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It is what it is. The industry is rampant with addiction. It still doesn’t mean I’m letting my omega get a front-row seat to any of it.
Thinking of her seems to summon her closer.
Tinley somehow sweet-talked each of us into getting our own dessert, and she adorably tried every damn one of them. But she’s a little miserable once all that food settles, so we aim for the hotel.
It’s a difficult balance.
I’ve got no real authority to guide her or make decisions on her behalf.
Rationally, I know that.
My impulses don’t give a shit.
That’s my omega, and I’m going to do everything in my power to look out for her, even if it occasionally makes me come off as an asshole.
Weight means zero to me, outside of the fact I’ve seen she’s not eating enough calories. Most omegas tend to have an affinity for sweets because their biology stores that fat to be used during a heat.
Unfortunately, they also need protein, complex carbs, and a whole fuckton of nutrients to ensure their body doesn’t leach those vitamins out of their bones and teeth in an attempt to prepare for little baby alphas and omegas.
Whether it’s possible for her to get pregnant without presenting is irrelevant. I’m sure the same is true for all women of childbearing age, whether or not they choose to try for kids. That means I need to help ensure she doesn’t regret her eating choices when she gets older. Vitamin deficiencies and bone diseases aren’t a joke.
They wouldn’t have given us multiple tests on it when we were in school if it wasn’t important. God, I hated that class. They forced me and Ram into it in high school, but I haven’t had any omega education since then. It’s actually a blessing, now that I think about it. I should do some more research and make sure I haven’t forgotten anything important in the last ten or twelve years.
Fuck, Iaman obsessive bastard. My impulses are focused on ensuring I do everything right when it comes to her.
My head falls back against the seat of the SUV. Tinley doesn’t seem opposed to letting me take the lead.
Who knows why I need it, but I really do. Ramsey seems fine going with the flow. Maybe I’m just especially difficult to get along with? Not to mention, my physical scars are still ugly as fuck. That plastic surgeon lied when he said I just have to give it time.
“Are you okay?” Tinley asks, leaning against my side.
“I’m good.”
She huffs. “Either I’m picking up on someone else’s discomfort, or all those desserts were a bad idea. They were delicious, but my tummy hurts.”
Damn, I always forget that omegas can tune in to the emotions of those around them. My right hand tightens on her hip as I pull my left over. She lets me slide it up under her dress until I’m touching her bare skin.
“Sorry, sweet girl. Let me help.” I run my hand over her stomach in soft touches. Just enough to give her that extra contact and let her know I’m here.
She nuzzles against my shirt, rolling her head up to face me. “You’re really good at taking care of people. You must have a lot of practice.”
I laugh.
“Not as much as you’d expect.” I kiss her forehead as my mind races. They say omegas are possessive of their alphas. Not that I have much experience with them firsthand, but I know how my mom is. She’s the sweetest lady you’ll ever meet until she thinks someone is flirting with one of my dads.
I chuckle at the thought. Damn, I am getting old. I want to settle down. Come home to the same beautiful face after a long day.
All the cheering fans don’t mean much when you crawl into an empty bunk at the end of every night.
* * *
The suite I rented is every bit what they described when I called. I made it clear to Gavin that we wouldn’t be staying next to the rest of the band. I know them well enough to know that, holiday or not, they’ll still be partying, and the noise will carry throughout the entire floor.
I need a break from all of it.
The label will still be catering our dinner tomorrow. It’ll just be delivered to a different room. I don’t mind footing the bill to have some space from everything.
For not feeling so great on the ride, Tinley sure perks up once we make it to the room. She bounds around, checking out each of the bedrooms. All of our stuff was delivered by the roadies and then the hotel staff, but it’s piled by the door, waiting for us to put it wherever we end up.
