Page 19 of One for the Money
I roll my eyes and cross my arms petulantly over my chest. “I use hot milk instead of water to make it.”
His eyes light up. “Ah, café con leche? It’s not my favorite way to make it, but I’ll give you a pass. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“My… ex.” The words get caught in my throat, and I give the two men my back as I take a sip of water. A rusty-sounding growl behind me has me spinning around. “Did you just growl at me?” I ask Quinton, narrowing my eyes.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Not at you. Matteo slappedmy ass.” Matteo’s eyes widen, and he shoves Quinton, who stumbles to the side, laughing.
“Take the foreplay to your own trailer,” I mutter, trying not to let the thought of the two of them together heat my blood.
They’re both gorgeous men, and with the affectionate way they touch each other, like they’re not even noticing that it’s happening, it’s hard not to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end of both of their attentions.
A pit of yearning opens inside me, and I fight my Omega nature as I sew it back up. I’m just feeling affectionate towards them since they came nest shopping with me and got me groceries. It’s my starving Omega side feeling taken care of.
It’s not an actual desire to be a part of that.
I don’t want a man in my life at all, much less two.
And an Alpha?
Can’t do that again.
“Well, thank you both very much for your help today,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “But I need some time to-”
“Set your nest up, we know,” Quinton says with a broad, charming smile. His eyes aren’t as bloodshot as this morning, but he still has a little of that sticky cannabis smell. It’s not unpleasant. “We’ll get out of your gorgeous hair.”
Matteo closes my cabinets, which are way fuller than I intended them to be when I gave Quinton my list of needs. “We’ve got to go rehearse, anyway.”
“Are you going to come watch us tonight?” the Alpha asks with a waggle of his eyebrow. “You’ll get to see my deep-throating skills.”
I choke on my tongue, my whole body heating at the implication. Thank goodness for suppressants, or I wouldbe mortified with the amount of pheromones that would fill this room with my scent.
Matteo smacks Quinton on the chest. “He’s a sword swallower. He’s just being crude.” The Beta snags his Alpha’s shoulders and begins to push him out of my trailer. “We’ll be going now, because it appears Q has exhausted his ability to act like a functioning member of society for the day.”
They traipse down my stairs. “Wait! How much do I owe you for the food?”
But they’re hustling away, not looking back.
My nest is perfect.
It’s the best one I have ever had, even though it’s shoved into the back of a tiny trailer. I don’t ever want to move. I will die here, happily, curled up in these blankets and cuddling with these overstuffed pillows.
It was hard, at first, to decide what I wanted. I was utterly overwhelmed, still overstimulated from the altercation with the strange Alpha and the ride to the mall, and there was no way I could make up my mind with all the options presented to me. But once I made that first decision, everything began to flow, and it came together in a rich, cool-toned mountain of cozy fabrics.
I was lucky they had a coupon for half off. The idea of putting any of it back made me feel sick, but there was no way I could part with that much cash. I shouldn’t have spent as much as I did, but now that I’m cozied up, I realize just how necessary spending that money was.
A good nest is so essential for anOmega. With all of the upheaval that’s happening in my life right now, I needed a place to retreat, to soothe my frayed edges.
My hair is down, wild and wavy around my face, bangs jutting in every direction, and I’m snuggled up in one of the cozy as hell lounge sets I bought, when someone starts pounding on my door. It shakes my trailer and sets my teeth on edge.
When I rip the door open, Dario, the first performer I met, is standing with another man, who looks identical to him. They can differentiate themselves through tattoos and piercings all they want. They’re still spitting images of each other.
It’s clear they’ve gone through an effort to differentiate themselves from each other, despite being identical twins, but it wasn’t necessary. No one could ever mistake one for the other, even though they share a face.
Dario has a shirt on this time, hiding the incredible figure I know is under a baggy red shirt, and the other man is glowering in a black shirt. They’re tall, with sparkling green eyes and plush lower lips.
“Yes?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and trying not to get distracted by their pretty mouths. “It’s not office hours, and you don’t have an appointment. Is there an emergency?”
“Something like that,” Dario says, gripping his twin by the back of his shirt. “Can we please come in?”
