gives me his attention, being around Bobby Vinson still leaves me at least a little starstruck and nervous.
Which is exactly why I’m baking the cookies.
“They tell you why they sent you home?” he asks.
“She said they overstaffed.”
“Have they ever done that before?”
“No.”
His lips tighten into a worried grimace.
“Yep, that’s how I feel too,” I say.
“You seem to be coping with it.” He approaches the ingredients splayed across the countertop. “This looks like... cookies?”
“Right in one, tendy.”
“Oh, before I forget—do we have some clear packing tape somewhere?”
“Yeah. I’ll throw it in your bag.”
“Thanks. The guys were kept back but should be along soon. Tell me about the cookies.”
I suck in a breath to fortify my resolve and then attempt to expel my anxiety on the breath out.
“We need to practice,” I say.
“We need to practice?”
“Yes. We.”
“You mean being around each other.”
“Yes.”
He tilts his head and delivers this grin that in any other circumstance would leave me panting on the floor.
“What?”
“That’s why I was looking for you. You take every public opportunity to let Mason grope you. The guys are still giving Trick shit for getting his neck scratched to hell. If we want this to be believable, the two of us need to put on a show too.”
“And you have some idea how to do that.”
“Not how, but where. There’s a fundraiser and meet-and-greet with sponsors coming up. Everyone’s allowed a date. I thought you could be mine.”
My grin matches his. “So you’re saying we have the perfect opportunity to sell our relationship and drive your captain up the wall.”
“Exactly.”
“Conniving. I like it.”
“I have my moments. What are the cookies for?”
“A bribe to convince you to practice with me.”
Vin circles the island to stand beside me. He’s close enough that his delicious, nutty scent sends my senses into a tailspin.
Of all the chores I do for the guys, cleaning up their rooms has been surprisingly fun. The smells linger with my memories of their natural scents and make me want to roll around on the floor like a catnip overdose.
Vin, though—he’s my favorite. It’s the perfect complement to his down-to-earth attitude.
His close proximity challenges my control.
Vin holds out a placating hand. My fingers fit easily into his, and he takes that as the approval it is. He jerks me close and rubs a circle on my low back with his thumb.
The overhead light illuminates his pleased expression as he turns us until we’re leaning diagonally against the countertop. The position gives me control. I have an opportunity to escape if I’m uncomfortable, but it only makes me want to touch him more.
Vin smiles that sly smile. I tuck the longer hair on the side behind his ear like that night at the bar.
Goose bumps erupt on my skin when he catches my hand, places a tentative kiss on my inner wrist, and then slings my arm over his shoulder.
“How’s this?” I ask.
This man, this inscrutable man who’s somehow both strong and gentle, peers down at me with a look of desire that will resonate long after he lets me go.
It’s only practice. A fa?ade. Faux fervor.
Keep it in check, Izzy.
“You don’t need to bribe me to spend time with you,” he rumbles.
I have to clear my throat.
“It’s, ah, a peace offering. And a thank you. You could’ve canceled the pact and tossed me out on my ass. Instead, you’ve let me stay and are still scheming how to hit our end goal.”
His eyes tighten at that, but he quickly blanks his face.
“There’s a place for you here as long as you want one. Don’t worry about your designation.”
He says the words, but there’s an undercurrent to it. A tone that belies his meaning. There’s something else hanging in the statement, although I can’t tell what.
“Do you want help?” he asks.
“With?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “The cookies.”
“You want to bake cookies with me?”
“If you were my girl, we’d spend time together however you like.”
My brain stutters over that thought. It’s innocuous enough. He’s said aloud what we’re playing at.
Except, no one’s here to see him do it. It’s not merely getting comfortable around each other.
It has the feel of a promise and not a statement.
“Yeah, uh, that’d be fun.”
“Good. One thing though.”
He skims his fingers over my cheek to tuck my hair behind my ear. I smirk at the mirrored movement, and he grins in response.
The touch lingers while he stands closer.
“I’d like to kiss you.”
“For . . . practice.”
“Yeah, for practice.”
“What kind of parameters?” I ask.
“You want to set parameters?”
“I don’t want to cross a line you aren’t comfortable with. Because I’m... you know.”
“There are no lines you aren’t allowed to cross.”
“But—”
“None, Izzy. I’m not concerned about your omega status. It might be different for the guys, but for me it’s not an issue. Don’t hold back.”
“I don’t think you understand what that means.”
“Maybe not. I’ve never dated an omega. I’m sure I’ll fuck it up. Think of it like teaching me too.”
“So you can learn how to care for an omega.”
“Yeah.”
He hasn’t even uttered the word before the earlier mental spiral leaps off the cliff again, this time with no parachute as I free-fall into jealousy.
