Somebody help me, I’m rambling! She was just being friendly, and I can’t seem to stop the word vomit. Al, Paul, Greg? I don’t care. Can somebody please step in and save me from myself? Sarah looks up at me thoughtfully for a minute. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears, and my brain scrambles through what I could have done to upset her before she barks out a loud bray of laughter. “Wait…hold up. Um…Spencer. Kay, Tiffany, Penny, and Claire. Um…you were all named after shops in the mall, weren’t you?”
Her hand lands on my thigh as she doubles over, laughing so hard she can’t breathe. I don’t quite understand her reaction, so I just answer honestly. “Yeah, Mom and Dad met at the mall food court when they were in high school. They thought it was fitting as kind of an…what’s that word? Home-age? It means sort of paying respects to…or something.”
Her wheezing turns into a loud hacking cough, and finally Greg comes over and scoops her up before she can collapse. Tears are streaming down her red face as she tries to breathe.
Oh fuck, I’ve killed my omega!
In true, inappropriately timed fashion, my purr rattles to life in my chest, and I just want to crawl in a hole and die. Why can’t my body have a better sense of timing? The only thing worse right now would be an erection after she collapsed. I stare down my body, making sure that didn’t happen since she was gripping my leg earlier, and thankfully, no. Everything looks in order below the belt.
I’m pretty sure even my pack would have a hard time with me popping a chub in this situation.
Sarah is flailing, red-faced as she reaches out to me and snags my shirt, pulling me closer to the beta that’s holding her. Her face is still red, but at least she’s taking deep lungfuls now. My chest still sounds like a motorboat, and I can feel the tops of my ears burning. She hitches another deep breath that comes out in a sigh, as she pulls me close enough to rest her forehead on my chest. Her voice is shaky when it comes out. “I’m sorry, big guy. That was really fucking rude. I actually like that your parents paid homage to where they met. It just hit my funny bone way too hard for some reason. I mean, my mom and dads just gave all my brothers names that started with a J and my sisters and I all got S. I don’t even know why. Parents are weird as fuck. Yeah?” Her voice has taken on a sleepy edge as she rubs her cheek against me more firmly.
“You smell nice.” She takes a deep hit of my scent, her nose pressed against me, and lets out a long, shuddering moan, making Greg clear his throat and try to step back. Her hand fists tighter in my shirt, and the only way he can move away is if I take it off or he sets her down. Sarah rubs her jaw against my chest, her eyes scrunched shut as she holds me close. “No, I wanna stay here. It’s relaxing.”
The poor beta swallows and nods at me, staring intently at my arms and making motions to hand her over. My heart swells at the thought of cuddling this tiny, feisty woman when Al’s voice pipes up. “This may not be the most appropriate place for a nap, girl. We are in public.” One of her eyes pops open and she sticks her tongue out at our de facto pack leader.
My arms come up, ready to take her from Greg as he steps closer, a look of sad resignation on his face. She clings tightly to both of us when we’re close enough to make the pass off. “No, Pretty Boy, you stay too. You’re mine.” Her own purr is a soft murmur below mine, one that I feel more than hear as she’s sandwiched against my side.
Greg looks up at me over her head. He squeezes her tighter. The relief to have her in his arms is almost palpable, unfortunately, so is his discomfort at being so close to a stranger. His voice is soft and lyrical when she’s close. Not that it was harsh yesterday when we spoke, but it seems to take on a soothing, relaxed quality when she’s nearby. “So—” He’s interrupted by a soft snore, turning his attention down to Sarah. “Sorry about that. She hasn’t been sleeping real well lately. I had hoped that the change of scenery would help, but not so much.”
He presses a soft kiss on her forehead before trying to step away, but her hands tighten again in both our shirts. We seem to be stuck together for the moment. Never really saw that happening with a beta.
I don’t do quiet well, but my voice is a harsh whisper, trying not to wake her. I barely notice Paul staring towards the front of the store before he gives me a little nod and leaves that way, leading Al with a hand on his shoulder. “Why is she having trouble sleeping? Is everything ok?”
His look is long and considering before he says, “I…it’s not really my place to say. She’s having some issues back home with alphas and her family.” His voice is a low murmur to her as he nuzzles against her short hair. “Scent matching is apparently bullshit sometimes. But you’re stuck with me, Spitfire.”
Chapter 43
“Ok, will need those same colors, but double the number so the sizes are varied…Oh, except the burnt umber; too much of an accent is no longer an accent. And we’ll do the ones with the removable covers, if you don’t mind. Also…give me two blankets each in the not umber colors, in a nest size. Please.” The please is an afterthought as the beta clerk looks at me with a hangdog expression and gathers up the pillows that are on the counter to take back and un-fill, most likely.
