Page 47 of The Knotty Omega
Simon shoots me an uncharacteristically smooth grin. “You’ll see.”
And I do see. I see right as he enters the code for the garage and the door slowly rolls open.
“A motorcycle?” I ask, my jaw dropping. The sleek black bike is parked next to the wall of the garage, shining and gleaming the white stenciled letters spelling out “Ducati” on the side.
I can’t even with this.
I don’t even know motorcycles…but a Ducati? That’s some crazy money.
Like, my family level money. If we rode motorcycles.
He’s already pulling two leather jackets off hangers and helmets down from the wall next to it, and I raise my brows at him as he carefully fits it over my head. The visor is flipped open, so he can see my expression, but he focuses on putting his own helmet on instead. “Any particular reason you already have an omega-sized motorcycle helmet and leather jacket hanging out in your garage?”
I can see his eyes crinkle in an embarrassed smile. As he helps me slide on the jacket. It may be April on the California coast, but I know I’d be cold on the back of a bike without one.
“Nesting items weren’t the only thing I bought when I caught your scent for the first time. The leather jacket I bought today.”
Before I can ask him any of the million questions running through mind about why on earth does my sweet, sensitive, careful Alpha own a fucking motorcyle, he’s pulled on his own jacket and is climbing on and patting the seat behind him.
Holy shit.
A whole new list of fantasies just came into my mind. Maybe after we’ve known each other a while, he can fuck me with just the helmet on?
No.No. Bad Cady. No thoughts of fucking the sweet alpha before we even have our first date.
The scent of my slick fills the air despite my internal chastising, and I’m suddenly very glad that he already has his helmet on.
“They call this backpacking, right?” I ask as I swing my leg over the sleek black vehicle and wrap my arms around his waist.
Simon only chuckles and nods, revving the bike to life.
The machine vibrates beneath us, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m on the back of a motorcycle. I’m not scared though. I’m with my alpha, and he won’t let anything happen to me. I’ve always had a bit of a wild streak, which was mostly contained to roller coasters at amusement parks. This, however, is a whole new level of adrenaline rush.
Before I know it, we’re zipping through the streets, my arms gripped tight around his waist. He maneuvers through traffic like he’s been doing it for years — a set path he was always going to take even though the flow of vehicles is ever changing.
It’s exhilarating.
Before I know it, he’s parking next to a restaurant, and helping me off the bike, removing my helmet and putting it in the helmet lock under the seat.
“How’s my hair?” I ask, running my fingers through it quickly.
He turns around, adjusting his glasses before grabbing my hands in his. “You look perfect.”
I can’t help but think the same about him. His cheeks are slightly red, and he has this wild look in his eye that I’ve never seen before.
By the time we’re sat at dinner, the gleam fades, and we’re eating the food we ordered. “So…” I trail off, cutting off a piece of steak. “What’s with the motorcycle?”
“What's…with it?” he asks, raising a brow as he twirls some pasta on his fork.
“Yeah. I mean…you’reyou. Simon. Calm. Rational. Level-headed. If someone asked me yesterday if you’d ever step footneara motorcycle, I would have laughed at them.”
“It’s my one freedom I allow myself.” He shrugs, smiling softly. “Growing up, my parents always pushed me to be the best. The best at school, the best at playing the cello, the best at sports, even though I had no desire to play them.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t grow up in a pack. My dad is an alpha, and my mom is an omega, and I think at some level they were determined to prove that just because they didn’t have a pack didn’t make them ‘less than’.”
My hand reaches out to grasp his across the table and he gives me a sad smile. “Nobody thought they were. It was all in their heads, but I was their proof that they weren’t failures.”
“Did you even want to be a doctor?” I ask, my heart clenching. “Or was that something else they forced on you?”
“I definitely wanted to be a doctor,” he smiles, “but in spite of them, not because of them. The bike…I’ve been so conditioned to be calm and in control my whole life, I don’t know how else to be. Except for when it comes to the bike. That’s when I can feel…everything.”
