Page 27 of One for the Money
I wrinkle my nose. No, he doesn’t seem like a rosemary Alpha.
I think he’d be something sweet. Like, almost too sweet. Not fruit sweet, like Rich, but maybe a dessert?
With some Alphas, this offer of intoxicants would raise red flags of trying to get me to let my guard down. But I don’t get that vibe with Quinton, especially not after he went nest shopping with me and bought me so many groceries. He seems to be generally an affectionate guy who may not fully understand boundaries, but not in a negative way.
“Fine.” I lean forward, wrapping my lips around the end of the joint and inhaling deeply. A coughing fit overtakes me, and I have to tap my chest a few times. Quinton hands me a bottle of water, and I gulp it down greedily.
“That’s so fucking strong,” I say, a bit of a whine in my voice. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“It’s medical, and I have a high tolerance, so it didn’t cross my mind. Sorry about that.” He takes a drag and then stubs it out on the lid of his water bottle. “But for what it’s worth, you look fucking sexy with smoke coming out of your mouth. Like a dragon or some shit. Maybe you should audition to be our new fire breather.”
I’m already feeling the weed going to my head, and I can’t stop a girlish giggle from tumbling out. “Oh hell no. That’s so dangerous. I can name, like, three severe injuries that could come to mind off the top of my head. Plus, I have absolutely no stage presence.”
He turns sideways, and I mirror his position, pulling one of my legs up onto the couch. “I bet that’s a lie. Stagepresence can’t be much different than bedside manner, could it?”
“It’s so different! One is meant to soothe and calm, and the other is meant to excite and titillate.”
His face turns red from holding in a laugh, but eventually he can’t stop himself from chuckling loudly. “You said titillate. No one uses that word.” Quinton digs his hand into the popcorn bowl and shoves a whole handful in his mouth. “Listen, I could put you in my act, and you don’t have to do anything but look pretty. Oh look, you’re doing that right now! See, easy.”
I look down at my t-shirt, a faded floral design on the front, and my leggings, which are a little too tight and pilled. “Yeah, okay,” I drawl sarcastically, gesturing at my body.
“I mean, I like what you’re wearing.”
I pat his knee softly. “That’s kind of you. Not all of us can pull off short shorts and a shirt that says…” I squint, sure I’m not reading what I think it says. “Knot for President? What does that even mean?”
“Means I’m fucking tired of Alpha presidents and I want a Beta or an Omega to do it. Alphas are too emotional. Too prone to rut to look at things objectively.”
“Strong message from someone with a knot.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “You been thinking about my knot, Doc?”
I can feel the heat in my face spread down my neck, and I’m sure I’m a little splotchy now. “I wasn’t… I mean…”
He puts me out of my misery. “I’m just fucking with you. Man, you’re gullible when you’re high.”
Oh fuck, I’m high.
I forgot.
Oh fuck!I’m high.
“Oh fuck!” I shout, jumping up. “Why did I get high? Jude is gonna find out and fire me. I can’t lose this job, Quinton. I can’t.”
The Alpha grabs my hand and pulls me back down, and I land half on his lap. It must be the pot, because I don’t feel my flight instinct kick in at his touch. “Shh, no one is getting fired. If Jude got rid of people for substance use, he’d have a very small circus.”
“But I’m the doctor. I’m supposed to be -”
“Be what? A robot? Always accessible? No one can be on twenty-four seven, Alex. You deserve to blow off some steam, too.” He brushes a stray piece of hair out of my face. “Let’s get your mind off of it.” He shows me his hands, seemingly realising that he touched me without consent, and then shuffles me off his lap to sit beside him. “Tell me, what is your opinion about pineapple on pizza?”
The conversational whiplash has my head spinning. “Uh… ambivalent? I’ve never had it.”
He gasps as if I’ve personally insulted him. “Well, that will not stand. I’m ordering us pizza and cheesy bread and all of the delicious shit they have on their menu. Fuck, I have the munchies.”
“Isn’t there a cookout happening? Wouldn’t you rather eat with them?” I try to hide the disappointment in my voice at not being invited, but I think Quinton hears it anyway.
“Nah, this is way more fun.” He pulls out his phone and taps on it, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. “Okay, there. They can deliver to the fairgrounds, so it’ll be here in like, forty-five minutes. Can you survive without tasting the orgasm in your mouth that is Hawaiian pizza?”
Orgasm. Hearing that word from his pouty mouth has me growing wet between my thighs. His tongue darts out, licking his lips, almost as if he knows what he did to me. IfI weren’t on industrial-grade suppressants, I’d think he was able to catch a whiff of my pheromones.
