Page 116 of Wild Omega

I glance at Rickon, and he shrugs, flashing a guilty grin. “What? I had to send her your measurements, and it’s the truth.”

My heart warms. His affection’s so artless, so natural for him to give.

“Truth, yes,” Callie interrupts our moment. “But we have no time to waste-eh. Come, stand, strip.” She talks with her hands as much as her mouth, gesturing for me to hurry up.

Rickon gives me a little nudge, then draws a curtain across the front of the booth. “You’ll have to get used to this,” he murmurs as I shimmy out of my dress. If Callie has a comment on my lacy underwear, she keeps it to herself. Then again, she must be used to seeing people in all kinds of underwear. I’m the one who’s not used to owning and wearing nice things.

Rickon steadies me with one hand while I step out of my dress. “A lot of poking and prodding happens around the set, and sometimes on-the-spot repairs. Privacy goes out the window.”

“Okay. Leave dignity at the door. Check,” I say as Callie helps me into the tight-fitting clothes people wear when riding horses. “Kind of like going to the doctor’s.”

Not that I’ve ever been to see a doctor who wasn’t my captor in some shape or form, but I heard nurses at the omega center talking that way last week. Something about a pap smear, which, from the way they talked, must be like getting wisdom teeth extracted. That, I’ve had done. I shudder.

A man laughs from the booth next door. “Sorry, but that lack of privacy starts right now. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Rickon confirms I’m clothed, before throwing back the curtain with a grating of metal rings. “Hello, Sebastien.”

“Hey, Rick. Glad to hear you found more work. I got worried when I heard what happened.” A broad-shouldered man in a blue OCB uniform fills the opening, turning from my alpha to me. “I’ve been dying to meet my new co-star. The name’s Sebastien Cho, and I’m one of your alphas.”

Smelling like new car upholstery? I think not. I bristle.

He chuckles. “I mean in the movie.”

Heat burns in my cheeks. “Oh, of course.” I step out of Callie’s grasp as she flutters over each fold and hem of fabric and offer my hand to the big alpha. “Red Jones.” I tilt my head toward Rickon and add, “And he doesn’t like the name Rick.”

Rickon stares at me in shock and I flash him a quick wink. My turn to look after him.

Sebastien’s brows pop. “Sorry, I’ll keep that in mind.”

I nod. “I thought you were an actual OCB officer when you walked in.” I still feel a bit nervous at the sight of the law enforcement blue, even though I’m not wanted anymore. I’ll have to get used to it since the main character has an OCB agent love interest.

He grins and looks down at his uniform. “Pretty good, isn’t it?” He taps strips of white running around the hems. “This here is the only difference from the real uniforms. The trim is also blue on theirs.” He turns so I can see the sleeve. “Even the badges are authentic, provided by the OCB, although they have the words ‘costume only’ engraved in the back.”

“Pity,” I murmur.

“Right?” He laughs. “I thought the same thing. Could have some fun with these threads.”

“And get both of you put in jail for impersonating a police officer,” Rickon adds dryly.

“Probably,” Sebastien agrees with a good-natured shrug. “That wouldn’t go real well with my career.” He turns to me and rests one hand over his heart, still smiling. “Well, I won’t take up your dressing time. I just wanted to say hello.” He waves and turns away. “See you at the table, Red.”

At least not all my coworkers will be ogling me and my alpha. That’s a relief.

I listen to the first few scenes of the script again while Callie fusses over me. I change into as many costumes as she can stuff me into during our hour, and when the sizes don’t fit how she wants, she bustles off to get another size or sticks pins through it all to note the alterations. I stand and take it like I’m some kind of doll, splitting my focus between the script and my surroundings.

Rickon talks shop with her, discussing fabrics and helping her pin things in place. Hot pride flushes through me each time he steps in like a pro. My alpha’s so talented. Every time our eyes meet, we both smile, and as he moves around me, he sneaks little touches. Each one of them melt my heart a bit more.

When my legs get sore and I start fidgeting, Callie squeezes my hand. “Be grateful you’ll mostly be wearing jodhpurs and silks. Imagine how long this takes when it’s big dresses-eh.”

I whistle. “I hadn’t thought of that. But I wasn’t complaining. It’s all fun.” So’s her accent. The staccato pace and the lilting vowels remind me of a prancing pony. It’s pretty.

She nods enthusiastically. “Good attitude. But enough for one day, eh. You don’t want to be late.” She holds out my clothes.

I take the dress with an asymmetrical neckline that exposes one shoulder, long sleeves, a laced high waist, and plaid knee-length skirt. I don’t want to use the word nervous, but I am keen to make a good first impression. Rickon helped me curl my hair this morning, and now it’s piled up on the back of my head in a messy updo with a few loose curls hanging around my face. I hesitate. I dressed as Red, the actress, but that’s not who’s going to the table read.

“On second thoughts, can I wear the riding clothes?” I ask, smoothing down the fitted pants and running in place in the knee-high boots. “Just for the table read?” The person inside this studio has to be Ashana, a woman who’s devoted her entire life to being a jockey, who lives and breathes horses. She doesn’t wear a dress to meetings.

Callie’s mouth purses, then she nods once. “Only if ya promise, on your alpha, not to eat in it, yes?”

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