Page 2 of In Stockings
I open my mouth to speak, and as if on cue, two large men come strolling along the line, nipping into the queue to stand next to Craig. They’re at least half a foot taller than everyone else, so no one says a word.
They are also Samson Peters and Archie Gibbs. Craig’s best friends from school. The trio practically ruled the school, breaking hearts every time they strolled down the corridors together. Stars of the football team, alphas and better looking than most teen idols, they were gods among mortals.
“Look, Pops. Look, Dada. I got a lollipop.”
Samson, smelling of the rich coffee he always did, reaches down and ruffles her hair.
She screeches. “Watch the bunches.”
“Whoops, sorry, sunshine,” he says, scooping her up so she can show him her sweet.
Gingerly, I straighten too, hoping I can step to one side without them noticing me.
I take a tiny pace towards the family waiting behind them, sighing with relief as I do, but then Archie says, “Wait, don’t we know you from somewhere?”
My whole body cringes. I spent my entire time at school dreaming about these three alphas. If I’m honest, those little fantasies have continued long after I left school. But never,never, in all those fantasies that played out in my head did I imagine the next time I bumped into these three, it would be dressed as a flipping elf.
I pinch myself, willing this to be one of those awful anxiety dreams. One I’ll wake up from in my single bed.
I spin around to face the three men eyeing me with interest.
“You went to school with us, right?” Archie continues. I nod, my body taut with tension.
Please let this be over. Please let this be over, because now I have Archie’s scent in my nose too – leather – and the three scents combined have my insides spinning like a washing machine.
“Astrid, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you with the …” Samson waves in the general direction of my own pigtails, painted on rosy cheeks and floppy hat. “You used to sit behind me in French.”
Yes, I used to sit behind him, chin in hand, gazing at the back of his beautiful neck, drowning in his scent.
I can’t believe he remembers me. I was quiet in school, and back then, my designation hadn’t presented. The likes of Craig, Samson and Archie barely knew I was alive, especially when there was Celia Simms in the school. A girl who presented early as an omega and had every alpha eating out of her hand and worshipping at her feet.
“She’s not Astrid, silly,” Lyra says, bopping Samson on the nose. “She’s …” She squints towards the badge pinned on my chest, which directs all three pairs of swirling alpha eyes towards my breasts.
I gulp.
“She’s … tw … ink … le … t …” She halts, screwing up her nose in confusion.
“TwinkleToes,” Craig says, the corners of his mouth twitching. He gazes down at my red shoes with their oversized buckles, curved ends and bells.
“Yep,” I say, deciding I’m going to take this on the chin. “I’m TwinkleToes, Father Christmas’ right-hand elf. If you want, I can put in a good word for you,” I whisper to Lyra.
“I want a unicorn,” Lyra tells me. Then she sighs, her eyes going all gooey. “I love unicorns.”
“Me too,” I smile.
The alphas eye me with interest. Their noses twitch. Oh shit. I back away, my bag of lollipops clutched firmly to my stomach.
“Well, nice to see you again,” I mutter, “but my elfish duties call, so …”
Craig steps into my path, interest morphing into what I could easily mistake for excitement on his face.
“You’re an –”
“Elf,” I blurt out.
“Omega,” he says.
I blush from my hairline all the way down to my toes, turning a tomato colour I’m sure clashes perfectly with the red and green top and skirt combo I’m wearing.
