Page 43 of Small Town Shy Omega
I confessed my fears to Blake, and over a mug of hot mint-and-sweetgrass tea, he informed me I had nothing to fear.
“Dreydon enjoys sculpting,” Blake said sweetly, poking my nose. “It’s not a big deal, he sculpts at least two statues a year.”
“Two a year?”
“Yeah,” Blake shrugged. “If you don’t like it, I’m sure Dreydon can dump it. Turn it into firewood.”
I shrugged, not wanting to betray the mourning sensation in my heart.
“No, no,” I said, shaking my purple locks out. “He doesn’t have to get rid of the statue.”
“Do you want to keep it?”
I shrugged, refusing to appear too eager. “Maybe,” I tossed out noncommittally, maintaining my composure. “Depends how it turns out.”
The statue turned out lovely.
Dreydon set it right by my nest nook window.
My eyes locked on it as I fell asleep that night, the radiant, flowing hair so lifelike.
Even my glasses were accurate,I thought, my heart beaming with warmth. Gazing upon my visage Dreydon carved with a chainsaw filled me with great peace.
When I sprained my ankle a few days later, Josh and Blake kindly installed a custom-built nature walkway around my land.
They worked tirelessly, and in less than three days I could wheel around in the makeshift wheelchair they created for me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, embarrassed I was constrained to a wheelchair. I was used to full motion of my body, and being confined to a chair made me feel like a bird who wanted to fly.
Dreydon rubbed my head, then Josh patted my back.
Blake knelt in front of my wheelchair, taking my hand.
“I know you sprained your ankle, and you’re on bedrest, little Layla,” he growled, massaging my hand, “but we couldn’t sit here without installing a nature walkway for you to see your favorite birds every morning.”
Like clockwork, my Alphas wheeled me out each morning.
The morning sunsets bathed our faces in pink, and I felt recharged.
They wheeled me around the walkway, and wind whipped my hair.
One day, I felt a little silly.
“Bye, boys,” I shouted with a wave, tearing off. My wheelchair went so fast!
With a laugh, I popped a wheelie.
“Nooooo,” Dreydon roared, charging after me.
Before I could crash and whack my head, Dreydon gripped the back of my wheelchair.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
His large, firm hand was right beside my cheek. I rubbed my cheek on it, whimpering and throbbing. My entire body trembled, and I just rubbed and rubbed because Dreydon’s calloused man hand on my sensitive face felt so good.
Hard on soft.
Rough on smooth—and truly, my face felt alive.
