Page 56 of Tempting Frey
I gaped. Did he know? We’d have to tell him eventually, but I was hoping to ease him into it. Hell, I could still taste Oliver’s orgasm on my lips! How could I talk to his father?
“You were supposed to be at our place yesterday.” Chickie looked me up and down, his eyebrows drawn together. “Phil made stew,” he said.
Shit. Fucking shit.
“I left you a couple of messages, but you never replied.”
The guilt all but flattened me. They’d been waiting for me to come for dinner, concerned about my well-being, while I’d been busy sexing up their son behind their backs.
It probably wasn’t a great idea to disclose my relationship with Oliver right now.
“Dammit, I’m so sorry, Chickie. Please, tell Phil I’m really sorry. I completely forgot. Something came up, and I…”
Chickie eyed me up and down again, taking the measure of me. His expression darkened, and I imagined how I looked, half naked with my beard and hair a mess. Did I reek of sex? Could he smell the waning scent of heat coming from my house?
The breeze was fresh, blowing right into the open door, and he stood a few steps away, so hopefully not.
He drew in a deep breath. “What’s going on, Frey? And don’t bullshit me. You haven’t been yourself.”
“Nothing. I’m fine. I’m good. I really just forgot. I’ll make it up to Phil.”
The water in the bathroom stopped, and the sudden lack of background noise sounded louder than an alarm.
Chickie stiffened, and his gaze flickered over my shoulder.
“You have company?” he asked suspiciously.
“Um…”
I followed the line of his gaze to Oliver’s white sneakers, neatly placed on the shoe rack, a good five sizes smaller than my boots standing right next to them.
I swallowed.
“Those are not your shoes.”
He sounded as if he knew. How many omegas in Beauville wore pristine white sneakers? There could be a few. Or not.
“Whose shoes are those?” Chickie’s voice rose, sharp and threatening.
I couldn’t lie.
“Oliver’s.”
And I would have explained. It would have taken less than a minute. I could have saidWe’re mated. I didn’t know until Friday night, but your son is my fated mate. I love him, and I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to make him happy.
Chickie’s face turned into a grimace of fury, and I opened my mouth to salvage the situation.
“We…”
Except the door to the bathroom squeaked down the hall, and Oliver called, “Teddy! You’re out of toothpaste.”
I watched, frozen, as Chickie’s fingers moved toward his gun. He wouldn’t shoot me, would he? I could hear the echo of his voice in my head:
When I picture some rando just looking at him funny, my hand moves toward the gun by itself…
He rested his hand on the holster. The disgust and anger on his face slowly morphed into a look of complete and utter disappointment. Then he strode off.
It took me a few seconds to fully realize that my friend, however angry, would never actually draw his gun at me. I took off after him, only to hiss in pain two steps later. My bare feet landed on sharp gravel, and I flailed.
