Page 3 of Zoinks! Nice Pack, Bro

“Could have just said thank you, darlin’.” he calls out to me and before I know what I’m doing my right hand that is holding my phone shoots up over my shoulder, middle finger waving back and forth in a way that I shouldn’t do outside of my job.

The anxiety that I feel about this will be directed to my therapist in a couple days where I can make up for this moment with intensive therapy.

“What a brat.” one of the guys says as I turn the corner out of sight and rush into my car where I immediately hunker down and text all my friends about how I have surely just embarrassed myself in a way that even my therapist won’t be able to help me recover from.

I can’t tell them I just literally fell into the arms of my scent match.

Unlike other omegas, the idea of having an alpha pack makes mewant to vomit. Growing up with my three dads and a lunatic mother left a bad taste for pack.

Pack was dangerous.

I spend a half hour scrolling through social media posts, about people I don’t care about, and reading pages of a book I spend more time dissecting than any book I read in college.

My poor friend is adding and taking it off her TBR as my mood shifts.

Zoinks?

What in the Scooby Doo hell was I even thinking?

YIKES, that makes sense.

That’s a word I use a lot in my vocabulary.

I mean, for Christ sakes, they even have the teeth grinding emoji to explain yikes. Where the actual frick did I pull zoinks from?

A quick panic and a few self deprecating texts to my friends aboutzoinksgateI’m -CAREFULLY- walking back up the stairs and sliding into the office.

Not gonna think about the fact I met my frickin’ scent matches ever again.

It happened.

It’s done.

I’m just going to pretend this never happened and get along with my work day.

My purse is placed on the chair and I’m ready to sit down as the other girl I work with, a married beta, heads to break, giving me a smirk.

I want to sit down, maybe place my fingers in my mouth to soothe myself. But as any idea of calming down happens it vanishes as the bell on the counter is pressed three times too many making my head snap up at theting ting tingof it.

There is no reason to hit a bell more than once. There is no need to hit the bell when you can clearly see me standing there where I can see you come in.

But people can be assholes.

“Zoinks, that was loud.” My face floods with heat, the burn of embarrassment as I see all four guys crowded around the counter, eyes on me.

Welp, that tummy ache from my coffee has turned to an embarrassment tummy ache.

The one who rang the bell is hunched over, head in his hands as he smiles at me.

Chocolate cherries and coffee flood my nose as he leans closer and I have to bite back a whine. If my omega instincts could just stop that would be really cool. Right now my neck is trying to not shift to show my pulsing point for him to bite and it’s a real battle.

Of course he has to be good looking too.

He has dark hair slicked back, an arm of tattoos, that if I knew him I would undoubtedly rag on him about. His brown eyes twinkle in mischief but I am not going to ever let a man get the best of me. Once they know that you’re flustered they can smell weakness.

If those tattooed fingers could force their way into my mouth and make me gag on them that would be really cool.

Nope.

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