Page 45 of Slick Trip

Completely mine to care for, apparently.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and confirmed my growing suspicions about what was going on. With both of us.

“Something like that,” I muttered, tapping my card.

As we walked out into the humid air, I realized I felt happy. An almost fierce sense of satisfaction settled over me. My bank account was lighter, the cart was full of nonsense, but Cooper was content. And that felt like the only thing that mattered.

14

Omega

COOPER

Following Jon inside the motel room, I dropped the monkey onto the bed closest to the door. It felt wrong, so I moved to the other bed. It was only slightly better, but it would have to do. Grabbing the motel blanket, I shook it out and spread it carefully across the mattress. Yes. Humming, I added the second blanket—the one Jon bought me—layering and adjusting carefully. The pillow went down, but felt wrong. I adjusted again. Much better. Then another pillow on top. I had to adjust it three times until I got it right.

I climbed onto the bed and pulled the monkey to the middle.

No. Wrong!

I sat up, heart beating faster for no reason I could explain, and tucked the pillow behind me, pulling the blanket up. There. Finally. I stilled, feeling a quiet hum settle in my chest, but then I got anxious again. Something important was missing.

Someone.

Jon.

The new blanket smelled of Walmart, and I needed it to smell like Jon. I paused. Why did I need it to smell like Jon? Why did my whole body feel off without his scent?

I had absolutely no idea.

“I need your hoodie,” I told Jon, fidgeting with the blanket. He was sitting on the other bed, watching me carefully.

“What?”

“Your hoodie,” I repeated. “I need it for the—” I didn’t know how to end that sentence. I didn’t know anything anymore.

“Okay. Here.” Jon pulled the black fabric over his head. My breath caught when a sudden wave of his scent rolled over me. He was left in only his undershirt, and his shoulders . . . God. My mouth watered. I made a pathetic, desperate little sound before lunging forward to snatch the hoodie out of his hands. I rolled it into a ball and tucked it under my chin, perfectly aware I was being ridiculous and absolutely unable to stop myself.

“Making yourself comfortable?” Jon asked, his eyes flicking between the blankets, the pillows, and the specific placement of the monkey.

“Yes.” My tone was oddly defensive.

He cleared his throat.

“Is it possible you’re building a nest?”

The contented hum in my chest twisted into cold trepidation.

“A nest?”

Jon watched me in that steady way he had. “Yeah. A nest. Because that’s what it looks like.”

“Why would I build a nest?” My voice cracked. “I’m not—I’m not a bird, Jon.”

He didn’t answer.

“Nesting is an Omega thing!” I snapped. It was an Omega thing and it made too much sense and I wasn’t having it. I yanked the hoodie from under my chin and pulled it over my head, burying my nose in the sleeve again, breathing Jon’s scent. I needed it to ground myself. I needed it like oxygen.

Jon went very still.