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I sit up in a crunch and shove myself off the couch before pulling her up too. She careens into my bare skin when I yank a little too strongly. Her fingers brush over my pec as I smile down at her, squeezing her hips.
I only have one goal for this entire tour: I won’t give up until she’s mine.
* * *
The label is giving us a few days off surrounding Thanksgiving. We’ll be in a hotel, and I plan to do something special once we get settled. It’s hard to get any privacy on the bus. Not to mention, we’ve got a show tonight and another on her actual birthday.
We wander the street looking for the cute little clothing boutique that I scouted out before we left the bus. Tinley doesn’t fight the contact when I wrap my arm around her lower back and link our fingers together. She’s kind of short—well, compared to me—but it’s convenient since her arms are the perfect length to make the move possible.
I keep her tucked into my side and make sure she’s closest to the businesses instead of the road. I’ve always had the innate need to keep her safe, but the urges have turned into compulsions over the years. My mind constantly files through possible threats and ways to prevent them.
I don’t know if it’s like this for all alphas with their omega, or maybe it’s just a part of being in love.
The security guy hits the door to the shop before us and gives the signal for me to wait. He’s part of the label security team, but I’m not one of the core members of Northern Star.
It’s more of a precaution than anything.
I wouldn’t even bring security if it was just me, since it’s a rare occasion for anyone to actually recognize me. We get the signal that we can head inside, and he holds the door open for us.
“Ohmigod, they have ugly Christmas sweaters,” Tinley squeals, bolting for a rack of clothing.
I chuckle, shaking my head as I follow her. She’s fucking beautiful inside and out. Her joy over the most bizarre shit makes me happy.
I’ve got a type and it’s Tinsel.
She’s goofy and sweet, but not afraid to stand up for what she thinks is right. The more comfortable she is around someone, the more her true personality shines through. I miss her when I can’t see her face, and the sadness that comes when I go more than a few days without being in her presence makes it clear.
She’s mine, but I’m also hers. I long ago accepted that fact.
I grab my phone out of my pocket, snapping pictures as she browses.
I take a couple and send them to Shanna. My little sister is waiting on pins and needles for the call. She knows it’s coming.
Well, unless Tinley shuts me down.
That would fucking suck.
My stomach drops at the thought.
I’ve heard it all over the years. I’ve been harassed byfriendsabout my obsession with her for so long that it no longer fazes me.
I got lucky with a solid foundation. Otherwise, I might have caved to the taunting and peer pressure to date just to fit in.
My parents’ pack is so sickeningly in love that I’ve always known it exists.
The first time I met Tinley, she was talking to my little sister. She gave me a silly smile, like she couldn’t quite understand why I was hovering around, trying to insert myself into their conversation.
I went home that day and told my dads that I met the woman I’m going to marry. They laughed it off, but after a few years, they realized I wasn’t fucking around.
Even Shanna accepted it somewhere along the way. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that her best friend will end up being her sister-in-law if I have anything to say about it.
“I think I’m going to try these few things on,” Tinley says, gesturing at me with the pile tossed over her forearm.
“Sounds good,” I agree.
She heads off toward the dressing rooms, and I search for someone who works here. The two sales associates are bubbly and around my age.
I lean on the counter, keeping my eyes peeled in case Tinley pops out so I can give her opinions.