In the space of a finger snap, the ground falls away and I leave the cloud of lusty feelings behind.
“I see,” I say crisply.
“Don’t be mad. You’re going to Brad, right?”
“I’m not mad.”
“You’re not happy.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Just kiss me already.”
“Whoa, that’s not how we do this.”
“Then we bake the fucking cookies.” I twist out of his hold.
The metal mixing bowl slaps onto the surface in front of me. I rip open the butter packages with zeal and haphazardly toss white and brown sugar in with it.
The eggs splatter against the edge of the countertop, but most of them and the rest of the wet ingredients make it into the bowl. I only have to fish shell out once.
Swinging away from Vin, I snatch a fork from the utensil drawer and start creaming like I’m delivering corporal punishment.
He says nothing, only watches while I pace the room with the bowl under one arm and the dinner fork in the other.
At some point, he sets calming, jazzy music to play from his phone and portions out more chocolate chips.
“Izzy . . . ,” he starts but then never finishes the sentence.
Flour plumes into the air as I harshly scoop measuring cups and drop them onto the flex board. Salt and baking soda follow.
Vin offers me the sifter, and my hand pumps in a frenetic pattern of metal screeches. I fold the flour into the creamed wet ingredients and then the chips under his watchful eye.
When the parchment doesn’t tear perfectly, I ball it up and toss it into the can and try again.
These cookies are going to be fucking perfect.
It’s what I know how to do, right? Cook and clean. It’s no different with the Wyatt Pack than with Brad.
Balls of cookie dough magically make their way onto the sheets in a perfectly spaced pattern.
When I twist to the oven, pan in hand, Vin finally speaks.
“You can’t do that,” he says to me.
“Watch me.”
“No,” he says and takes the pan from me. “The oven isn’t on.”
I curse and set the pan on the countertop.
While the oven preheats, I cut the parchment in half and carefully transfer the papers to cutting boards that can go into the fridge.
“Right, I guess we’ll just . . . ”
My voice trails off, because Vin comes to stand right in front of me. He traps me against the island with a hand on each of my sides.
“You good?” he asks.
I lift a brow. “I’m perfect.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
His eyes flit down to my mouth before snapping back up to meet my gaze.
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
“I’m not fucking angry.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, you ignored it when I called you beautiful, and the Izzy I know wouldn’t pass up the chance for a sly remark. Tell me what’s really going on?”
I pinch my face, but he’s right. If I’m going to be here for the immediate future, then they may as well know what my triggers are.
“Don’t talk about other omegas,” I growl.
“Trick and I have been talking about submitting an application to the Admin. We want it to happen. You should support that, even if you don’t like the Admin, just like we support you.”
“That’s not it. It’s an omega thing. Don’t fucking talk about any other omega being here. While I’m in your home, this place is mine.”
“It’s an omega thing.”
“Yes.”
He lifts an incredulous brow, but that’s all he’s getting from me.
“Thank you for sharing that with me. Should I tell the guys as well?”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Good.”
And then he leans close and sets a sweet peck on my lips. It ends as suddenly as it began, but he lingers within inches.
The surprise of the kiss knocks me so off-kilter that the last of the ire tumbles aside.
“What was that for?”
“I appreciate you opening up to me. And we need to practice, right?”
“A peck isn’t going to convince anyone.”
He grins. “You know what? You’re right.”
Vin wraps an arm around my waist and squeezes me tight against him. Steady fingers lift my face to meet his eyes.
His lips graze over mine in a teasing brush.
“My omega deserves so much more than simple kisses. She deserves the very beat of my heart. The breath in my lungs. My omega knows I’ll give her every part of me.”
And then he kisses me for real.
It’s not some hesitant peck.
There’s no restraint.
Vin cups my jaw and braces my body against his while his mouth falls on mine.
The pressure is steady and sure, and his delicious walnut mingles with the grounded, earthy scent still clinging to him.
Explosive bursts of nervous excitement bombard my system. His tongue tests my lips, and I open my mouth to invite him in.
He maneuvers my jaw perfectly, his hands on me directing me to brace the full length of my body against him.
The practice kiss lasts entirely too long, but neither of us withdraw.
I fist his shirt and he growls softly.
By the time we finally break apart, we’re both breathing heavily. Half-lidded eyes focus entirely on me.
“How was that?” he murmurs.
“Do that in public and no one will question that we’re dating.”
He grins again, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sight of Bobby Vinson peering down at me with that pleased expression.
He leans close yet again to graze his lips over mine. When he speaks, it’s like he’s trying to put the words into my mouth to convince me it was my own idea.
“Let’s crash on the couch until the cookies are ready. We can practice some more.”
I’d like nothing else.