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I nod, enter his information, and hand the card back. He gives me one last lingering look before he turns away, carrying the three drinks back to his table. I admit, I watch him walk the whole way, still staring as he reaches his destination, sets the beers down, and whispers something to the two other men standing at the circular high top table before his hands darts out, and he grabs the face of a beautiful man with shoulder length blonde hair. My sinful stranger yanks the other man toward him, and their mouths collide in a passionate embrace. My whole body heats at the erotic sight.
I curse to myself as a small hit of my perfume bursts out of me. A handful of people within five feet of me turn and flare their nostrils.
An omega's perfume affects an alpha the hardest. It's in their biology to gravitate toward it. An omega, with our heightened senses, is still affected, but it doesn’t make us feral with the need to soothe, protect,fuckthe other omega. Betas have almost no heightened senses. They can smell a strong gust of omega perfume, like if we're close to heat, but for the most part, they remain unaffected. Unless the omega in question is their fated mate. Then the omega’s perfume would be like catnip to a person, regardless of designation.
Which is why all the betas nearby don't even flinch at my small slip-up. The omegas turn away quickly, too. But there are one or two still staring intently at me. Alphas.
Their attention cools any lingering arousal I felt watching my weird stranger attack the gorgeous blonde man.
With the reminder, my eyes snap back to the table, and now all three of the men are staring at me. I glance at the last man at the table and gasp at the burning need in his eyes as he stares at me from across the crowded bar.
Fuck. My perfume leaks out a little more, but before it can get to an unmanageable level, a sharp pain assaults my stomach, and my body bows under the pressure.
Just as quickly as the pain comes, it disappears. I stand up straight again, wipe the beads of sweat on my upper lip off with the back of my hand, and take a deep, slow breath to test for any lingering pain.
There is none. I let out a grateful sigh and get back to work, wiping countertops down and waiting for someone to want another drink.
Against my will, my eyes dart back to the table where the three guys were, but they are nowhere to be seen. My brows furrow in confusion.
Why does that make a stab of disappointment hit me square in the chest?
Two
Maverick
Hudsonand I are standing in a house for sale in Naperville, one of the Chicago suburbs. I'm a real estate agent located in Chicago, but I look at and sell places in all the surrounding suburbs as well.
This house is a shithole. Our specialty. While I'm the licensed real estate agent, Hudson is a contractor, and we work together to flip houses when we find the right one. Like the one we're in now.
It's a five bedroom, three bath brick house on a five-thousand square foot lot. The inside looks almost completely abandoned. The staircase is falling apart. The wooden railing is missing several spokes, and the stairs are warped, squeaky deathtraps.
"It's listed for two hundred," I yell to Hudson, who has wandered into the other room.
My feet are silent as I move through the living room, the outdated carpet masking any sound.
I step into the kitchen and wrinkle my nose at the lime green and white checkered tile countertops that match the floor. The cabinets are all white but have a definite yellow tinge that makes me think the couple who used to own this place were heavy smokers.
I smell Hudson before I hear him come into the kitchen. His sandalwood and orange blossom scent wafts in and masks the underlying stale smell of the house.
"This house has a lot of potential," he grins at me, bouncing on his toes. "The bones are good, and the issues I see right off the bat would be cheap fixes. I think we could talk them down to 190, maybe 185—since it's a foreclosure—put one fifty into it and sell for close to six."
Looking around, I'm inclined to agree.
"I'll put an offer in then," I grin back.
We head out, and I lock up behind us. He starts walking to his car, and I head off to mine, having driven separately. I have a showing to go to right after this for a new client.
His phone pings, and whatever is on it makes him roll his eyes and lock the screen back before replying.
I chuckle. "Amanda again?"
He huffs out an angry breath and nods his head. "I broke it off two months ago. I don't know what she's not getting."
"It was probably that booty callafterthe breakup that confused the poor girl." I say 'poor girl' but really, she's crazy. She's been calling and texting him almost nonstop since he broke up with her and even crashed one of his dates a few weeks ago.
"First of all, I was drunk; second of all, it was a one time thing that I regretted immediately. I told her it was a mistake after it happened."
I snicker at the displeasure on his face. "Which I'm sure she enjoyed hearing."
