Page 102 of Glitterati Omega

Nineteen

R

upert waddled his way into morgan’soffice the Monday morning after they’d returned to Houston. Mandy, the receptionist, eyeballed him but checked him in without a word. He sat in one of the chairs, huffing and puffing, grateful he was alone in the office again. He wondered how many patients Morgan actually had.

“Rupert!” Quinn called as they banged open the door. “Oh, wow, hi!”

“Hello,” he replied, then forced himself back to his feet. It was a bit of a feat, actually, one that let his newly reclaimed breath escape him again. Quinn waited patiently though; perhaps they were used to it.

“Wow,” Quinn said the second the door was closed behind them, “you got big!”

Rupert turned bright pink. “Thank you,” he growled, glaring.

Quinn blinked. “Oh,” they said in a softer tone, “I’m sorry. Some omegas are okay with that kind of talk. Does it bother you?”

“A bit,” he confessed, pausing.

“Do you want to skip the scale?”

“I’d love to,” he grumbled, “but Morgan—er, Dr. Warwick—wanted to monitor the numbers.”

Quinn nodded, their expression turning graver. “Yeah,” they said, “I can see that. How are you feeling?” They helped him get his shoes off, since he was already halfway out of them. “Leave them on next time—we have a pair of sneakers we’ll use to tare the scale, so we’re still getting an accurate read.”

Rupert exhaled deeply as he stepped on the scale, purposefully averting his eyes.

Quinn said nothing as they jotted the number down, then ushered him into the ultrasound exam room. “The boss wanted this done first,” they explained. “Since you’re so late getting your midterm one done.”

“Yes,” Rupert agreed, gratefully settling himself back on the bed, still huffing and puffing. He laid a hand over his belly as the little one started to fuss inside him, apparently displeased with all the early morning activity. Rupert had been staying in bed until nearly noon when he could help it.

“So, how are you feeling?” Quinn asked again as they helped him ruck up his shirt, exposing his bare skin.

“Tired,” he murmured, “sore. Everything’s swollen and achy.”

“Uh-huh.” Quinn was looking at the monitor now.

“Ravenous,” he continued. “For a couple of weeks now. I feel like I can have a four-course meal and still want something after.”

Quinn glanced at him, brow crunched. “We might wanna do the blood test then.”

“Blood test?”

“For diabetes.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t even thought of that.

“Or maybe not,” Quinn said. “Well, actually, yeah, the boss will probably still want it done, but …”

“But what?”

“Uh.” Quinn gave him a sheepish look. “I guess we didn’t catch it on your last ultrasound, but—”

He glanced hurriedly at the screen, eyes widening. “Good God,” he muttered.

“Surprise,” Quinn said in that same sheepish tone. “You’re having twins!”

Rupert screwed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply through his nose. Finally, he looked back at the screen. “Well, that explains afewthings.”

“Yup,” Quinn agreed with a grin. “I dunno how we missed it last time—I guess this little one was hiding.” They pointed to the screen.