Page 14 of His Sassy Omega
Quinn
What the fuck had I just done?
Had I really refused service to Lachlan Sinclair? I’d lost my damn mind, along with my temper.
I’d just lost us a huge check. There was no way he would still want us to cater his company brunch. We didn’t need it, I tried to convince myself. The Sweet Spot was doing well. Really well. We had more orders than we knew what to do with, and Christmas was still a few weeks away with orders coming in daily.
Besides, on my next birthday I’d be coming into my trust fund. Other than giving Josh, Jen and Stacy raises, I didn’t need to touch the money. It was nice knowing it was there, though, for emergencies or new equipment, or whatever came up. Honestly, it was enough I would never have to work again if I didn’t want to.
Was I just going to ignore what had happened between Lachlan and me, when our hands had touched? I sure the fuck was. I’d stopped believing in that fated mate crap a long time ago.
Even if Gigi swore she and my grandfather had been fated. My grandfather had died when I was young, and since then, Gigi had had five more mates. Though she swore none of them were her fated mate. Just my grandfather.
My parents talked about fated mates. How they had known they were destined for each other from the minute they had touched. How it hadn’t mattered to my wolf father that my mother was a leopard. He’d never cared about species. He’d said she could have been human, and he still would have fallen for her, since they were fated.
It was just something the books talked about, as far as I was concerned. Happily ever after, and all that hype. Being able to sense the other person, once you mated for the first time. Being able to know if they were in trouble, or sick, or hurt, once you had claimed each other. Knowing you were meant to be together, from one touch of your skin against theirs.
Honestly, who came up with this shit? I figured it was just something some writer came up with, to sell a bunch of books.
Real life did not happen that way. Did anyone ask Cinderella what happened after she put that slipper on? Look, if you lost your shoe after midnight, you were probably too drunk to see straight. Those were the facts.
Did the books ever talk about how hard relationships were? Compromises that had to be made, on both sides. The hard talks, about sex and money, and babies, and everything in between. Or the times when life was just life, moving along at a boring, same old same old, every day pace.
That wasn’t romantic.
Plus, all the “rules” between an alpha and an omega. The differences. The complete imbalance of the power dynamics. Yeah, things had changed a lot in the last couple of decades, and omegas had more rights now than ever,but there was still a power imbalance that some folks wouldn’t ever let go of.
No thanks. I liked being in charge way too much for most alphas. All the ones I’d met, anyway.
So what if my leopard roared when Lachlan and I had touched?
My leopard didn’t know what we needed.
My leopard was an idiot, who thought with his dick way too much.
So what if the man smelled divine? Like woods, and the freshest citrus, and some kind of enticing musk.
So what if I had to look up to him, which seldom happened? What would it feel like to be the one to have to stretch up for a kiss, instead of bending down?
So what if I’d felt my heart start pounding, and my slick started to pool in my pants, and my cock got rock hard?
That was a long list of ‘so what's’.
He was a bossy, rude, know it all, bossy alpha. Did I say bossy? Let’s not forget rude.
My cat purred loudly, the sound rumbling just beneath the surface of my heated skin. My slick flowed like a fucking river, making my boxer briefs sticky and wet.
I was so fucked.
I vowed to put him out of my mind, and once the morning rush had died down, I got back in the kitchen. This was my happy place. I was absolutely not thinking of Lachlan Sinclair.
I was happily mixing batter hours later, ignoring my damp underwear, when Josh popped through the swinging door, a weird look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I questioned, gently folding in the flour. Mixers were great, but sometimes you just needed a gentle hand for things.
“He’s back,” Josh whispered.
“Who’s back?” I didn’t whisper. I had a strange feeling I knew who we were not whispering about.
