Page 35 of The Rejected Omega

He preens, and my neck goes hot.

“Sushi. You’re buying.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I takethe last of my suppressant pills in the morning. Kanata transitioned me off the shots once Connor moved away, but the black market stuff still comes in a syringe. Right now, I’m out of both.

I text my plug, Jamie, again, askingwhen she’ll have more available, then toss the empty prescription bottle in my purse. My refill’s not due for another week, but sometimes I can get the pharmacy to float me a few days.

It’s Connor’s fourth session today, and I’m starting to let my guard down around him a little. He hasn’t shown any signs of identifying my scent. If I can keep up my current suppressant regimen, I should be able to finish out the semester with him none the wiser that I'm his mate.

In the meantime, I'd like to get to know him again. There are things I wondered about his life during our estrangement. And while the rift between us hasn’t healed, time has soothed some of the sting of his betrayal.

My class lets out early, and I get to the study room before Connor.

When he arrives, his scent envelops me like a warm hug. He sits down next to me and sets a sack of food from Etienne’s on the table.

I stiffen. Etienne’s is my favorite.Wasmy favorite. It used to be our place. Another thing ruined by the end of us.

“What is that?”

“I believe you’re familiar with the concept of food, Ms. Crane. I’m not suffering through another of these listening to your stomach growl.”

“I don’t eat there anymore.”

“I know.”

How?

I stuff the question into the place dangerous thoughts go to die and pull out my notes for the day.

“When’d you turn into such a hardass, Lana? I brought your favorite.”

My eyes slide to the paper bag. Just the mention of it makes the smell more enticing. Grilled herb butter salmon on a bed of rice pilaf, and the best green beans I’ve ever tasted. To be finished off with a slice of Etienne’s famous fifteen-layer chocolate cake for dessert, if Connor was feeling generous. Which he always was.

“It’s not my favorite anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

Connor takes the food out and sets it in front of me, then pulls out a real, metal fork from the bag.

Fuck. He’s playing hardball.

“Stop being such a martyr and eat before it gets cold, or I’m going to tell Etienne.”

If I give an inch, he’ll take a mile. He always has. But perhaps this could count as a couple of centimeters, instead.

I fork a piece of the steamy, flaky salmon into my mouth and groan. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Connor smiles. One of the first real smiles he’s given me sincebefore.

I haven’t been to Etienne’s since the ceremony, and one bite has me regretting that decision.

I shovel more food into my face, and Connor pops the plastic lid off his own meal and begins to eat.

If I ignore the whiteboard and the peeling leather sofa, I can almost pretend we’re on a date.

“You should quit one of your jobs.”

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