Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Aitor
Five Years Ago
“ F ucking piece of shit!” The temptation to rip the plug from the wall and smash my very expensive espresso machine on the floor was overwhelming. But then I’d be under-caffeinated and have a giant mess to clean up, so I smacked the side of the machine hard enough to make my palm sting instead.
Unfortunately, abusing the godforsaken machine changed nothing. No lights came on. No steam started hissing. It was just dead. I still needed caffeine, and none would be forthcoming even if I stayed in my barely furnished apartment and went ten rounds with the damn thing as enticing as it was.
Maybe my bad mood had nothing to do with the defunct espresso machine, though that epic disappointment surely wasn’t helping.
I’d moved to Cancun eighteen months ago following a fellowship specializing in internal medicine for sea turtle shifters in Greece. As a jaguar shifter who’d grown up in the Basque Country in Spain, not far from the Bay of Biscay, I’d had friends of all shifter species, including some whale shifters, but I never thought I’d specialize in aquatic shifter medicine. But it turns out I had a knack for it. While I was completing my residency in Portugal, I’d worked with a number of aquatic shifter patients, and when the fellowship opportunity in Greece came up, I couldn’t say no.
The sea turtle shifter population in Akumal just south of Cancun was one of the largest in the world, and it had taken me almost three months of virtual and in-person interviews to secure the position as head of the shifter internal medicine department at the top hospital on the Yucatán Peninsula. In the year and a half since, I earned a reputation as one of the best and climbed to the top of my field, even if some of my colleagues believed my bedside manner when dealing with them left something to be desired. But I wasn’t there to make friends. I was there to provide exceptional care to my patients, and none of them had voiced any complaints.
And fine, maybe I’d become a little bit of a workaholic, and maybe, just maybe I was the teeniest tiniest bit lonely, seeing as how I’d made less than zero effort to make friends since I’d moved, so against my better judgment, I’d let one of the nurses, who was also a jaguar shifter and seemed to be able to tolerate my surly disposition, set me up with one of her omega cousins.
Maybe the first red flag should have been that he wanted to go to dinner on a Sunday night, but from the moment I’d walked into the restaurant and spotted my date, I’d known it wasn’t going to work. Objectively the younger man was handsome, but it took all of five minutes to figure out we had absolutely nothing in common. And while I would never claim to be any type of romantic, hopeless or otherwise, there was no…spark. He was fine, nice and polite, but when we said our goodbyes out on the street, we both knew without saying so that we wouldn’t be meeting up again.
Which is how I’d found myself in the middle of a mini existential crisis, which had led to drinking a little too much of my favorite top-shelf tequila. Feeling sorry for myself was never productive. I knew better, but I’d let myself get caught up in the fact that I was thirty-five with a nonexistent love life, an apartment I was in so rarely I hadn’t bothered to buy more than the bare minimum of furniture, and my closest friends were more than a continent away.
I’d known it would be lonely at the top, but I hadn’t expected it to feel so shitty.
I also hadn’t expected to be nursing a mild hangover.
Pulling my phone from the pocket of my dress pants, I searched for a coffee shop near the hospital. If I didn’t caffeinate before I went in, I would be unbearable, and there was no way in hell I was drinking the lukewarm brown water they passed off as coffee in the cafeteria or the bitter burnt dregs from the discount store drip machine in the break room.
The search engine returned several results mostly for the large international coffee chain I hated as a general rule, but as I scrolled to the bottom of the list, a local spot caught my eye.
“Cafe del Mar. Small batch coffee roaster. Well, let’s see if you’re any good.” I shot one last glare at my useless espresso machine that thankfully didn’t respond, palmed my car keys, and headed out.
The scent of roasting coffee hit my nose from a block away, wafting in through my car’s vents and making my mouth water as I breathed in deep.
This was a great decision.
And as a parking spot opened up right out front, I couldn’t help but think that maybe this day was going to turn around.
A line six people deep greeted me inside the coffee shop, so I had time to study the menu board hung above the counter and look around. All the options listed on the menu featured the shop’s small batch coffee line which was roasted in house, and I made a decision quickly.
The cafe’s decor was modern and fairly minimalist. All the tables and chairs were light wood and the walls were a pale green that reminded me a little of the color of pistachio gelato. Several low, square, dark brown armchairs sat in conversation groupings near the front windows on either side of the door. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were against the wall behind each grouping and books, games, and assorted knickknacks were neatly arranged on each shelf. The floors were polished concrete, and the overhead lighting was soft. The cafe made me feel at home and comfortable, like I could settle in and stay for a while.
And that was before I saw him.
As the line moved forward and the baristas bustled around behind the counter, a door leading to the back swung open and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen backed through it carrying a tray of croissants for the bakery case. The world seemed to narrow down to where he was sliding the tray into the display. Even over the scent of brewing coffee, I swore I could smell him—sunshine, sea salt, something green and earthy, and under it all the faint hint of lavender that identified him as an omega. His hair was wavy and light brown, a little long and tucked behind his ears. A lock fell forward into his face as he positioned the croissant tray, and my fingers itched to reach out and rub the strands between my fingers to see if his hair was as soft as it looked.
