Page 71 of Heat Hesitation

Enzo

"I don't understand why we're here. You've quit your job. Must you cater to the whims of these sycophants?"

"Well, I must cater to the whims of my employer," Ophelia kicks my shin with her foot. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

I scoff. No one rouses more reaction from me than her. "Don't be ridiculous."

For some reason, Ophelia feels the need to complete her commitments. As a dedicated, if slightly neurotic, workaholic, I admire her resolve, but as my omega, my love, I find it beneath her. Her needy friend Melanie had asked her, prior to quitting, if she could cover a few catering gigs, and since she'd already said yes, she refused to not show up.

Though she attempted to give her notice at the strip club, apparently, her track record for spilling drinks preceded her, and her employer, friend, and dearly dedicated brother let her go immediately. She pretended to be mad when Theo teased her for essentially getting fired.

She couldn't get out of the catering events, though. Since the first two were random office luncheons, one of us dropped her off and picked her up, but this third was another large OFA event, and I refused to leave her during it.

I've been better about giving her more space, especially since she bonded with Asher. I expected to feel some jealousy through the bond when I could feel them both light up, knowing they were being intimate, but it actually made my alpha feel calm, knowing she was being pleasured and cared for.

But I don't trust the OFA. And since she and Sully have decided to essentially shout from the rooftops their frustrations with the injustices facing omegas today—some of which are in direct contrast with the curriculum at the OFA—I don't feel comfortable leaving her alone with them.

So, here I am, in the kitchens in the back rooms at the OFA academy—today's event is, apparently, an introductory, mingling affair for incoming attendees and recent, unbonded graduates. And where unbonded omegas go, unbonded packs of alphas go.

Ophelia runs around with the other employees, snapping at me each time I try to take the tray from her hands and do her job for her. She's wearing a fitted button-up shirt with a vest and tight black pants that look uncomfortable, considering how often she adjusts and fidgets. Though the outfit itself is terribly unattractive, it does show off her figure. I've never been so mesmerized by anything as I have watching her legs move and ass shake. It's a thing of beauty, as Theo would say, made all the more enticing by her soft waist which highlights the roundness of her ass and hips. She's self-conscious of her body, I don't understand why.

I've been told the OFA has classes that involve exercise and nutrition and, according to Ophelia, are glorified diet programs to make all naturally curvy female omegas the 'right' shape—thin, small, with only enough of a curve to fill your palm, a manufactured figure for the desire of male alphas.

I have noticed many omegas graduating from the OFA look similar, but I never paid much attention. It enrages my omega, though. I don't care much about what happens to the other omegas, but it matters to Ophelia, so I at least try to pay attention.

After an hour of annoying her and complaining that she doesn't get enough breaks, she finally takes a seat next to a tall metal prep table, dragging me down to sit beside her.

"Here," she slides a plate toward me, stacked with a sandwich.

I inspect the contents while she digs into hers. In between bites, I ask, "When are you done? This is the last one, correct?"

She nods, covering her mouth full of bread and meat. "Mmhmm. Last one." She takes a big glug of water, passing it over to me. I eye the glass, narrowing in on the fingerprints, then I look at her slim, delicate fingers. It will offend her if I don't drink from the same glass, so I take a sip.

She smirks, "I'm almost done. Sharon, my boss, thinks I should clock out early and go mingle." She shudders her shoulders. "I hate small talk, but it's not a bad idea. Sharon's sister is an omega, she agrees we should get more alphas to care about omega independence."

I sip the water, and we finish eating. When she's done, I take her plate and carry it to the back of the kitchen, where a young beta kid is washing dishes.

When I return, Ophelia's talking to another woman in a similar uniform. We're introduced, and I don't miss the way the woman, Sharon, shies away from me when I don’t look at or acknowledge her. Ophelia smiles tightly, nudging me. Before I overanalyze what she's too subtly implying, Ophelia takes my hand, and I follow her into the event.

"This is weird. I've never been on this side of one of these before."

"I'm not sure it counts when you're still dressed like a caterer."

She gives me a glare and drags me through the crowd. "For that, I'm going to make you do small talk."

"As much as I don't want to let go of your hand, you'll likely make more headway without me."

The smile she gives me is everything. "Not a chance, alpha. You're mine. If they don't like your weirdness, that's on them."

I know my brothers defend me to others, but hearing her do it is different. I want to be more for her. So I agree, though I let her take the lead while she tracks down Fletcher, who introduces her to some prominent political figures in the room. Ophelia's enthusiasm and bright smile are infectious and allow me to stand behind her without having to talk to anyone.

Most people we're introduced to are intrigued to meet the new omega of the Constantine Pack and, perhaps because I'm at her back, say only polite things, without commenting on her catering outfit or on the rumors of her upbringing in South Loop. That is, until we pause by a long table for some water and a break from human interaction.

"I knew it wouldn't last," a woman sneers beside Ophelia, making my omega stiffen. I reach out, attempting to put myself between her and the girl, when Ophelia stands a little taller, blocking me.

"What wouldn't last, Bianca?" she sighs.

"It's Bridgette, and you fucking know that." She scoffs. Then she looks Ophelia over, taking in her clothes, covering her mouth to smother a fake laugh. "I'm sorry. Are you working right now?"

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