Page 107 of One for the Money
Not that I’m making it easy to access me. I’ve only left my trailer once, when I needed to set one of the wrists of the Alpha roadies, a soft-spoken man named Bobby, when he sprained it. He didn’t need to come to my trailer for that, and I didn’t feel like letting someone into my sanctuary anyway.
But I’ve become somewhat of a hermit now. Part of it is the fear that the moment I step out the door, Rich, Greg, and Tripp will be standing there, waiting to drag me home.
Would the cops believe me if I said I didn’t want to go with them? Legally, they’re my pack. It’s not that they have ownership of me, but getting removed from a pack is like getting a divorce between Betas. It’s a complex legal process, made even worse if the Alphas can claim the Omega is not in their right mind due to proximity to their heat.
And I am getting closer to my heat, if these spikes are any indication. Add in the diagnosis of Foresaken Omega Syndrome, and there is no way any court would rule I am in my right mind to request a dissolution of pack right now.
Matteo has been by several times, feeling my distress at the heat flashes in the bond, offering his help to ease me, but I can’t seem to take him up on it. I can barely open the door for him.
I recognize that I am vacillating hot and cold, but I’mgoing to claim it as a side effect of FOS for as long as I can. I have never felt so conflicted in my life.
One minute, I want them, and am willing to give things a shot.
Next, I know that to stay with them means that I’m signing them up for a world of hurt when this inevitably blows up in all of our faces.
This was selfish, right? Rich used to tell me I was selfish. That I didn’t look at the big picture, couldn’t see beyond the end of my nose.
Was he right?
It’s starting to feel like maybe this time, he was right.
Unknown
Tell Rich I said hi.
Chapter 41
I stretchmy arms over my head, groaning at the delicious strain on my muscles. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.
Since Matteo’s scent has changed, taking on characteristics of Alex’s, it’s like my Rot is lessening just by exposure to his pheromones. I’ve never heard of that happening, but I am not complaining about that side effect.
Neither is he.
My sex drive is up, my cannabis consumption is down, and I’m starting to feel like a new man.
The only negative is the way Matteo is rubbing his chest, face twisted in pain.
“Again?” I ask, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer. “Is she having another heat flash?”
He shakes his head as he relaxes into my hold. “Not this time. Pain, though. Maybe fear? I’m not great at deciphering the feeling yet. But it’s not the desire I feel with a spike.”
I kiss him gently on the temple, inhaling his pain au chocolat scent. What used to be buttery sweet kettle cornhas taken on a distinctly baked good scent since they bonded, and it’s so fucking delicious I have to hold myself back from licking him. “Do you want to go check on her?”
He makes a sweeping gesture into the big top, where Rex is currently stretching and bending himself into a pretzel. “We’re up next,” he reminds me. “I’ll have to check in on her afterwards.”
He looks so handsome tonight, in his twisted ringmaster get-up. Every stop we make, he tries to find a new button, pin, or patch to add to the striped blazer, and I swear, eventually, he’ll be too weighed down by them all. He’s nearly out of room as it is.
“Welcome to the ring, Quick Cut and Maestro!” Jude croons, and Matteo strides ahead of me, looking powerful and intimidating and so fucking biteable.
I pad after him in my bare feet, tonight’s outfit a pair of moto jeans that cling tightly to my legs and a black tank top. I slicked my hair back and smudged some eyeliner on my lower lash line.
The audience is going wild, and I’m pretty sure I catch sight of a few bachelorette parties. I’m not surprised. This is a musical town known for hosting them, so it would make sense that a couple would choose to come to titillate their senses with a show rather than another night barhopping.
We know that when the audience is predominantly women, Jude likes us to turn the sex appeal up a few notches. It gets us better reviews and can also help us trend on social media. It’s easier to get booked for long-term gigs if socials are buzzing about you.
Of course, the pipe dream is a Vegas show, but we know that’s not realistic at all. Most of the shows that make it there are from reality television or have substantial financial backing.
We’re just a bunch of broken men with a patched-up tent.