He glanced up and caught me staring, and my whole world tipped sideways as his dark blue eyes met mine and his full lips slid into a wide smile. My dick jumped, my heart raced, and a voice deep inside me whispered, mine, mine, mine. The irrational need to mark and claim the man behind the counter swept through me so violently I had to clench my fists at my sides to keep from hauling him over the counter and into my arms and spiriting him back to my apartment where I’d bury myself deep inside him and never, ever let him go.
In thirty-five years, I’d never reacted so viscerally to anyone, and as the person in front of me moved aside, so I could step up to the counter, I had to remind my feet how to move. The barista’s gaze still held mine, and while I knew it was medically impossible, it felt like my heart was going to beat straight out of my ribs.
“Good morning.”
The two words rolled over me like honey, his voice rich and sweet, and I had to swallow hard before I could speak. “Good morning.”
“What can I get for you?”
For a second, I thought I might ask if he was on the menu, but when I opened my mouth, my order came out. “A flat white, please.”
“Hmm, an excellent choice. Our house roasted espresso is perfect for a flat white.”
His hum of pleasure landed straight in my balls, and I desperately wanted to hear him make noises like that in a more naked, sweaty, and filthy context. I also couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as he punched my order into his computer, his long fingers tapping deftly at the screen. He had to ask me for payment twice because I was too distracted by his scent this close to him.
When I passed over my credit card, our fingers brushed and the electricity that shot through my veins should have brought down the power grid or at least made the lights flicker. Every hair on my body stood on end, waiting—hoping—for another brush of his skin against mine. My sharp canines started to descend, desperate to bite into the sensitive flesh on the barista’s neck. I snapped my mouth shut hiding the partial shift, embarrassed at my lack of control when it was something I usually prided myself on. I’d never been pulled into a partial shift. Not once. Not when I was going through puberty and presented as an alpha. Not even when all the young omegas around me started experiencing their first heats. No, I’d stayed cool, calm, and collected while my classmates were all hopped up on hormones.
But this man, this omega—whose name I didn’t even know—had me completely off-kilter and turned inside out.
Reluctantly, I pulled my gaze away from him and closed my eyes. I could still smell him, but not being able to see him let me calm down enough to pull myself together enough to smile at him, without showing off my fangs.
“Sir? Are you okay?” His voice rolled over and through me, and I slowly blinked my eyes open, relieved and honestly a little terrified to discover he was still just as breathtaking as I’d originally thought. Maybe even more so since I could see a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.
He spoke again and I pulled every mundane word into me, keeping it for later when I could replay the sound of his voice. “Sir? Can I get you something?”
Shaking myself out of my primal, lust-drunk stupor, I realized he was holding my card out to me.
I took it back, but our fingers didn’t touch again, and I hated it, and when I finally answered his question, my voice came out lower and rougher than it should have. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”
He smiled. “Okay. I’m just going to grab you a water while you wait.” He turned around and scooped ice into a cup then passed the cup and a bottle of water across the counter.
“Thank you. What do I owe you for this?”
His smile grew, making the soft skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. “That’s on the house.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’re going to have to. I’m the owner, and what I say goes.”
He’d affected an authoritative tone, and my cock, which was already half-hard, perked up. Sensing there was no use arguing, I pulled out my wallet, replaced my card and took out several bills without looking and stuffed them into the tip jar. “That should cover it.”
He looked at the wad of cash I’d just stuffed into the jar, then at me, then back to the jar. “More than. That’s too much.”
I met his eyes again and for a heartbeat, I almost got pulled under by the perfect blue of his eyes. “It’s the least I can do since you’ve saved me from disaster.”
The barista’s head tipped to the side. “How so?”
“My espresso maker quit on me this morning.”
He laughed, the sound wrapping itself around my heart and my balls. “I’m glad it did.”
I was too.
Another barista tapped him on the shoulder and glanced at me, then turned away, gesturing for my man to follow. I watched their quick exchange, inwardly sighing when he turned my way again. “Uh, sorry. I forgot to grab your name for your order.” The other barista, a cute young woman with a turquoise and purple pixie cut, stood with a marker poised over a paper to-go cup.
“It’s Aitor.”
“Aitor.” He rolled my name over in his mouth, and my knees threatened to give way. My name had never sounded as good as it did falling from his lips.
We stared at each other again until the multihued barista interrupted. “We’ll have your drink for you down there.” She pointed at the other end of the counter, and I had no choice but to move along. I kept my eyes on my new obsession while he worked waiting on other customers and handling things the rest of his team threw at him.
A few minutes later, he came toward me, carrying my drink. He held it out, and this time he let our fingers brush again. My blood sparked and fizzed in my veins at the tiny innocent contact.
“Here you go, Aitor.”
I shuddered at the sound of my name in his honey smooth voice.
“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t have the pleasure of knowing yours.”
His lips tipped into a sly smile. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you.”