Page 50 of The Omega Verse

“Something we’ll have to fix in a hurry.”

But before Silva can sweep me away from the table – which is exactly what his eyes are telling me he wants to do – Kobi sets down his fork and fixes his whiskey gaze on me. “I’d like to take you on a date sometime this week, if you can fit me in.”

Silva’s head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes. “Hey, wait! We’re doing dates? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kobi rumbles a laugh. “It’s just good manners where I come from. You like a girl; you take her out.”

“Yeah, we all know how you Southern boys operate,” Silva tucks his hands behind his head and adopts a horrible accent. “Skeet shootin’ and mud boggin’ followed by some nekkin’ in the back of your Chevy pickup.”

I’m laughing so hard I nearly knock my water glass off the table. But the giggles die in my throat when Jett leans past River and says, “Yeah, well, I bags her for the ARIA gig.”

“Wait, what? You want me to be your date for the Hall of Fame?”

“Why not? You don’t want me to go with any of these clowns, do you?”

I blink around the table, trying to work out what kind of alternate reality I’m living in, when River says quietly, “I think Steven would have liked this. All of us hanging out, making plans.”

I nod, my eyes growing misty, but Silva gives me a smouldering smile. “Like how we should be goin’ skinny-dippin’, darlin’.”

Kobi grunts at his mimicry, but I pause, trying to see if he’s serious. “I told you. It’s crazy cold out there.”

Silva’s grin just widens. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you nice and warm. And then we can come back and jump in the jacuzzi.”

He gets to his feet and I leap up, starting to back away from the table. Silva’s eyes light up with green fire. “You gonna run, sugar?”

I snort. “Of course I am. Freezing to death is a terrible plan.”

“Might be a good idea to cool off, though,” Jett says, sweeping his gaze over my body. “Because unless my nose is lying, you guys have switched again.”

Silva

If you told me a month ago this is where I’d be today, I’d have laughed my arse off. Not because of the music angle – my career has always been a chaotic trip, and I’ve learned to go with the flow – but because of what’s happening inside me.

Feelings, sure. A whole bunch of those. But also, the switch stuff.

I grew up with an alpha dad and three alpha brothers. They didn’t bully me, but the way they’d study me, like they were trying to work out why I wasn’t wired right, got under my skin. Made me turn my back on the farm, but also taught me to push myself harder. I wanted to show the world I was more than my designation. But somewhere along the way, I stopped giving a shit. I mean, if you can rock out a mega stadium with just your blood, sweat, and beats, then what the hell else do you have to prove?

And I don’t feel that different with the switch. Yeah, there’s an extra buzz in my blood, and my senses are sharper. My temper keeps catching me off guard, and it takes me longer to cool off. But every drummer I know is unhinged, and punk is just another level of crazy.

I’d call bullshit if it wasn’t for Cass.

Damn, but I’m gone for her. She’s like this serious little boss lady in the body of my dream girl. Maybe I’ve got mummy issues, since my old lady left when I was two, but every time she tries to feed me, or tucks a blanket over me, or tries to teach me to chop a carrot without cutting off my thumbs, I want to crawl inside her skin. I seriously can’t stay away. I joke it’s our animal magnetism, but if she had more body hair, I’d probably electrocute us both from the amount of time I spend rubbing up against her.

The only issue… my damn knot. We all have dick envy – ask any dude on the planet, and he’ll tell you it’s not fucking clothes that make the man – but I’ve always liked my cock. I gave it a piercing because it’s so pretty, and now it comes with an extra cool accessory. Only, instead of blowing Cass’ mind – and sweet pussy - with my big, powerful knot, I’ve been kicked back to puberty. Like I’ve got a cut snake in my shorts, and no clue how to wrangle it.

Obviously, I need to get some medical advice. Which in this house, means Tom. He’s confirmed our switch – says he can feel it in his bond with Cass – but since she’s not in heat, it’s business as usual. She might be a little more sensitive and clingy, but nothing her mate can’t take care of.

After a bit of back-and-forth, the other guys decide to head back to Sandy Bay for a meeting with Hoover and to pack up the rental. Cass seems happy they’re going to take her up on her offer to stay a while, but she’s still frowning as we see them out the door.

“They’ll be back,” I tell her, propping my chin on her head and breathing her in. Damn, her fruity perfume is better than any drug. “And if you need him, Kobi’s gonna come back early.”

“I know,” she sighs, still staring at the door. “I just don’t like seeing them leave.”

“Mm. Then I think you should focus on who’s still here,” Tom says, nudging my shoulder as he heads towards the studio. “You coming Silva?”

A cut snake couldn’t keep me away.

When we get to the basement, Tom points to the drums, and I grin. It’s a bespoke Sonor kit with Zildjian cymbals, Remo drumheads, and Gauger rims. Top-of-the-line and custom-made for Stix Rain. I’ve been itching to give them a bash, so I pull out my pair of SS drumsticks – Silva Sterling specials, with shark teeth on the shaft - and give them a twirl. “Want me to play you something, sugar?”

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