Page 65 of Crash Course Omega
I mean, I know she’s his scent match. It isn’t like they’re subtle about it, but it kind of irks me that she kissed him after the race. Even though I’m the one that gave them space for it.
I have a great few hours with these thoughts rolling around in my head as I try to wrangle my jealousy over it all.
The last time I felt like this was when my friend met his omega and his life burst into full color while I was left behind wondering what was so great about a scent match.
And now I have my answer.
“Another one?” the bartender shouts over the pounding music.
I’ve been sitting at the bar for an hour hoping the club will drown out my general pissed-off state. I’ve nursed one beer the whole time, and I can tell the bartender is annoyed with the way I’m taking up space while spreading my phonemes around. Especially because every time an omega comes up to the bar to order, they get distracted by me.
Not to brag or anything, but omegas love a racer in a cowboy hat. Put them together with cedar and honey and I’m pure kryptonite. Even when half the guys in the room wear hats, none of them has my flair.
But nothing in the whole three-story club is interesting when my scent match is out there, dancing away, and she hasn’t even noticed me.
Though the Valkyries that hissed at Maddock on the grid obviously haven’t let it get to them, as they’re going crazy on the dancefloor as well.
Harmony’s with some of the other actors, and they’ve been jiving for a good half an hour under the strobe lights. Even with my pheromones pouring out of me like a leaky pipe, she hasn’t noticed me at all. She’s probably caught up in all the other scents flowing around the room.
And it totally isn’t like her mind’s so wrapped up with Maddock or anything like that. That’s just my silly alpha senses whispering at me to claim her before he does.
But there’s only so many times I can watch other alphas approach her before it gets to be too much.
I slide my beer across the bar top, and the bartender sweeps it up before I push off my seat and set my sights on the pretty redhead in a purple sparkly dress and a sad look in her eye.
But the second she sees me, she lights up like the sun, and a grin spreads across my lips. That’s what I want. An omega that looks at me like I’m the only star in her sky.
I sway my hips as I dance towards her, and the way she laughs makes me sure she’s the one for me. Not that there was any doubt, but as I reach her, I open my arms and she falls into me, rubbing her nose against my chest. She’s all mine.
“How much have you had to drink, sweetheart?” I ask her, instantly scent marking her. Some alpha who smelled of gas had rubbed himself over her neck, and I’m not having any of that on my omega.
“Too much,” she says with a lazy smile that sparks through me and goes straight to my cock.
I wrap my arms around her back as hers slip to my hips, and we sigh into each other as we start to move.
Her friends eye me suspiciously, but I give them one of my classic southern winks, and all three of them blush before they go back to dancing.
I can barely hear anything. All my attention is lazer-focused on the gorgeous omega who's purring right over my heart.
It doesn’t matter how long we dance for, or how many people try to interrupt us. Half of them to congratulate me on the race, the other half try to get an in with the lascivious Harmony Grace even though she’s so obviously mine.
I drench her in my pheromones as she layers me with her scent. People are either too absorbed in the music or busy with their own partners to notice how we keep marking each other.
We don’t need any words. There are just our looks and touches and the simple way we connect with each other. And my main mission is to make her smile. Because I’ve watched her for long enough to see that she has been faking it with her friends, trying to seem like she’s out having fun even though she’s casually snatching vodka shots from the servers who weave through the crowd with platters.
The longer we dance, the more she comes back to me, until the real Harmony is there, doing the most god-awful dance moves I’ve ever seen. So obviously, I have to join her.
Hours must pass before we drag ourselves off the floor, panting, sweating and laughing so much we can barely get our words out.
And I’m so desperate to make love to her that it’s killing me not to give in to her passionate looks and smooth touches and bend her over whatever surface we can find.
We’re still in public, and I’ll only kiss her if she makes the first move. But as I hand her a glass of water, that sad look creeps back in, and it feels like everything that happened between us is swept away again. She stands, quietly sipping and licking her lips as she looks out on the dance floor at the mass of writhing bodies, and I wrap my arms around her from behind.
“Come back to my hotel room. Let me treat you right,” I murmur in her ear.
“Is that your favor?” she asks, tilting her head back to look at me, my lips bumping her flushed cheek. It would be so easy to kiss her like this, but there are still people watching.
“It can be if you need another nudge.”
