Page 77 of Why Cruise

“Tell me what’s happening here.” A command, on purpose, because I didn’t have the space for deflection, hedging, or the charming, teasing banter that I couldn’t get enough of.

“I’m the Type A omega.” His affect was flat, but I knew his emotions were roiling under the surface. “With the spreadsheets and the planning. The strong, independent one. But it’s all a coping mechanism. I’m exhausted by it. And…” He broke eye contact, squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his jaw.

“That, right here. What is that? You do that and Mackenzie whispers to herself.”

Theo exhaled loudly and licked his lips. “The first night we met I made some crack about being a male omega and you said, ‘I’d rather you not diminish yourself in front of me.’”

“And?” Fuck. Like writing code, sometimes you had to debug and unwrite it.

“I feel like I’m not allowed to be an omega. I have to be a male omega. And no one will tell me what that is. It is somehow too much and not enough at the same time. Since you said that, I haven’t been able to say one shitty thing about being a male omega. Not even when Rose and the mean girls are being… well mean. And not because it was a command, because it wasn’t, or a bark. You stated a preference. And I feel like,” Theo closed his eyes while he took a breath, “I feel like I’d rather die than disappoint you.” He gave a small laugh and shook his head. “You didn’t even know it was happening.”

My brain was doing gymnastics and quantum physics simultaneously. I needed a moment before I wrote more code I didn’t intend. The restaurant had calmed down around us as everyone got deeper into their meals.

“Okay. This is what I would like to do. You can state your own preference, and then we can write a pros and cons list or some shit. Fair?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. The word sent tingles through me, and I wasn’t quite ready to confront how much I liked it just yet.

“I want to put a pause on this conversation. I’d like us to enjoy lunch and then go on your walking tour. This is a lot to process.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Theo slumped in his chair like he had had enough. “I’m starving. I kind of want to cry, but I don’t want to and I really just want to enjoy the day.”

“Let’s do that. But not the crying part.”

“No, because my face gets all puffy and I’ll get a headache and then Mackenzie will see and she’ll start crying and it will be a whole thing.”

I pulled the menu closer, a smile breaking across my face, and reached for the banter. “How bad are mozzarella sticks for you?”

“It’s deep fried cheese.”

“Did pirates eat mozzarella sticks?”

“Justice, you are in fact the smartest person I know and you don’t make the logical leap to boiling oil plus wooden boat equals bad?”

“Oh, yeah, that is bad. Let’s risk it.” I motioned for the server who had been hovering since I sat down.

Lunch might have been good. Might have been terrible. Food was currently ranking low on the things my brain wanted to waste processing power on. I was in my own personal tug of war, pulling my attention back to the present and not letting my thoughts spiral into implications.

I needed to obey my own orders and just enjoy the day.

The tour ended in Old Town in a tourist trap. One side of the street was lined with cute shops with colorful awnings to hold back the sun and the heat. The other side had vendor stalls and all the cheap things you pack your suitcase full of to bring back for pack mates and co-workers. We let the tour group get a little ahead of us. I, not we. I was dragging my feet, not wanting to get back on the bus.

“Well, it’s capitalism,” I said, watching a family haggle over a display of shell necklaces.

“Giving you way too many shopping options?” Theo shielded his eyes against the sun, taking in the rows of vendors.

“It’s more than that.” We sidestepped an older couple window shopping. “This is all a landing page. There’s the hero image that draws you in.” I gestured to the sparkling water beyond the stalls. “But to get there, you have to run the gauntlet of established shops and vendor booths.”

Theo turned back to me, sunlight catching in his hair. “Like a website?”

“Exactly. The permanent shops are your reliable navigation bar—consistent, trusted. But these vendor stalls?” I nodded toward a man arranging cheap trashy t-shirts. “That’s your dynamic content feed. Fresh, constantly updating, designed to catch your attention.”

“So they’re monetizing the view.” Theo stepped closer to avoid another shopper, his coconut scent mixing with the salt air.

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