14. Omega
Omega
COOPER
Following Jon inside the motel room, I dropped the monkey onto the bed closest to the door.
It felt wrong, so I moved to the other bed.
It was only slightly better, but it would have to do.
Grabbing the motel blanket, I shook it out and spread it carefully across the mattress.
Yes. Humming, I added the second blanket—the one Jon bought me—layering and adjusting carefully.
The pillow went down, but felt wrong. I adjusted again.
Much better. Then another pillow on top.
I had to adjust it three times until I got it right.
I climbed onto the bed and pulled the monkey to the middle.
No. Wrong!
I sat up, heart beating faster for no reason I could explain, and tucked the pillow behind me, pulling the blanket up. There. Finally. I stilled, feeling a quiet hum settle in my chest, but then I got anxious again. Something important was missing.
Someone.
Jon.
The new blanket smelled of Walmart, and I needed it to smell like Jon. I paused. Why did I need it to smell like Jon? Why did my whole body feel off without his scent?
I had absolutely no idea.
“I need your hoodie,” I told Jon, fidgeting with the blanket. He was sitting on the other bed, watching me carefully.
“What?”
“Your hoodie,” I repeated. “I need it for the—” I didn’t know how to end that sentence. I didn’t know anything anymore.
“Okay. Here.” Jon pulled the black fabric over his head.
My breath caught when a sudden wave of his scent rolled over me.
He was left in only his undershirt, and his shoulders .
. . God. My mouth watered. I made a pathetic, desperate little sound before lunging forward to snatch the hoodie out of his hands.
I rolled it into a ball and tucked it under my chin, perfectly aware I was being ridiculous and absolutely unable to stop myself.
“Making yourself comfortable?” Jon asked, his eyes flicking between the blankets, the pillows, and the specific placement of the monkey.
“Yes.” My tone was oddly defensive.
He cleared his throat.
“Is it possible you’re building a nest?”
The contented hum in my chest twisted into cold trepidation.
“A nest?”
Jon watched me in that steady way he had. “Yeah. A nest. Because that’s what it looks like.”
“Why would I build a nest?” My voice cracked. “I’m not—I’m not a bird, Jon.”
He didn’t answer.
“Nesting is an Omega thing!” I snapped. It was an Omega thing and it made too much sense and I wasn’t having it. I yanked the hoodie from under my chin and pulled it over my head, burying my nose in the sleeve again, breathing Jon’s scent. I needed it to ground myself. I needed it like oxygen.
Jon went very still.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I rushed on, words tumbling over each other. “But building a nest would mean that I’m . . . the presentation—no. I don’t want that.”
“Cooper.”
“No!”
Jon sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s alright,” he murmured. Then he reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.
“No googling,” I said immediately. “Put your phone away.”
“We need information.”
“No we don’t! This is just me getting comfortable. You know how I like it when things are arranged specifically.”
Jon gave me a look that managed to be pointed and gentle at the same time.
“You live in a state of constant chaos.”
“You don’t know that! You haven’t been in my room for ages. Maybe I’m a super-organizer now. Stop looking at me like that! I could get rid of all this stuff right now, look!”
I grabbed the monkey to throw it away as proof, but the moment my fingers touched the fur, my body objected. I pressed it against my chest as a low warning sound slipped out of me. It was so primal that we just stared at each other in shock.
“Don’t take my monkey!” I said, quieter now, gripping it tighter. My throat burned.
“Cooper,” Jon said softly. “No one is taking it. I’m not threatening your nest.”
“Okay,” I said quickly. “Good.” I wiped my face. “But it’s not a nest.”
“Not a nest.” Jon nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got it. I’m not threatening your random pile of fabric.”
“I’m keeping your hoodie.”
“Yeah. You usually do.”
I blushed. He was right—I had at least three that I’d stolen over the years.
As I looked at him typing fast, brow furrowed in concentration, fragments of information about secondary gender presentation started flooding in.
I obviously knew that everyone was born with a secondary gender, but it stayed dormant more often than not.
The presentation typically happened in early adolescence, which was why the possibility hadn’t even occurred to me now.
“A sensitivity to scents is how it usually begins,” Jon said, looking at his phone. He glanced at me. “You’re inhaling my sleeve as we speak.”
I froze. Then, very deliberately, I lowered the sleeve.
“Was not.”
He raised one brow.
“I wasn’t,” I insisted. “Don’t—don’t flatter yourself.”
Jon showed me the screen. He was reading an article called HELP! I JUST PRESENTED.
“The person who came up with that title is the one who needs help,” I muttered.
“Fatigue. Appetite. Sensitivity,” Jon listed. “All common pre-heat symptoms.”
“So it’s a crime now to be hungry and tired?”
Jon stood up. “I’m going to run a test.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t even like him standing up. Agitated, I clutched his hoodie.
“What test?”
“You’ll see.” He hesitated. “In order to do it, I need to leave the room.”
“No!” Before I even realized what I was doing, I’d scrambled out of bed, crossed the gap between us, and clung to his undershirt.
“Don’t leave me alone,” I whispered. I pressed my face against the center of his chest, rubbing my face all over him. “Please, Jon.”
I stilled when I realized. This was the test. Jon’s eyes met mine—dark, serious, and not surprised at all. He cupped my face, wiping away the solitary tear working its way down my cheek.
“You bastard,” I whispered.
He didn’t flinch.
“Cooper,” he said quietly. “You’re an Omega.”