Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
NOA
Coming to work on a game day is always exciting. Despite the impending doom sitting in my chest, I am determined to have a good day. Especially since this morning, I received an email that would change game days for me for the next five years!
My designs for the Scented Scorpions merch were approved, with slight adjustments to the logo, but overall approved.
I spent the morning before opening fluffing the display blankets and making sure the colors set beside each other match.
Warm hues are on the right side of the store, and cool hues are on the left. It makes it easier to find coordinating colors this way. My store is like one giant color wheel.
Today is a walk-in only day; no appointments. These days are the most worrisome. I have no idea who will walk through my doors and how I’ll interact with them. This part of owning a business—creating the sale in person—is the hardest bit.
No more am I in the comfort of my home behind a screen.
I’m minutes before opening, and my heart races in my chest as it does every day I open.
Hiding behind the register for a moment, I apply some lotion to my skin.
It’s been so tight. A constant itch accompanies being hot all the time.
It has to be my heat, and it means I’m losing time to prepare for that.
The bell rings, and my attention shoots to the door. I don’t remember unlocking the door. I haven’t even turned the scent blocker humidifiers on yet.
Oh shoot, I have to turn them on fast before… before I–I shake my head as a smell hits my nose. What? No, I whip my head to the door; their scent swarms me from across the store. Strong and undeniably making a flame light up my core. Oh wow. Again?
A third scent match? In one week?
I inhale—white chocolate. A heavy white chocolate fills the room.
As it gets stronger, the more I need to turn on the humidifiers with scent-blocking spray to cancel out the scent, but I can’t get myself to move.
This scent tells me it’s another alpha. Three Alphas?
Can three alphas even get along? Would three alphas like me enough for all of us to be together?
I drag my eyes to the alpha. More like my eyes snap to him, who stands as frozen as I am.
My words caught in my mouth as I take him in.
This hunk of a man is taller than anyone I’ve ever met.
He’s got muscles darn near the size of my head–okay, so maybe not that big, but he resembles more of a Tarzan than your average Joe.
Nothing about this man is average. Not his brown shoulder-length hair. Not his pantymelting brown eyes, or nude pink lips. He’s dressed in a long-sleeve shirt that wraps tightly around his every muscle and jeans that fit like a fucking dream.
My strapless mid-length dress tightens across my chest as my breathing quickens. I breathe like a maiden with a corset on five pulls too tight, and I can almost feel the drip of my hopefully imaginary slick down my thigh as I stare at the man.
The faster I breathe, the more his scent overwhelms me. The more I want to rush the giant of a man and climb him like an actual tree. Lock the door and rip off my dress and–
I need to hit the switches on all my humidifiers around the room now. He’s probably smelling my attraction from across the room, and I curse being an omega with such obvious signs.
Swallowing my nerves, I move. I grab my little cardigan as if that will give me the strength to pull myself together.
Whether or not this store is open, anyone who walks through that door is a potential sale, and I have to treat every person as such.
And that’s when my heart drops.
Every person is a potential customer.
He’s an alpha in a blanket store.
My cheeks flush. Was I eyeing another omega’s alpha?
That thought gives me the push to hit the switch, scent blocker spraying into the room. Walking to the next one, the only sound in the room is the click of my heels as each humidifier brings me closer and closer to the alpha still standing at the door.
Walking right in front of him, I bend down to press on the two humidifiers I have by the door.
Clearing my throat, I force a smile onto my face, meeting his eyes. “How may I help you today?”
Seeing him so much closer, there is no way his omega lets him out alone.
I look over his shoulder, or try to, but he’s plastered to the door.
My gaze drifts back to his face. He’s got a scar over his left eyebrow and light facial hair over his jaw and chin.
He doesn’t smile. He just stares down at me, watching me study… yes, study him.
“Are you shopping for your omega? Do you know what textures or colors they like?” I ask again. Quiet alphas come in often, but never alone. They provide support for their omega as they look around. Rarely does an alpha come in by himself to get a gift.
