Page 5 of The Knotty Omega
Something primal. A need for an omega who is too far out of his reach. With nothing to do with that energy, he pours it into his company, putting in more hours than he needs to.
“We need her,” I say quietly, tapping at my phone.
“I know we do,cucciolo…”Mattie sighs, rubbing a hand down my back. “She’s the missing piece of our pack, we just need to meet her. She’ll see.”
I do my best to take care of everyone. But I’m not an omega. Mattie says that ever since he and Titus were kids, he’s been like this. A hard shell who struggles to trust, and throws himself into everything he does. Like how he took a bullet diving in front of the client it was meant for. We’re lucky that Simon was the doctor who patched him up after, otherwise we never would have found him for our pack.
Ollie was a by-chance encounter as well. When Mattie and I went to get matching tattoos — we got each other's initials in small letters on our ring fingers — Ollie was our tattoo artist. The connection was almost instant, his bright and outgoing personality the perfect balance against Simon’s quiet demeanor and Titus’s hard exterior.
They all need something different to feel cared for, and I’m not equipped to give it. Pack De Lucca is missing something, and I think we all know that something isher.
Whether or not all of us are ready to admit it.
The way her silky-looking, honey blond hair cascades down her back, the way her bright, almost turquoise eyes twinkle when she laughs.
The way her vanilla and orange blossom signature would taste mixed with Mattie’s bourbon and caramel—
“...Fuck!” I groan, tossing my phone on the table.
“I see I’m not the only one you’re torturing,” Mattie says quietly, tipping my chin to look at him.
“I’ll be fine,” I shake my head, giving a wry smile. “Do you want to watch ‘Last Alpha Standing?’”
His eyes widen in surprise. “You hate that show.”
“Yeah, but you and Ollie don’t. We have some time before our food gets here.”
He presses a featherlight kiss to my temple before bounding into the living room, calling Ollie to “get his ass in here”.
After smiling at Ollie cheering on his favorite player in the show, eating dinner, and making love to my alpha, I still feel a sense of disconnect as I stare at the ceiling, laying in bed with Mattie’s shallow breathing the only sound in the room.
Deep in my chest, I know that CJ is the key to making our pack whole. That would be the case whether or not I wanted her.
Which I do.
Desperately.
Since I'm a beta, her scent shouldn’t be able to touch my soul as deeply as it does, and that just further enforces my theory of her being our true scent match. I have to do something. She has to scent us somehow, and despite my conversation with Mattie about her alpha, I know my chances of getting her and Reggie to meet with our pack are slim to none.
Sneaking out of bed, I tiptoe to the kitchen and grab a ziploc bag, then return to our room to the desk chair where Mattie draped his suit jacket earlier and snag his pocket square. He fiddles with them constantly throughout the day — his scent is sure to be all over it. Turning the bag inside out so I don’t get my scent on the pocket square, I put my hand in it like a glove, and pinch the fabric through the plastic, then flip it inside out and seal the bag shut.
Fuck yeah. I could’ve been some kind of super secret spy in another life.
Or something.
Once I’ve put the baggie in my shoulder bag, I climb back into bed, snuggling close to Mattie.
Tomorrow is the first step in ensuring that Cady becomes ours.
CHAPTER THREE
What the in the everloving fuck is that smell? My nose twitches as I try to concentrate on my side project, an article that highlights this month's most popular nesting items. Caramel…and bourbon? Unable to stop myself, I roll backwards in my chair, peeking my head out of my cubicle. There's nobody in the little aisle, probably because it's already almost six. The scent is stronger out here…but lower…my eyes land on a curious piece of black fabric on the floor right outside my cubicle. Is that…a pocket square?
My eyes narrow, checking the narrow space again between cubicles for anyone who might’ve dropped it. When I don’t see anyone, I snatch up the square and furiously scoot my chair back to my desk, almost feeling like I should be whistling so nobody thinks anything is amiss.
Which is weird, because people only do that in movies.
Besides, thereisnothing amiss. It’s not like I’m immediately bringing the square to my nose and huffing up the caramel bourbon scent like a junkie snorting a line of cocaine.
