Page 39 of Claiming Their Omega

I get my phone and try some different angles. I’m not going for sexy so I don’t hold the phone up over my head. I hold it straight on, trying to imitate as much of an honest look at my body as I can. It takes about ten tries, but finally I’ve got something that covers it all.

I look at the photo. I’m a bit relieved. My body looks the same as it always has. No crazy changes. Thank god. There’ve been enough crazy changes going on in my life right now. I don’t need more.

A text comes through from Easton, popping up at the top of the screen. He’s asking something about where we want to eat, but the preview of the text cuts off. I move my thumb up to tap on the photo and—

Oh. Oh no.

It happens so fast, and yet just slowly enough that I can see it happening. I move my thumb up, but it stays connected to the screen, dragging. And of course, of course I just had to get the fancy latest model of phone because everyone at work had them. On this phone, if a text pops up, and I want to send a photo I’m looking at, I just drag my thumb up toward the text and it pops the photo into the text thread and sends it.

Which is what I just accidentally did.

I hear the little whoosh noise the phone makes as it successfully sends the photo, and my stomach clenches into a tight little ball as my heart stutters.

I realize dimly that my mouth is hanging open in shock.

Oh fuck. I can’t believe I just did that. I just sent a text of myself in nothing but very lacy, tiny underwear to all four men. Because Easton sent his text in the group chat.

Oh my god I want to die. I feel so embarrassed I could probably manage a heart attack.

I frantically open the text thread.

ME: Oh my god, please ignore that! It was a mistake. I’m so, so sorry.

Even as I type, I see the little check mark notification that means everyone in the group has seen the text you sent—or in my case, the photo I sent. Oh god. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

My heart jumps again as the little bubbles appear at the bottom of my screen. Hendrix is the first to text back.

HENDRIX: Where’d you get this photo of me? Don’t get me wrong, I look smokin’, but have you been being a Peeping Tom?

He adds a few silly emojis at the end, and it’s almost enough to break through my panic and make me laugh.

JESSE: You’re not bribing us that easily, you’re still doing your share of the chores.

EASTON: Uh, is that a yes to the Mexican place?

Cade doesn’t say anything at all, but he taps out little thumbs-up emojis on the three texts the others sent, like he’s seconding their opinions. Cade doesn’t chat much in the group anyway, usually just attaches those emojis to other people’s texts like the online version of nodding along during a conversation.

My face feels like it’s on fire. I suppose them making jokes about it is the best-case scenario, though. It could’ve been so much worse. I don’t want to make any of them uncomfortable. Not even Jesse, for all that he’s annoyed me to Hell and back.

I don’t respond to their texts. I don’t even know what I would say. I just get dressed as fast as I can and try to look a bit presentable before I head downstairs. Put-together for a night out, and not like I was just taking selfies in my underwear.

All four men are in the living room when I get downstairs. “I’m ready,” I call, announcing my arrival into the room.

I can barely look them in the eye. Any time I try I find my gaze darting away. It’s just, well, they’ve seen all that now. That can’t be undone. Even if the photo somehow got wiped, their memories haven’t been. They know what they saw.

I’m sure they can see how embarrassed I am, but I can’t seem to help it, and none of them mention how much I’m blushing. Maybe they’re a little embarrassed too, beneath all the joking. Instead, we just head out.

Great. The evening hasn’t even started, and I’m potentially ruining it.

They all look good, which doesn’t help, in plaid flannel and cowboy hats, the quintessential ranchers, good-looking but still casual. I feel overdressed now, but it’s too late to do anything about it.

We get into the car and head out. Hendrix makes small talk, as Easton and I make valiant efforts to go along with it, but we’re both struggling so it’s mostly Hendrix having a long conversation with himself. Which is kind of weirdly sweet, actually. I enjoy listening to him talk. If you wait for him to get through the flirting, he has a lot of interesting things to say.

We go to the same watering hole where William and I went on our first night in town. It feels like that happened an entire lifetime ago. I feel a sense of déjà vu, like this isn’t quite real—or maybe it was my time with William that wasn’t quite real. That was back when I thought I was a Beta. I’m a whole different person now, whether I want to be or not.

Normally I wouldn’t worry too much about being recognized. In a place like New York City, you don’t get remembered by the waitstaff when you’ve only been somewhere once before, not unless you were a really great guest or a really terrible one.

In a small town like this, though, I’m sure that I’ll be remembered. I grew up here. I last showed up here with a man from the big city by my side.

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