Page 22 of Pack Plus Three

I was too distracted with the overwhelming pride and joy I felt at the idea that she liked my scent—maybe a little too much.

She could huff my scent any day; I would be a willing participant. More than willing.

We had arrived at just the right time. The dinner rush had died down, and the late-night partiers had yet to make their appearance, so there weren’t many people in line.

“What sauce would you like? They toss the fries in a sauce of your choice,” I told her, leaning down, so I didn’t have to yell as we stood in line.

“The only acceptable answer is ketchup,” she said gleefully, her eyes never leaving the menu. “Though the peppercorn does intrigue me,” she admitted.

“You get the ketchup, and I’ll get the peppercorn. That way, you can have both.”

“Why do you keep suggesting such amazing things?” she groaned.

I shrugged. “I’m just awesome like that.”

“You won’t hear me disagreeing.”

She thought I was awesome. Daisy had been nothing but sweet and complimenting since she had crashed into my life. My ego was in serious danger of exploding with how big it was getting.

Sure, I was an NHL-level hockey player, highly sought after by women, but Daisy’s admiration just hit differently.

“Go sit down.” I gestured to the small picnic table in my line of sight. “I’ll order.”

Daisy nodded, waddling over to the table and plopping down. She was only a few feet away, so I could keep her firmly in sight.

There was no way in hell I was going to have my omega where I couldn’t see her late at night.

My omega?

I was losing it. Daisy wasn’t my anything, no matter how much I wanted her to be.

Maybe it was time for me to make my intentions clearer...but I didn’t want to risk spooking her. If I came on too hard, too fast, she would run for the hills.

The fries didn’t take long, and within minutes I had two large cones of sauce-coated fries in hand and was heading towards the beautiful omega who was sitting, petting my dog.

“Thank you.” She beamed at me as she took the cone of ketchup-covered fries off me. She didn’t hesitate, diving right in, letting out a pornographic moan at the first bite. “I’ve been dreaming about this!” She groaned, eyes filling with tears.

Tears?

“Are you crying?” I asked, panicked.

How had I made her cry? How did I fix it? I couldn’t let her be upset.

“They’re good tears,” she insisted around a mouthful of fries. “Happy. These taste so good!”

“Ah.” I smiled, nodding. Pregnancy hormones made omegas a touch emotional at times.

Apparently, I was falling for an omega with a deep, unconditional love of fries.

I had won the jackpot.

Wiping at her eyes, she continued munching on her food, the tears eventually evaporating as I took a few bites of my own.

“Thank you for this...and for being so cool with me being a mess,” she said.

“But you’re an adorable mess. It makes all the difference,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone, making her giggle.

“I suppose it does.” She nodded sagely, returning to her fries. With her next bite, she gave a little hum of happiness, wiggling in her seat in the little happy dance I had grown accustomed to seeing when she was happily enjoying food.

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