Page 17 of What A Croc
Jackson was funny, thoughtful and caring. He had even brought me something from the bakery every morning this week. The second morning he had shown up with the white bag, this time with a decadent brownie nestled in its folds, I had told him that while I appreciated it, I certainly didn’t need the extra calories.
The look the man had given me, his murky greenish brown eyes hot and hooded as they had trailed down the length of my body, had made me shiver. As well as his rumbled words, said low enough that only I could hear,“Robert, you look good enough to eat. Now enjoy that brownie. It’s called the-better-than-sex brownie, so I expect a full report on if it lives up to its name.”
The brownie had been amazing, dark and rich, filled with some kind of fresh raspberry jam. And while it had been better than any sex I had had in the last decade, I wasn’t about to tell Jackson that.
No, I was going to tell him that I was too old for him–again–and that babies were not an option for me.Fanning my hand in front of me, I tried to move the air around my heated face. Either I was getting sick or the dreaded hot flashes that I’d been warned would accompany the omega change were starting to hit. I’d really been hoping since I was in the very early stages of the change that I wouldn’t have to suffer all the effects for another year or so.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door and stepped back into my bedroom. Wyatt was slowly folding the mess I had made into neat stacks. Looking me over, he stood to his full height, and let out a low whistle.
“Okay, Pops, you look good,” he told me, smiling. “Like really good.” He waved his finger in a circle. “Turn, let me see.”
Turning so he could see how the back of me looked, he snorted. “I don’t know who told you those jeans don’t look good, but they were wrong. Honestly, I wish I had gotten your ass, instead of mother’s.”
Blushing to my roots, I turned to face him, tugging at my shirt sleeves. “I really look okay?”
Wyatt nodded, “You look amazing. What time is Jackson going to be here? He’s picking you up, right? Because I’m not okay with an alpha who isn’t going to treat you like a gentleman.”
Raising a brow at him, I ran my fingers through my brown hair, frowning at all the white and gray strands Iknew were there. Running a hand over my face, I asked, “Should I shave?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Personally, I like the just past a five-o’clock shadow look. It looks good on you. And, don’t think I missed you not answering my question about Jackson picking you up.”
Laughing at him, I informed him primly, “He’s picking me up at seven. Though I really should have just met him at the restaurant. The ride home is going to be awkward.”
Wyatt gave me a funny look. “Why?”
Shrugging, I made sure I had my wallet and house keys. “Because I’m going to tell him all the ways we aren’t suitable, regardless of what some Goddess, or Fate, or whatever someone wants to believe in, has deemed as destiny.”
“Fate doesn’t get it wrong, Pops,” Wyatt told me, following me out of the bedroom. “I told you that. Look at Becks and me. Believe me, that was anything but love at first sight. Lust, yes. I mean, have you seen the man’s abs? They are just ridiculous.”
Yes, I had seen Becks’ abs. Yes, they were ridiculous. Especially at his age. And no, I did not want to have this discussion with my child. Even if he was a grown adult, with a child. Just…no.
“And look at all my friends,” he continued on, despite me not answering him, “all with their fated mates. All happy as can be. Even the ones who tried to fight it. Can’t fight Fate.”
I was saved from answering by the crunching of tires next to my cabin, and the muffled sound of a car door opening and closing. My eyes were wide as I stared at Wyatt with what felt like a mild case of panic. Or butterflies. Excitement? All three.
Footsteps on the porch, and then a solid knock at my door, and panic won. Turning left and right, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My brain couldn’t get my limbs to do anything but flap around frantically. Finally, Wyatt, after giving me a strong case of side-eye, sighed softly, walked past me and opened the door.
Jackson stood there, filling the threshold of my doorway with his height and wide shoulders. Looking stunning in a pair of black dress pants and a dark green button down shirt.
Suddenly I felt underdressed in my jeans, even if they were designer. Rubbing my hands down my thighs, I softly asked, “Should I change? I wasn’t sure where we were going? Should I wear something dressier?”
Jackson’s gaze ran over what I was wearing, in the same way he looked me over when he had handed me that sinful brownie, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look perfect.”
“Right answer,” Wyatt told him, standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Wyatt’s giraffe genes from his alpha mother gave him height that most omegas didn’t possess, and Jackson stood only an inch or so taller than him.
Taking in my son’s posture, I frowned, because it almost looked like he was about to give Jackson the third degree. The thought had a laugh bubbling up my chest, and when Wyatt asked sternly, “What are your intentions with my Pops?” I couldn’t hold the sound in.
“Wyatt!” I admonished, moving around him to stand in front of Jackson. Shooting Wyatt a glare over my shoulder, I told Jackson, “Please ignore him. Let’s go.”
“Have him home by midnight.” Wyatt called after us, as Jackson followed me down my porch steps.
“Lock my door behind you,” I called back, as Jackson opened my car door for me. His lips were pressed into a thin, quivering line and I realized he was trying hard not to laugh. When he was sure I was safely in, he shut the door.
“I’m so sorry,” I told him. “I honestly don’t know what got into him.”
Jackson smiled at me, taking my hand in his as he turned onto the highway and headed towards Sweet Alps. “I think it was sweet of him. He’s looking out for you.”
“Jackson–”
