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What kind of omega are you?Caleb’s voice explodes in my memory so vividly, I catch my breath. Of my three old alphas, he was always the least content with my homemaking skills. He always wanted more, expected more.
Even though Sean could whip up anything with ease, the kitchen responsibilities always fell to me. I was always meant to serve my alphas.
You’re failing your omega duties.
“Good morning, babydoll,” Alessandro says, cutting off the unpleasant flashbacks. “Did you sleep well?”
I swallow hard, shoving down the guilt as best I can, trying my best to remember that Alessandro isn’t like my old alphas.
“Morning,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. “Do you need help with anything?”
He shakes his head. “No, I think I’ve got it.”
I step up to the end of the island and watch him work, my skin itching with a desire to help. I want to prove my worth, show him I can be a good omega. At the very least, I want to show him I’m a competent one, instead of having him wait on me hand and foot.
“I just feel kind of useless with you doing everything,” I pipe up quietly, afraid to meet his gaze.
I expect him to brush off my concern or change the subject, but he sits the frying pan aside and turns to me, lifting my chin with two fingers.
“You are not useless,” he says, his voice stern but soft. The intensity in his gaze makes my chest flutter, and I’m frozen still as long as our eyes are locked. “I enjoy making breakfast for you. That’s why I do it.”
Before I can respond or argue, he dips down and catches my lips with his in a sweet kiss that leaves my knees weak and fingers tingling. It alleviates the rest of my discomfort, and I feel a little better not being allowed to help.
If it makes him happy, it makes me happy, I guess.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, sitting my plate in front of my usual barstool. “I was starving, so I made a bit of everything.”
“I am,” I assure him, glancing at my usual seat.
I debate heading back upstairs to at least put on underwear. I doubt he wants pussy drool on his barstool, and if he keeps being so fucking sexy, there’s going to be a puddle on the faux leather.
I giggle, amused by the fact I’ve been here enough times to have a usual barstool already. If it’smystool, I guess it’s fine if I sit on it with hints of slick lubricating my thighs.
“I thought you left or went to sleep somewhere else,” I admit, taking a seat across from him. “And I’m sorry I stole one of your shirts…”
“Don’t be sorry. It looks better on you anyway,” he says. He pours us both orange juice and takes a seat next to me at the island, his closeness making me shiver.
I wonder if there’s time before his shift for another round.
Maybe two.
“I gave you the day off,” he says abruptly.
I pause, my glass lifted halfway to my lips as I glare at him. I didn’t think there was any way for him to surprise me more than he already has, but I was clearly wrong.
“Youwhat?” I ask before my brain finally catches up with his words. “Why? I didn’t ask to be off.”
“I have to give you at least one day off a week,” he says. “I figured you’d want to work the weekend for more tips.”
I frown, knowing he’s right. I would much rather make more money on the weekend than work today, but what am I supposed to do for the rest of the day? I can’t hang out alone at Alessandro’s house while he goes to work, but I don’t want to spend the whole day trying to find something to do or hanging out in my car, either.
“What time are you leaving for work?” I ask, wondering how long I have to get all my shit together and get out. Judging by the clock on the wall, he could still make it to work before the restaurant opens if he leaves in the next couple of minutes, but he’s barely touched his food.
“I’m not.”
I freeze again, looking at him for answers. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I took the day off as well.” He smirks and takes a bite of sausage. “Figured we could hang out and do something fun–if you want.”
