Page 61 of Wild Omega

“Perfect.” She resettles her pillow until she’s comfortable, before asking, “You don’t have a job waiting?”

I shake my head and tuck strands of hair away from her face. “Nothing but you, Biscuit.”

Her lids shutter heavily as she smiles. “I love the sound of that.”

I ask if she means the pet name or the fact I’m devoting myself to her, but she hums and mutters something nonsensical, already ninety percent asleep. I stare down at her for long minutes, taking in every stunning curve and the way she pulls her legs up to sleep, before dragging myself away. The discarded comforter almost trips me, so I kick it aside and pull the spare quilt from the closet, tucking it gently around my sleeping omega.

I stare at her for long moments like an idiot before snatching up my phone and tearing myself away. The fine crust on my body tells me I need to shower before I consider doing anything else, and my mauled muscles agree. But I’m not so convinced because it means washing off her scent which coats my skin.

After a few moments of debate, the aches win out, cheered on by my mistreated ball sack hair, which catches with every step like someone’s used silicone to gel it together. I better get rid of that fluff too.

I grin and hum an old tune under my breath as I step into the shower, the words turning into a groan as my thigh muscles complain loudly. I keep fit enough with all the leg work I do through my job, but this is a new level of physical activity. To think I went into rut the moment I connected with my omega.

Losing my job made me feel like I’d hit rock bottom, but I guess it’s true that it’s darkest before the dawn. I grin and speed up my pace. My omega needs her breakfast.

Once I’m dried and dressed, achieved by tiptoeing quietly around my sleeping woman, I head to the kitchen and warm the oven before dialing Callisto.

“Hey, Calli,” I say as the line clicks on.

“Ricky, everything okay? I couldn’t reach you.”

“Yeah, all good here.” I cover a yawn and pull onions, garlic, butter, and specialty flour out of the pantry.

“What’s the banging?” he asks, sounding unusually jumpy.

“Just getting some pots out. Everything okay with you?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Um, about the omega?”

I tap my knife on the cutting board, hesitating. How much should I tell Callisto? And stranger still, why don’t I feel like telling him everything? A sigh whispers through me. “She’s here with me, sleeping.”

I know why I’m hesitating. Because this is my opportunity to ask him to pack up, but I’m afraid he’ll say no.

The line crackles as if he’s rubbing his face. “Oh, right. Good, good.”

My mouth dries up. “She’s my scent match, Callisto. I felt it in my soul even before she said so.”

He chokes. “Come again?”

I switch the phone to speaker and peel the onion while I wait for his clever brain to catch up.

Callisto, the perfect spokesman, stutters. “Are you s-serious, man? I mean, she told me—” He trails off, dubious.

“Yeah, she told me too. We’re both her scent matches.”

His surprised whistle makes me wish I could see his face. “Wow. What are the chances of that?”

“Who knows?” I never thought about it before, but for some reason it doesn’t surprise me. Many alpha packs form up before meeting their omega, and yet more than one turn out to be scent matches. Can’t say I’ve seen any research, but surely some kind of pack-attraction principle exists for it to happen frequently.

I pause halfway through my downstroke on the onion. Maybe me stupidly loving Callisto for all these years had a purpose. My eyes widen at the thought.

Callisto clears his throat. “Still with me, Ricky?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking.”

“You sound tired.”

My downstroke cleaves the onion with vengeance. “I am.” He knows me well enough to hear tiredness in my voice but still doesn’t realize I’m in love with him. Or am I? Does having an omega change everything? She didn’t seem worried about my feelings for Calli, but maybe I need to dedicate myself to her and forget I ever loved my best friend. Things have gotten tangled.

---