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I slipped up, and Sara clocked it. Of course she would; this girl doesn’t miss much.
“Yeah,” I say, drawing the word out to buy me an extra second. I can’t tell her the truth–not the whole truth anyway. “I guess they aren’t really my exes. A pack kept me around until they found an omega to bond, but I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left.”
Her eyes grow wide, and her silverware lays halfway folded as she stares at me across the table.
“You had apack?” Thankfully, she keeps her voice low.
“Umm…yeah,” I say, clearing my throat uncomfortably. “Not at all what they’re cracked up to be. A bunch of assholes, really.”
She cackles and finishes rolling the silverware, wrapping a green ribbon around the middle before starting another. “I don’t know what I would do with one alpha, much less a whole pack.”
I force a smile, trying my best not to think about the familiar faces of the Sorenson pack. I flick my eyes to the bar, where Alessandro is chatting up an older gentleman, before grabbing a set of silverware and rolling it up.
“I definitely didn’t know what I was doing,” I say, hurrying to catch up with Sara’s modest stack of rolled napkins. “Still don’t.”
Thankfully, the pack conversation dies there, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I feel a little better admitting a half-truth to Sara, like I’ve alleviated the slightest bit of weight in a pressure cooker that’s about to explode, but I don’t plan to tell her anything else.
“What about you?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “Do you have any boy problems? Solutions?”
She laughs again and shakes her head. “Nope, not since my last boyfriend dumped me six months ago.”
As she launches into her dating history, it gives me a reprieve. I can listen all day, but I’d rather not talk about myself. Not personal things, anyway.
As she carries on, my thoughts start to slip away again, wandering carefree across the restaurant and back to the bar. Despite the times I’ve looked in his direction, Alessandro hasn’t batted an eye in my direction.
I can’t lie–it sucks.
I don’t know if we can ever get back to the joking, comfortable dynamic we had before we slept together, but I’m determined to try my hardest. It might take more than a few days, more than a few weeks, but I know we can make it happen.
Then, maybe I’ll be able to figure out if I want something more with him.
No, if I canhandlesomething more, because the way my heart races every time I look at him tells me everything I need to know. I just don’t know if I can let my walls down again to fall completely for another alpha after what happened last time.
It’s not him, it’s me.
But maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get past my fear eventually.
* * *
Clock in. Make tips. Be cordial. Clock out.
It’s a horribly boring routine I finally slip into after a few weeks at the restaurant, and the time Alessandro and I spent together starts to feel more like a dream than a memory. It’s a beautiful dream, a glimpse of what paradise could have been if things were different.
Now, our interactions are nothing more than polite workplace conversation, and he treats me just like all the other waitstaff.
It’s been weeks, and the air is still tight between us when we talk. I fucking hate it, and I’m no closer to figuring out what I want, but the distance plays with my emotions every day and makes me yearn to be close to him again.
I desire the playful banter we once had, but that’s gone. My attempted jokes have fallen flat, or Alessandro brushed them off altogether. He’s thrown up stone-hard walls between us that no amount of eyelash batting or joking will break through.
I hate that the most.
“Am I good to go?” I ask as I wipe the sweat from my brow. It soaks into the material of my shirt, making it stick to my skin in turn, and I shove the mop back into the mop bucket.
Alessandro glances up from the bar, and my heart skips a beat the way it always does when he looks at me. I unintentionally stand a little straighter and try to appear less tired than I really am, like he could throw more work at me and I’d be fine, even though my feet are screaming from being on them all day. It was my first double, and I’m exhausted.
“Yes, you are,” he says, his voice void of all emotion. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With a nod, I wheel the mop bucket back to the kitchen to empty it and finish up the last bit of side work before grabbing my apron and heading for the door. Alessandro is nowhere in sight, but I know he’s still here–I can hear the click of a keyboard coming from the office.
