Page 89 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
Once I’m seated, she fills her plate and hands the dish filled with the pasta to Tim. Her mates all pass the bowl down the line until Cody hands it to me. I raise an eyebrow and he shrugs.
Omegas go first.
“How progressive,” I say. Dinner smells delicious and I take an extra big helping before passing the dish back to Cody. I give Trev an apologetic smile, but he shakes his head.
“It’s their house.” He takes a sip of water.
“It’s how it should be.” Melanie adjusts her napkin before placing it in her lap. “An omega is what makes a pack. I don’t insist on being pampered, but the men have always treated me like I’m their prize. I loved it enough to start teaching these young guys to do the same. I hope they’ve learned their lesson.” She gives them all a long, appraising look.
“Of course we did, Ma.” Asher smiles at her. “Whitney is our princess.”
I growl a little, and Melanie laughs.
“What’s wrong with being a princess?” Asher asks.
“Aside from being helpless to the whims of others?” I stab a piece of penne.
Trev leans toward Hayden. The movement is so subtle I almost miss it, but he totally flinched. I smirk and take the bite, chewing to hide the smile. He’s afraid of me. Maybe not scared for his life, but he’s totally scared.
“Fine, our queen,” Asher says, correcting himself. “She’s our queen.”
“Good boy.” Melanie pats his arm.
Dinner flies by after that. I eat and listen to more stories, chuckling at the ridiculous things the men used to get into. I insist on cleaning since Melanie cooked, and she lets me under the condition that she helps. She shoos the men out to the covered patio. Everything is going great until she sets a pile of plates next to me and presses close, leaning in enough to make me uncomfortable. I freeze, hating that she’s about to turn into what I’ve always come to expect of omegas.
“I love my son and his pack.”
I flick my gaze to hers and nod. “They’re really great.”
Her eyebrows pinch together, and she studies my face a little too intensely. “Have they hurt you?”
“What?” I almost drop the plate I’m rinsing off, but I recover nicely and set it down before I can break it.
“Earlier, when Trev touched you, you were scared. Did he hurt you?”
Sighing, I shake my head. “That had nothing to do with Trev and everything to do with me. The guys have been really sweet, Melanie.”
“You’d tell me if they weren’t? I may love them, but I won’t hesitate to report them if they’re abusing you. I noticed they haven’t claimed you yet, you can still find a new pack if they’re not treating you right.”
“They’re not hurting me.” I shut the water off and turn toward her, meeting her concerned gaze. “They’ve been nothing but kind. I wanted to wait for my heat for the mate bites.”
She stares at me for a full minute before nodding. “Oh good. I’d hate to go to jail for murder.”
I burst out laughing, and she pats my back. The touch is gentle and loving. She starts to bring me the rest of the dishes, and I get busy cleaning, wondering if she really thought Trev and the guys were capable of hurting an omega. I guess it’s not unheard of, but those guys aren’t even close to abusive. Melanie starts wiping down the counters. When she’s at the counter next to me, she pauses and gives me a look I’m all too accustomed to.
I remember six times when I’d gone out with my mother right after she beat me. She never cared about hiding bruises, and when we’d go through the checkout lines at the grocery store, the nice lady at the register always gave me the same sad smile. Like she knew exactly what had happened and knew she wouldn’t be able to help me.
The crazy thing is, if she had reported my mom, it may have helped. There are people who foster omegas. She could have saved me. Sometimes I think about that woman late at night, wondering why it never crossed her mind to call the cops on my mother. The cashier had plenty of time to get our address when she carded for the booze. That look of understanding and sympathy probably hurt me the most.
Being seen but not helped? That shit stuck with me.
Melanie is giving me the same look as the cashier, only this time, it’s different, because Melanie truly couldn’t have stopped what happened. She had no way of knowing. Unlike the cashier, Melanie would have called the cops. I know that without a doubt. Still, the flash of pity in her eyes makes my hackles rise.
“Whitney—” she begins, but I cut her off with my hand.
“Don’t. Please.” I avoid her eyes and finish loading the dishwasher.
There’s a long pause before she relents and simply says, “Okay, love.”