Paul is standing behind me, a puzzled look on his face. His hand comes up, a point-of-order motion, and I cut him off before he can start. “If you didn’t notice, Spencer paid for all the paints and tools out of his own pocket. We still have money in the house fund for repairs, so why not do something nice for him? Besides,I’m fairly certain he wasn’t planning to purchase anything here today, but he seems to have gotten overly excited at the options.”
A soft grunt as his hand lowers is my only reply, and he looks thoughtful for a few moments before his hand comes back up, but I’m already answering. “It’s the Vimes Boot Theory. If we spend three times as much now on higher-quality items, they will last longer and we won’t have to replace them nearly as soon. Good quality pillows can last a long time if taken care of appropriately, but one heat with that many fluids and no protective cover, you’re just asking for a mildew issue unless you have them cleaned immediately. It’s cheaper in the long run this way.” His hand drops again; the thoughtful look continues.
His next question isn’t one I anticipated. “Who the fuck is Vimes, and what’s the boot theory?” I shake my head, but I’m not overly surprised; it’s an acquired taste, one he may enjoy if he tries—he is into cop dramas after all. I guess it comes with the job.
“Commander Samuel Vimes of the Night Watch is a police officer in the fabled city of Ahnk Morpork.” He shakes his head at me, so I continue. “Dear lord. Sir Terry Pratchett wrote over forty books, and you haven’t read one? They have an entire series of books regarding the Night Watch? None of this is familiar? Ok, there’s a series of science-fantasy books written by an author, Sir Terry Pratchett—yes, he was knighted—regarding a fictional planet called the Diskworld. Which, coincidentally, is also the name of the series. Anyway, Commander Vimes has a theory called the Boots Theory of Socio-Economic Unfairness, whereas if you are able to spend more, then your items—in his case, boots—last for much longer than what most people can afford regularly, so they break down. Basically, it’s a rich-get-richer ideal in which the underclass are kept that way by only being able to afford sub quality goods…You know, I’ll just loan you the book when we get home.”
Paul is staring at me as if I’ve grown a second head; his voice is quiet. “Wait, you read science fiction? I thought you were purely into history; how did I not know this?”
“Well, to be fair, most of my collection has been in storage since we met. I only just unpacked them last night. Also, it’s not science fiction, it’s science-fantasy. I enjoy academic humor, and there’s an entire school of wizards known as the Unseen University. They’re mostly stuffy old bastards, but it’s quite funny. Also, I do enjoy history immensely…however it’s often depressing as fuck, so something lighthearted makes a good pallet cleanser.”
His eyebrows are nearly at his hairline. “Hold on, you like comedy? Ok, who are you, and what have you done with Alistair?” A small smile plays across his lips at this question.
“Har, har. Yes, very funny. I enjoysomecomedy. Mostly British humor. Something about the dry delivery. Though I believe I have some Monty Python DVDs somewhere in my room, if you’d like to set those as movie night in the near future. Really blow Spencer’s mind.” My packmate is shaking his head and it’s a stark reminder that despite the fact we’ve been together for a couple of years, we still don’t know much about each other.
Our discussion is put on hold as Greg and Spencer come shuffling towards the checkout desk, the small omega still wedged firmly between them and snoring softly. Sam and Teddy are a few paces behind, and the big omega is grinning like the cat who got the cream. Sam addresses us, and his voice is authoritative enough that even I don’t want to argue with him, and I enjoy arguing with everyone. “We’re gonna take these three home since we brought their rented minivan. They can squeeze into the middle seat while Sarah gets some rest. You wanna follow us back to the house to get Spence or…?” His voicetrails off in a question, and since Ihaveto argue, I throw out an alternative.
“We could do that; we’re waiting on some purchases. This works well, since I’m not sure it’ll all fit in Nadine’s frunk. How about you follow us back to our new place? We haven’t had company yet, and it means we won’t have to try to bury Spencer in pillows when we pick him up?” Sam nods in agreement because itisa logical request.
“Lemme just get these guys fed first. It’s about lunchtime, and I’m not real comfortable with anybody getting hungry on my watch. You want to grab something out, or pick something up to fix at home?” My gaze travels to Paul, since the kitchen is his purview, but he’s just grinning at Spencer.
The big alpha is staring down at Sarah as she snores and tries to cuddle closer to him in her sleep. He looks gobsmacked at the situation, and Paul just shakes his head. Will Spence even fit in a minivan? And how do they plan on getting in without separating and waking her up? Not my problem; the other request is my issue, and I nudge Paul lightly with my elbow, bringing him back to the here and now.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure, we got the grill set up, or if you want to stop and grab sandwich stuff or something, we can meet you closer to home after we get all this taken care of. Then head back to the house, sound good?”
Spencer doesn’t even register the conversation happening around him; he’s so focused on the omega pressing herself against his still purring chest. Greg elbows him, jostling her slightly, and she lets out a sleepy sigh while he just nods like his chin is spring-loaded. Poor sap.
