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She shakes her head and carries it to the stairs, setting it on the first wooden step. “There.”
“The wood is more liable to scratch, you weirdo.” I lug in two of the suitcases and she grabs the other.
“The marble is prettier.” She pushes the final box away from the door to allow it to swing shut. “So, did you tell your parents?”
“Nope, and I’m not going to until I convince the dean to let me have another chance at an internship.” I dig into one of the boxes, finding the sample roller of the new scent I made and hand it over for her to smell.
She uncaps it and inhales. “Oh, wow. That’s nice.”
“Yeah? I was wondering if it needed more musk.”
“No, this is perfect. Can I keep this sample?”
I nod. “Yeah, I already have a small batch ready to put on the site. I just needed a second opinion.”
“It’s perfect. Don’t change a thing.” She rolls some onto her wrist and inhales again with a soft groan. “God, you’re so talented. Why are you doing accounting again?”
“Because, while I love making scent rollers, it’s not a secure source of income.” My little side business never would have been a thing if not for her encouragement. While I do make steady sales, and just scored a wedding favor gig, it’s not nearly enough to support myself.
“Ugh, you’re so responsible and shit.” She blows out a breath and follows me into the kitchen, dropping her oversized purse onto the waterfall island. “Do you think the dean will listen to you?” she asks, circling back to the first conversation.
“She knows how alphas can be.” I go through the pantry and open the floor-to-ceiling wine cooler door and grab a chardonnay before joining her back in the kitchen. I swear Daria is drooling, but I can’t blame her. I’ve gotten so used to this house, it hardly fazes me. “Worst-case scenario, I tell the stepdads what happened when they’re back from their trip, and they use their lawyerly super powers to set things right.”
But I really, really hope it doesn’t come to that.
“God, Wyatt’s business law class is no joke.” She grabs two wineglasses and sets them on the counter while I open the bottle.
“Yeah, he’s a hard-ass, but apparently, he was their top pick for adjunct professor.”
She hums. “I can see why. He’s kind of hot too.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to yell at her for trying to take alphas away from my mom, but I breathe through that urge. Daria is my best friend and she’d never do that. She isn’t some namelessomega like the one who stole my dads away. Avoiding all the emotions that come with that, I make a face at Daria.
“Ew. Please don’t objectify my stepdads. Any older man, literally any other older man is fine. What about Tiffany’s grandpa?”
“Definitely bangable if he was twenty years younger. Listen, I can go as high as sixty before it starts to get questionable.”
God, I love her.
I chuckle and pour the wine. “How are the guys? Do you think they’re your scent match?”
“Good.” She grins. “I really think they may be the ones. Last week, we were at their dads’ beach house, and I swear to God, my nose was in heaven.”
“Really? That’s great!”
“Yeah,” she muses, then frowns a little. “Do you think it’s weird I don’t enjoy their scent as much in my apartment as I did at the beach house?”
“Maybe vacation allowed you to relax and get out of your head.” She’s been so set on finding her true match for years now. Serial dating and disappointment.
There are two types of omegas: those who only want their scent-match pack and those who want a pack, regardless of what their nose thinks. The latter prefer not to suffer through heats without a pack. Then there are omegas like me and Daria, who do our best not to die twice a year without the knots our bodies demand.
The first time my heat hit was right after high school graduation. Thankfully my stepdads had taken my stepbrothers on some manly trip and they weren’t around. By the time my next heat came, I had already moved out. I can’t imagine suffering through one with them in the same house. . . I don’t think I’d be able to keep the secret knowing the people who could ease the agony were just out of reach.
Enduring those few days twice a year is awful. For Daria’s sake, I truly hope this new pack is the one and she’ll be able to enjoy her next heat. “But hey, if things don’t work out, their dads are single, right?”
She snorts. “Bitch, you’re terrible.”
“Only for you.” I set my glass on the table as she starts to unpack her bag, laying out a dozen new magazines and pulling out her scrapbook. “Let me get mine.”