Well, hold on, Noa, omegas aren’t the only designation to buy blankets. Maybe he wants one too.
“Or maybe you are here for yourself?” I ask, trying to kill the hope blooming in my chest.
“Yes.” His voice is deep and rumbly, and I want to hear him again.
“For yourself? No omega?” I could slap myself for being so damn forward. I’m sure there is a law against flirting with your customers. I take a step back and notice how close I am to him.
“What are you looking for? Do you have anything in mind?” I ask, walking towards the first table on the warm side of the room. “Do you want to browse around alone? Or I can walk you through it?”
The words are tumbling out of my mouth as the giant follows behind me. I grab one of the plainer-style blankets with rows of stitching down it, making it appear as stripes. Gripping it in my hands, I turn to face him again.
Glancing down at the blanket, I look back at him, straining my neck a bit. The blanket is yellow, maybe too bright for him, but I guess I’ll see.
“This is one of our smoothest styles. It’s got a thick border for weight, and for a comfortable grip in your hand, but otherwise a texture-free blanket.” I ran my hand over the top, as if he needed a demonstration.
He nods, his eyes not even dipping down towards the blanket.
I move further down the table. “This is our more textured blanket, and we start to enter the crocheted ones. Which also jump in price point because they are handmade–”
“By you?”
“Yes. All of them are, but they are washed with unscented detergent and white vinegar to give you the chance to add your scent. With the scent blockers in the room, we can touch them without leaving our scent. You’ll also get some detergent and softener with your purchase so that you can wash it at home. ”
I ramble through the care instructions, and he just stares intently at me, so I keep going.
“The crochet ones are harder to get the scent out of, because they are the closest to me when making them. I have a display here, and people can touch the crochet texture and see if they like it, but I have customers refrain from touching those unless they are sure of purchase.”
Absolutely no one really cares about this stuff, but I can’t stop talking. If my skin complexion could show the red I feel beating my face, I would probably wish for the ground to swallow me whole.
As the humidifiers start working, his white chocolate scent fades, and I start to get nervous without his scent surrounding me. How ironic.
“So, um,” I say, smoothing my sweaty hands down my skirt. I need to wash them before touching anything else. Maybe get my gloves out so I don’t ruin the blankets any further. “I’ll let you look around.”
“Thank you,” the alpha says, nodding once before going towards the orange blankets in the middle of the room.
I rush to the back, trying to sound like I’m taking calm, collected steps, but I need to get out of sight for a moment.
Massaging my neck with my hands, my long nails pinching me, I sigh in frustration. Sliding the gloves on, large enough to accommodate my nails, I go back to the front counter.
He comes up to the counter—a light orange crochet blanket in his hands. I smile, despite my nerves at seeing him; he is still quite a sight. I’ll miss him when he’s gone. I’m already missing him, and he hasn’t even left yet.
“Is this all?” I ask, scanning the tag. This is one of my most expensive blankets because of the crocheted texture and the yarn, which is 40% cotton and 60% bamboo. Plus, it’s our biggest size at 90 inches by 90 inches, which is a queen-size blanket.
“It’ll be $275 today.” All that for one blanket? My mother’s voice rings in my ear at nearly every purchase. Now, if it were a designer blanket, she’d drop over $275 on it, but because I made this blanket, it’s too expensive.
“That’s it?” he asks, raising one eyebrow. That’s it?... What does he mean, that’s it? My eyes are wide as I look at him, trying and failing to read my customer. Is it too much? Not enough? Oh, he must be looking for tax.
“I include taxes and whatnot in the price; what you see is what you pay.”
He hums, nodding his head, pulling out a card, and following the prompter. I pack his blanket in my pink signature baggie, along with the wash instructions and goodies that go with it.
“Have a great one!” I say as I push the bag towards him. This is the first time I've gotten a hint of a smile as he takes out the detergent and softener pods.
“I won’t be needing those.” He murmurs. My eyebrows scrunch. I know the crochet ones have a lasting smell of me on them. It’s hard to get out with one wash, but he turns around before I can explain this to him.
