Page 69 of Captive Omega

His lips flatten, and because I did the same thing when Vaughn was bandaging my foot, I know he’s trying not to smile.

“To drink,” he says.

“I can’t drink.” There’s a lot I don’t know about being pregnant, but staying away from alcohol and caffeine is one of the few things I heard, read, or learned through TV.

“It’s apple juice.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I take the glass.

We go back to watching the party with inches separating us. It’s enough space that he doesn’t feel the need to hide his scars from me, and I don’t feel the need to reach for my knife. He drinks nothing. He’s working, so I guess it wouldn’t be professional for people to see him with a drink in his hand, even it’s non-alcoholic.

“Omega bitch with a black belt,” he repeats. This time, his tone isn’t inscrutable. It’s amused.

I lift my glass to my lips. “It worked, didn’t it?”

This apple juice isn’t the artificial, too sweet stuff I remember from childhood. This is cool, slightly tart, fresh and delicious. Fancy apple juice. I drain the glass in under two seconds. A new taste unlocked and I’m eager to hunt out more.

“Did you ever want to learn?”

I abandon my search for more delicious apple juice to look at Blaine. “What?”

“Karate. Or any kind of martial arts.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Not really. Aren’t I too old? I thought it was something only kids do.”

At twenty-five, I’m probably too old to learn anything new. I heard the older you get, the more set in your ways you become, and I feel pretty set in my ways. At least about some things.

“It is not something only kids do. It’s both an excellent way of defending yourself and improving self-confidence.” He gives me a long look. “I could teach you.”

Unexpectedly, I find myself considering it. I’ve seen enough movies to know that’s going to involve coming into close quarters with an alpha. It would involve something else I thought he would want even less than I do. “But wouldn’t that involve… you know, touching?”

“It might.” The barest hint of tension threads its way into his voice.

“And you wouldn’t have a problem with that?” I recall the way Blaine leaned out of the way to avoid Vaughn’s accidental shoulder bump.

He shrugs. “It’s just a thought. No need to agree if you don’t want.”

I consider it some more. More than I would have a couple of days ago.

If we did this, there would have to be conditions. Big ones.

I narrow my eyes at him. “If you teach me, I will, without hesitation, kick your ass if you do something to deserve it. There won’t be any ‘you taught me, so I respect you as my master’ bullshit.” I consider what else I’ve seen on TV about martial arts training. “And I won’t bow. Or wax cars.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in the trace of a smile as he raises his hand, confusing me for a second until I realize he’s flagging down a server.

He plucks a glass of fancy apple juice from the tray and offers it to me. “That sounds fair.”

His glasses slide down his nose, and I have the strangest urge to push them up.

Glasses are practical. Nothing worthy of more than a passing glance.

So what the hell am I doing noticing the way Blaine looks in his?

To occupy my sudden fascination with his glasses, I take the juice from him, hand him the empty one when he motions toward it and nod my thanks. “Good.”

He passes the empty glass off to the server, and we lean on the wall at the back of the party, not speaking, but I don’t mind the silence.

Chapter 20

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