I watch the sexy man go with the big pink bag in his hand, and he nearly makes it out the door.
“Wait,” I call. Slipping my gloves off, Ollie’s conversation last night runs through my head. Not letting the opportunity slip past me. Once in a lifetime. My secret wishes. Everything.
Plus, it never hurts to ask, right?
“Will you, will you go out on a date? With me?” My hands are shaking. I should have asked the last two amazing-smelling gods that came by, but that’s okay. I missed my chance with them, and I won’t miss again.
He blushes. This sexy, 6’4” giant blushes. He tilts his head down, and I can’t tell if this is a good blush or a bad blush. Good means he’ll say yes, and bad means a rejection is coming.
Maybe it’s good I asked him, since the cherry-smelling god works at the arena, and if I asked him out, and he said no, I’d still have to see him, most likely.
I wait with bated breath. Watching as he comes back to the counter.
“You want to go on a date with me?” He asks, and my world stops spinning for a bit. Like a music track being interrupted, I can hear the scratch.
“Yes, I do.” Is this man playing hard to get? I’m not sure. I can’t tell if he’s just shy. “I’m Noa.”
“Havoc.”
“Is that real your name? Or a nickname?” I ask, leaning on the counter. My legs are too shaky, and I’m highly aware he hasn’t answered my question yet.
“Real name.”
“That’s hot.” I slip, my face absolutely on fire right now.
“You think?” He asks, and I nod. I bit the inside of my cheek trying to fight back the tension in my throat.
“Will you go out on a date with me?” He asks, with the tiniest smile on his lips.
Yet his whole face lights up, his brown eyes brighter as he looks at me.
He leans against the counter, and even leaning, he’s still taller than me.
Even with the scent blockers wafting into the room, being this close to him, I smell his white chocolate scent, and my body reacts, calming down.
“I asked first, big guy.”
“Yes.” He smiles all the way now, and I think the act isn’t the most natural for him, but I take it like the sun setting in the sky for the first time.
“Give me your number.” I say, but then his face drops.
“I don’t have one.” My heart immediately fucking drops.
“Uh, you don’t have to give me your number; you could give me your social media, so you can block me after, in case you hate me,” I brush off, trying not to be hurt. But the sting lingers on my cheeks.
“It’s not that. I don’t have a phone.”
“You don’t?” Oh, maybe he isn’t rejecting me? I’m so confused. My mind is racing as I try to figure out what this really means.
“You’ve been to a hockey game?” he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the arena.
I smile, more embarrassed since I’ve been avoiding the arena, knowing Cherry God will most likely be there, him being a hockey player and all.
But if a giant, tanned, and handsome man wants to take me out to a hockey game, then well, I guess I could put my big girl panties on and go.
“I have.” The loud cheering sets my nerves off, and the bright lights are bothersome. Also, all the scents, and dirty seats, and… I catch Havoc’s eye again, and they sparkle. He must like hockey.
Of course, he likes hockey. What else would he be doing here?
“How about dinner tomorrow instead?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Was I that obvious?” I huff in annoyance at myself.
“Loud arenas aren’t my favorite either,” he shrugs.
“The sounds, the smells, it’s… a lot, though I’ve only been to one, maybe it’s different now.” I try to give the game the benefit of the doubt, but he nods his head, still smiling. His smile makes me feel less bad about not loving the hockey suggestion.
“It’s not,” he chuckles. “But most folks around here love the game.”
“I’d prefer dinner, can’t go wrong with food,” I say. “I close at 7.” I got myself a date. I did the asking, too. Wow, my therapist would be so impressed with me right now.
“Dinner it is then, sweetheart.” As he walks out of the store, I can’t get my smile to relax as another customer comes in.
A couple this time, and I run around turning on all the humidifiers on full blast to get our scents out of the air.
I’m feeling possessive as I want that chocolate scent to myself.
“Hi, welcome. Do you want to browse, or would you like help?”